I curled up in a chair in the family room to read in front of the fireplace. Studying became increasingly difficult the more I devoted time to the hospital, but this book interested me. It related to pre-modern medicines and technologies not used at our hospital, treatments used on Earth, where bodies could be healed with the help of machines and medicines, and without the physical contact of a Healer.
I was so absorbed that a deep sigh startled me. I bookmarked my page with a finger and looked up.
Father stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting back and forth between me and the bookshelves that lined the wall behind me. His hair was slicked back and to the side, and he’d changed into a sweater and jeans.
“Looks like you just got back from the gymnasium,” I said with a yawn. One of the perks of working for the hospital was the use of its exercise equipment and showers.
Father nodded. He walked past me to the shelf. He swiped a finger along titles of books as he searched. I craned my neck, curious to see what he was looking for.
His hand landed on a brown volume with a ragged spine. The gold lettering was faded and too small for me to read from where I sat.
“What book is that?” I said, squinting.
“It’s a journal kept by your grandfather, Plaka.”
Father didn’t provide explanation beyond the question asked. I shook my head and laughed inwardly. That would never change.
“What did Grandpa Plaka write about?” I prompted. I hadn’t read the journal, but I hoped it had something to do with healing. No one had mentioned it to me before. Maybe Grandpa Plaka left a set of instructions, something I could follow and learn now that he and Mother were gone.
“That’s what I’m about to find out.” He leafed through the pages and frowned.
Getting nowhere, I decided to look at the journal later, after Father was finished with it. And if he didn’t return it to the shelf, I’d know it was something important. Maybe something he didn’t want me or Javis to read. Which made me that much more interested in reading it.
Maybe it had something to do with Mr. Calcott’s visit to the hospital today. I took a deep breath, ready to test the waters, and uncurled my legs from beneath me.
“I’ve been thinking about what Mr. Calcott said and—”
“You will not be searching for Mr. Calcott’s sister,” Father said, not bothering to look at me. He focused on the turning pages of the volume wedged in his hands.
I pushed myself up from the chair. “Because I’m a child? Isn’t that what you said earlier, at the hospital?”
“You’re too young to undertake such a dangerous mission.”
“Do you remember what Mr. Calcott said?” I squeezed the book I held to my chest. “The man was from Chascadia. The Lost person he’s worried about is his sister, which means she’s Chascadian too! The last Lost person with Chascadian heritage was Mother.” At least, I hadn’t learned of any since the stories I’d heard from before my parents’ marriage. I hoped it was still true.
Father’s lips tightened. “Yes, and your mother wasn’t much older than you in maturity when she became Lost. She was still in her teenage years.”
I already knew that, but I didn’t want to hear it right now. Mother was older than me in Earth years when she first learned how to travel, but our timelines were different. Mine was longer because I’d been born on Edgar; here, the timeline was longer than Earth’s but not quite as long as Father’s was at the White Tower, where he was born. My parents had somehow managed to marry and start a family despite the difference. But that was far too complicated and not persuasive enough for me. I needed something that appealed to Father’s emotions, his heart, and his pride.
A grim thought flashed in my mind, one so true I couldn’t help pointing it out.
“Mr. Calcott was right, wasn’t he? You didn’t want to be alone—to lose another of us. Don’t you want to see me do what I was meant to do? Do you know how embarrassing it was for me to watch you tell a suffering man to go away?”
Father looked up from the journal. “Silvia, enough.”
“Why won’t you talk about it? Is it so wrong to admit you care for me? That it has less to do with my abilities and how capable I am?”
His eyes softened, but his lips remained firm. “That should have been obvious by my unwillingness to let you go.” He lowered his gaze. “I refused to argue further about this. I need to get back to the hospital. I’ll ask someone else to cover your evening shift.”
“Now you’re firing me?” I huffed. It was my job. How dare he?
“No one’s being fired. I don’t want the recovering Lost to see you like this—out of control of your emotions.” He carried Grandpa Plaka’s journal with him to the door. “I think you need a break. We’ll discuss this again when you’re thinking more clearly.”
With quick strides, he walked out of the room, leaving me in front of the fireplace, my body shaking with rage. How Father was able to do that—push my buttons while still sounding calm and reasonable—was beyond me. It was like he was a robot, detached from the full range of emotions that made one human.
I stomped to my bedroom and threw aside the book I’d been studying. I snatched a pillow and smacked it against my bed, convinced I’d received my compassion from Mother.
