Page 27 of Across the Universe

“Hey,” he says, looking into the cup of coffee in front of him. “I can appreciate a person with a genuine passion, and I have to support that. Life is more exciting and rewarding when you have something that you do, and you do it well.”

They sit there for a moment as Jo basks in the glow of his kind words. “But do you think it’s at all possible? Or am I writing pure fantasy here?”

Dr. Chavez sits back in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. “Well, I think there are plenty of things that are possible and there are so many things we can’t yet answer. Just because I have never woken up in the barn of a hunky farmer in a different time myself doesn’t mean that it’s not possible.”

Jo reaches across the table to swat at him playfully, then realizes what a familiar gesture it is. To hide the flush on her cheeks, she ducks her head and tucks her hair behind one ear.

“That’s fair,” she says. “Do you think there’s any scientific precedent for it though? The ability to travel through time?”

“Hmmm. Okay. I guess we could rely on Einstein here for some groundwork. While he never expressly said that he believed in time travel, he did indicate that time itself is relative. Time can be affected by both speed and gravity, and, I suppose,” he says, spreading his palms wide as he looks at Jo earnestly, “we could allow for time dilation and, quite possibly, travel into the future.”

“Just the future?” Jo lifts her eyebrows as she watches his face for any indication that he might think she’s a total quack.

Dr. Chavez shrugs and places his palms on the table. “I guess the past would be fair game as well. I mean, why not? We simply don’t have the answers or even the capacity to answer them at this point.”

This is good enough for Jo. “Okay, thank you for that. I just never imagined myself to be a writer of science fiction, and I thought that if I could wrap my head around the possibility that I wasn’t entirely inventing something, it might resonate more with me. And, consequentially, with my readers.”

“Sure,” Dr. Chavez says, giving her a relaxed smile as he lifts his coffee cup. “And you could make it even more realistic if you gave the farmer a good, solid name. Like Nicholas.” His smile goes beyond a quirk of the lips and spreads widely, showing his rows of straight, white teeth.

It takes Jo a moment to remember that Dr. Chavez’s first name is Nicholas, as she always thinks of him as, well, just Dr. Chavez.

“You know what?” she says. “I will take that under consideration as a thank you to you for putting up with all of my writing talk—no promises, though.”

“No! Jo, I was just teasing,” he assures her, reaching over and putting a hand on her wrist on top of the table. “Truly.”

Jo is at a loss for words as his hand lingers against her skin, and it only seems proper to cut things off right there, at this perfect moment when their smiles are still on their lips. Regretfully, she makes to stand, and he releases her by lifting his hand from hers.

“Thank you for the coffee and the chat,” Jo says, smoothing the front of her dress just as Adeline had done in the barn when the farmer helped her to stand. She even blinks a few times as she looks at Dr. Chavez, realizing as she does that he is tall, broad-shouldered, and has dark hair, a sharp jawline and cheekbones, and a dusting of stubble on his cheeks that makes him look even more handsome.

Jo swallows hard as she picks up her cup of coffee and holds it in front of her. Without realizing it, she’s made her fictional farmer look a heck of a lot like Dr. Nicholas Chavez, and there’s no way to dislodge the image in her mind at this point. It’s there to stay. And though she’d had no intention of doing so, she’s inadvertently created two main characters in this new story who closely resemble two people she knows in her own life: herself, and Dr. Chavez.

CHAPTER10

Bill

"And was it productive?"

"In what way?"

"Was spending time with your youngest daughter productive in the sense that you felt you were building an emotional connection with her?" Dr. Sheinbaum elaborates. She's sitting in her chair across from Bill once again, watching his face with an intensity that feels stronger than usual. "Did she respond to your attention positively?"

Bill isn't sure what else to say other than, "Yes, of course." What child wouldn't respond positively to the undivided attention of her father? Particularly when the activity at hand is something fun, like gathering shells at the beach.

"Tell me about it." Dr. Sheinbaum has her ever-present notepad and pencil resting on her lap as she listens.

Bill scratches the stubble on his jaw roughly. This meeting with Dr. Sheinbaum is at the end of his workday, and he's come straight from Cape Kennedy, loosening his tie on the way there. "Well, on Saturday, we woke up and Jo made us pancakes. My son, Jimmy, had a baseball game, so he left early with a friend to toss a ball around. My middle child, Nancy, wanted to go to the library, so Jo agreed to take her, and I asked Kate if she'd like to go to the beach and gather some shells with me. She was more than happy to do that, so we drove right up to the sand on Stardust Beach and parked there. I brought buckets and Kate brought us each an orange for a snack."

"Mmm," Dr. Sheinbaum says, nodding encouragingly. "Her active participation in the activity is important. Go on."

Bill was charmed by Kate's enthusiasm for the shell-gathering, and after he'd unlocked the trunk, letting her gather their buckets and plastic shovels, she'd raced ahead of him, running to the water's edge.

"We took off our shoes and walked in the sand," Bill says, remembering the way the sun had touched her blonde head as she'd bent and dug in the soft sand, unearthing whole and partial shells. "At first Kate would just quietly gather her shells in a bucket, but then she showed me the ones she thought were more important. Prettier. Better formed."

"And did she talk about anything else as you gathered shells?"

"I asked her how school was going, and she said she was doing fine."

"What's her favorite subject at school?"

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