What Comes Knocking“Some kid wants to see you,” Janine said. “Were you expecting anyone?”
I looked at her over my glasses.
“I have to finish reviewing this case. I’ve no time for visitors.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll show him out. By the way, the sun has set. You could open the blinds.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’m going to close up the office. Unless you want some company this evening?”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid this will take quite some time. Don’t wait up.”
She smiled and left. I turned toward the window, appreciating the last colorful rays of a sun already behind mountains. It was relaxing, and made the papers I wanted to chuck out the window more bearable. Short of actually visiting the site myself (which is generally out of the question), or finding someone with the proper training willing to tote a shotgun up into bear-infested territories to mark out surveying lines (which is generally expensive), the paperwork was my best bet. In the end, it proved the original owners had made a contract regarding water rights. Satisfied, I made my notes, and set my files in order.
It felt good, finishing a long day’s work and getting ready to head home. As I put away the last of my things, I had the acute sense of a presence behind me. I turned to see a young man in the doorway.
“Can I help you?” I asked, pulling on my coat. “I don’t get many nighttime visitors.”
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but…I think I am your grandson.”
I stared at him, then bursting out laughing.
“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong office. I never had children.”
“Maybe you gave them up for adoption? Or didn’t know about them.”
“Look, if I had a kid, I’d know. One of the advantages of being a woman is you’re not surprised by newly discovered adult children. Plus, if I had a kid, they’d be—how old are you?”
“Sixteen, ma’am.”
“If I had a kid, they’d probably be your contemporary. Anyway, it’s one in the morning. Your parents are probably worried about you. I’ll give you a lift home, on one condition: quit breaking into people’s offices.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m right. I did my research. If you’d look here—”
“You want a lift, or you wanna go to juvie?”
“…lift, please.”
“Well, then, let’s get going,” I checked my pockets to insure I had both wallet and keys before leading the way to the car park. Mine was the only one in the lot, so he went to the passenger side and settled in.
“Now, where are we going?” I asked. He mumbled the address, which I was then tasked with punching into the stupid navigator.
“You want help?” he asked.
“Sure. Never can get the darn thing to work,” I replied, handing it over. He had it set in seconds. “Child, that’s over an hour away. How’d you get here?”
“Public transportation.”
“Let me guess, you haven’t eaten since you started?”
He shook his head.
We stopped for burgers at the edge of town.
“Since you’re stuck with me for the next hour, can I tell you my theory?” he asked.
“I am a bit curious as to why you hold so tenaciously to this belief, so go ahead.”
“Well, I mean, you haven’t disproved it.”
“Oh?”
“Most women would freak out if some teen showed up in their office in the middle of the night. But then offering to drive him home?”
“Let’s call it Christian charity.”
“Maybe you feel like you know me, but won’t admit it.”
“Because we share genetics?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“You’re my grandmother.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
He took a bite.
“When my mom was a baby, she was left at a safe surrender place,” he said.
“That happens to a lot of kids.”
“Yeah, but she was a IVF baby. When she was dropped off, she was left with her dad’s phone number. My grandmom just disappeared. My granddad raised her, of course, and she had me and my sisters. The only adult picture I have of my grandmom is this—that’s you, isn’t it?” he wiped the ketchup off his hands and pulled out a photograph. I took it and held it in the light. I wasn’t sure, but it did look like one of the photos my mum had taken around my college graduation.
“Could also be a lookalike.”
“This woman moves every ten years, is a water rights attorney, and always looks the same. And you just moved here a year ago from across the country.”
“So?”
“When you set up your practice there, you were thirty-four.”
“Yeah? So I’m thirty-six now.”
“So you moved there ten years ago.”
“So what’s your theory?”
He looked down at his lap.
“Well?” I prodded.
“You’re stuck in a time/space continuum loop,” he blurted out. “For some reason, you’re repeating the same decade of your life over and over again.”
“Excuse me?”
“When you figured it out, you wanted to protect your family, so you ran away.”
I turned on my blinker.
“What are you doing? We need to go on the freeway, not the right of way.”
“Change of plans,” I said briskly, putting the car into park. “Hey, look, do you see that shooting star?”
“Where?” he asked, leaning forward to look out the window.
~~
“You really should close the blinds before you dose,” Janine said. I opened an eye and looked at her.
“Mmm, sun’s still a good three feet away.”
“You have a meeting with a judge this afternoon. A burn on your face isn’t helpful,” she chided. “Also, get your boots off your desk. There’s mud on the heel.”
I obediently put my feet down and watched as she looked through the papers on the table.
“Something bothering you?” I asked.
“Did that boy come back last night?”
“Never saw him.”
She nodded, still looking at the file.
“They found him floating in a diverting canal this morning. He had bite marks in his neck.”
“Really.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Nope,” I said, getting up and stretching. “But, I have been thinking it might be time for a change of scenery. How do you feel about moving to Canada?”