After the pillow had been thoroughly pummeled, I sat down on the floor and hugged the pillow to my chest. I had to get my hands on Grandpa Plaka’s journal.
A framed portrait of Mother, propped on my bedside table, smiled down at me.
“You must think I’m crazy,” I whispered in the direction of the portrait. “I have pictures of you everywhere, and I talk to you like you’re still here.” Tears filled my eyes. “I just wish—” I sniffled. “I wish you were able to talk back, that I could hear your voice. One more time.”
By the time Mother died, she’d aged so much more quickly than Father. Some had mistaken her for my grandmother. Her dark, curly hair had grayed so much it matched the color of her eyes. I don’t know how she did it—watched herself age while her husband and father stayed young; cared for children with a body that aged and ached. Yet, she never complained.
Father looked at her the same way he always had, with love, like he couldn’t believe his fortune, that he’d been lucky enough to have such a beautiful wife.
“What good is being a Remnant Transporter if I can’t use it?” I mumbled in the direction of the portrait.
Mother would have supported me. I knew it. We would have gone on the mission together. She could have trained me. Grandpa Plaka would have done the same, the way he had by training Mother. But, now, both were gone. The only person left to train me was Father and he didn’t seem to want to do anything about it. He was completely uninterested.
I’d accepted my vocation as soon as I learned my travel talent. Mother was overjoyed. Father was not. Had he ever supported my talent?
I closed my eyes, remembering. Mother and I had been on an outing. She was pregnant with Javis and had a craving for key lime pie. I gagged, remembering how she’d eaten it with fermented cabbage. How gross I thought that was, even though I was only five years, Edgar time.
Father wasn’t present; it was just Mother and me. We’d left Edgar to travel to a different time and place using Mother’s pair of travel glasses, an unofficial travel object. She hadn’t inherited the baglamas because Grandpa Plaka was still alive, and he was usually off healing travelers and searching for the Lost. Mother did similar work, but when she was pregnant, she traveled less and spent more of her time at the hospital taking care of those who Grandpa Plaka brought to Edgar to recover.
Mother smiled at me as she slung the shopping bag over her shoulder and covered my hand with hers. She slipped a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes.
“Ready, Silvie? Grandpa’s not with us today, so we’re going to use the travel glasses. You remember how to do this?”
“Okay, then, put on your pair.”
I slipped on a tiny pair of sunglasses Father had given me. I knew they weren’t filled with magical technology like Mother’s pair, but they helped protect my eyes from the light.
“On the count of three,” Mother said.
I bent my legs at the knees, ready to run.
“One. Two. Three!”
Mother’s feet pressed forward as she pulled me along with her. The world streamed past us in colors tinted by my dark lenses. Mother’s shopping bag fluttered in the breeze of our momentum. I looked up to see if she was smiling, too.
Her lips were pursed in concentration. She whispered words aloud, like she was talking to the travel glasses, telling them where to go.
And then the sky, and everything beneath it, glowed with a white light that would have been blinding had I not been wearing the tiny pair of sunglasses.
When the brightness faded, I handed my sunglasses back to Mother and bounced in place.
She pressed a finger to her lips. “Not yet. First we need to ground.”
She knelt, holding one arm protectively around her swollen stomach, where my younger brother was growing inside her. I mimicked how she stayed low to the ground.
The dirt and grass shook and trembled—a symptom I later learned was caused by tearing into a different place and time. When the ground stopped moving, we brushed ourselves off and entered the pie shop.
Bells jingled, announcing our arrival. A plump lady with thick, red lips smiled at us from behind a counter crowded with bins of lollipops and other candies.
“What can I get for you today? Pumpkin-raisin, or how about the cinnamon cream?” the lady said. She pointed to counter, filled with trays of pies.
I pressed my hands and nose to the glass, searching for a green and white pie, the one I knew Mother wanted. But I couldn’t find any. I hadn’t thought about how different the pies looked before they were sliced, with the citrusy green layer hidden beneath the meringue.
Mother pointed to a pie that was white on top with a candied slice of lime wedged in a dollop of cream. “Is that key lime?”
The lady nodded. “How many would you like?”
The pie lady’s laugh was merry, almost musical. She boxed the pie on display, then disappeared through a door behind the counter.
I stared up at the bins of lollipops while I waited. I liked the red ones best, but I only saw orange, green, and pink. Startled by a sucking sound behind me, I turned my head.
A girl, the same size as me, sat at a table, licking a lollipop. She had a round nose and dark pigtails. I smiled and waved.
