Time Past

TIME PAST A Time Travel Novel Elyse Douglas Broadback Copyright © 2023 Elyse Douglas All rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.Cover design by: Carl MasterLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2018675309Printed in the United States of AmericaISBN: 9798375119779 For Bingo Brady and his 1969 dinged-up truck out under the stars. “The past beats inside me like a second heart.”—John Banville“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”—Neil deGrasse Tyson More Time Travel Books by Elyse Douglas ✽✽✽ Time Visitor Speakeasy Time Stranger Time Sensitive Time Change Time Shutter The Christmas Eve Series The Christmas Town Time With Norma Jeane The Lost Mata Hari Ring ✽✽✽ www.elysedouglas.com Join Us For Updates! TIME PAST PART 1 CHAPTER 1 May 2022 Seventy-four-year-old Kate Clarke Cunningham pushed through the glass revolving doors of Macy’s Department Store and stepped out onto 34th Street. Her purse hung over her left arm; her right hand clutched the rope handle of a heavy shopping bag containing an aqua enameled steel tea kettle she’d just purchased on sale. As hectic shoppers flowed around her, she dodged and weaved and struggled ahead, feeling like a salmon swimming upstream. On Seventh Avenue, she turned north and joined the next onslaught of pedestrian traffic, craning her neck, searching for a taxi. She saw none, so she stopped near a wall, reached for her cellphone, and called for an Uber.The late May day was warm, with plenty of hazy sunshine, and she was comfortably dressed in white capris, a short-sleeved blue cotton top, flat sandals, and sunglasses. For only seconds, she was distracted as a police car weaved its way through heavy traffic, its siren screaming. Fumbling purse and bag, Kate raised fingers to her sensitive ears to plug them up. Although she’d recently been diagnosed with a mild hearing loss in both ears, she could hear loud, high-pitched sounds as well as ever.After looping the shopping bag over her left wrist, Kate touched her hair, still adjusting to the length and feel of the new cut and style. She’d visited a different salon that morning and met Alvita, who hailed from Barbados. The 30s-something hairdresser had artistically styled Kate’s silvery, short hair, with plenty of layers to create volume. Kate thought it took five years off her age. Now, if she could just get rid of her belly and spreading hips.Though she strained through a yoga class twice a week, and she tried to walk the Central Park Reservoir track twice a week, jogging slowly when her back and knee allowed, she couldn’t seem to regain her slimmer, younger figure.“Good hair you’ve got, Mrs. Cunningham,” Alvita had said, in a lilting Caribbean accent. “You’re lucky, you know.”“Actually, Alvita, you can call me Ms. Clarke, or just Kate. Clarke was my maiden name and, just this morning, I decided to go back to it.”“All right, Ms. Clarke, but you still have nice hair, although it is thinning a bit here on the top.”“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”“What color was it when you were young?” Alvita asked.“Black, and I wore it long at my shoulders, sometimes in a ponytail, tied with a bright scarf. I especially liked yellow or blue.”“Did you grow up in New York?” Alvita asked, as she cut and fingered Kate’s hair, studying her work in the full-length mirror.“No. I’m originally from Ohio, a small town.”“I’ve never been out that far in this country.”“It was a pleasant little town. I haven’t been back in years, not since my parents died.”“And you said you’ve got two kids?”“Yes, Ellen is happy in Paris, working in computers, and my son, Greg, is a freelance film editor in L.A. I wish they weren’t so far away, but that’s life, isn’t it?”“And your husband?”“My husband died in 2020 during the first wave of COVID.”“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. COVID was so bad for us all. I lost an aunt and a cousin, and I pray it will not come back to us.”“David, my husband, caught it right away, and he went fast, like so many others with underlying conditions.”“We should talk about happy things,” Alvita said, her expression pleasant, her smile warm. “Let’s talk about New York in the spring.”“Yes, it’s the best time to be in New York. The flowers are so dazzling.”This was how Kate had returned to the world of the living after her husband’s death, and after the worst of COVID had passed. She’d reconnected to life in bits and pieces, mostly through conversations with cashiers, restaurant servers, salespeople, her super, and people who waited in line at places like Starbucks, Zabar’s, or Mondel Chocolates, famous for their homemade chocolates since 1943.During the COVID lockdown, Kate had forgotten how wonderful it was to talk to people without fear of catching a potentially lethal virus. Now things were almost back to normal. She’d even returned to volunteer tutoring at the library, teaching English language skills to public school students who were performing below grade level due to the pandemic. Although she still had to sit several feet from the students and wear a mask, she was delighted to be working with children again, doing what she’d done for over thirty years at a private school in Manhattan.David’s death in April of 2020 had brought a cold, visceral shock, which triggered dark loneliness and depression, along with stinging remorse and regrets. Theirs had not been the best of marriages, especially after the children left for college. She had overlooked his two flings with younger women because, through the years, he had overlooked her aloof indifference to their relationship. More than once, he’d told her, “There’s a coldness in you, Kate, a place I can’t