The girl smiled back at me with orange-stained lips.
I tugged at Mother’s hand.
“You can’t stay and play,” she said. “But go ahead and talk to the girl while I pay for the pies.”
“Hello,” I said when I reached the girl’s table. “I’m Silvie. I can’t stay and play.”
The girl grinned. “My name is Gemma. This is my mommy’s shop.”
My eyes grew wide. Even though my parents had a hospital filled with interesting people, I couldn’t imagine how wonderful it would be to have parents who had their own pie shop, with bins of lollipops. Though, I’d make sure we had the red ones, too.
I decided I liked Gemma. If I couldn’t stay, perhaps she could come home with me. Mother hadn’t said we couldn’t go back to our home and play.
I peeked at the counter to make sure Mother was still talking to the pie lady, Gemma’s mommy. “Want to play a game?” I whispered.
Gemma bobbed her head.
“Follow us when we go,” I said. “Outside, we’ll start running.”
“To get home,” I said. “Don’t let my mother see you’re there. Stay hidden.”
Gemma sucked at the lollipop before answering, “Okay.”
“But when you see us running, you start running too. As fast as you can.”
“Try to catch us before we disappear.”
The girl’s eyes popped open. “Disappear?”
“You’ll see,” I said.
“Silvie,” Mother said, walking toward us. Her shopping bag was so full the corners of the pie boxes poked through the bag. “Time to go. Say goodbye to your friend.”
“Bye, Gemma.” I waved.
On our way out the jingly door, I turned to the girl and winked.
Mother held my hand and walked me to where we’d arrived and had knelt on the ground. I kept looking back for Gemma, hoping she’d keep her promise to play the game. If she couldn’t come with us, I at least wanted her to see us disappear, to know the special thing Mother could do.
But I hadn’t told her about the travel glasses. If Gemma was behind us, hidden somewhere behind the buildings and trees, I wanted her to see our sunglasses, too.
“Ready, Silvie?” Mother had on her travel glasses and helped me with the tiny pair that covered my eyes.
I looked back for Gemma one last time. Please run with us, I whispered in my heart. At the same time, I felt Mother’s hand tug me forward until we were both running.
My mind whirled with thoughts as the sky turned white. What if I never got to see Gemma again? Mother visited all kinds of pie shops, in different times and places. What if we didn’t come back to this shop in this world? I wanted Gemma to tell me what it looked like when we disappeared, and what she thought of Mother’s talent.
I wanted her to come home with us, to Edgar.
I felt something press against my open hand, the one Mother wasn’t holding. The sunglasses protected my eyes, but they didn’t keep out all the white light. I turned my head to see what was next to me, what had touched my hand. There was nothing but blurring clouds of white.
Whatever I felt went away. I grabbed for the air, to see if I could catch it. My hands clasped what felt like fingers, small ones like mine. Smiling, I held on tighter.
I didn’t let go. Not until the brightness faded and I was standing beneath the warm glow of Edgar’s three suns.
“Wow,” said a voice from somewhere next to me.
A girl with pigtails stood waist-deep in a rainbow of flowers, smiling and staring up at the sky.
I was so excited I forgot to stay low and press a hand and a knee to the ground.
At first, my parents thought it was an accident, that Mother had pulled Gemma through time and space. They didn’t bother taking her home, either. Father told me it was because this version of Gemma was a silhouette, a copy of a person from the past who would eventually fade. He explained that Mother had traveled with me to the past, to a pie shop she’d visited as a child, and that Gemma would be Mother’s age by now.
“Won’t Gemma’s mother miss her?” I asked, confused.
“Maybe for the rest of the day,” Father said. “But all will be forgotten when everyone wakes up the next morning. The past has already been written, and minds of silhouettes cannot be changed without leaving a Daily Reminder—a written reminder intended to change the past.”
After the incident with Gemma, it happened again, and again, usually with other children my age, those I wanted to keep as friends and to know about Mother’s travel talent. Sometimes children from the present slipped through time and space with us and had to be transported home. But most of them were remnants from the past.
Eventually, my parents figured out my game and that I’d willed them to come home with us. They and Grandpa Plaka were stunned because I hadn’t been in charge of the travel glasses and where we were going. Each time, I’d only known and expected we’d be returning home, to Edgar. Who knows what would have happened if Mother had decided on a different course without telling me?
That was how it was discovered that I was a Remnant Transporter—that I could transport silhouettes through space and time, to wherever and whenever I was going.