The Night Mark(97)

“I guess I’m not William Jacob Fielding, then.”

Faye took a step closer to Carrick, so close she could stand on her toes to kiss him if she wanted.

“I know you aren’t,” she said softly. “And yet...I love you.”

“I want to believe that. But...”

Carrick stepped away from her and sat in the one rocking chair that she’d managed to put back into working order. Faye sat on the porch railing opposite the chair, the wind and the ocean at her back, her feet on Carrick’s knees. He wrapped his hands around her ankles, held them gently.

“I can’t ask you to stay here for me,” he said. “I can’t ask you and I can’t let you. You tell me you were born in 1985... I won’t even be alive anymore in 1985. How could you possibly be happy here? It must be like living... I don’t know, on the moon?”

“I’ve never been to the moon,” she said. “But humans do go to the moon. Not until 1969, though.”

“Men on the moon. I can’t...” Carrick glanced up at the sky. “It’s too wonderful to believe. But I know you’re telling me the truth.”

“It’s science fiction to you. It’s just a chapter in a high school history book to me.”

“So you weren’t...you weren’t happy in your time? Even with men on the moon?”

She shrugged. “Makes me sound like a terrible person, doesn’t it? In 2015, women can hold any job men can. We still don’t get paid quite as much, but we have access to a lot of power. Although men do still try to keep us out. Sexism is alive and well in 2015, but some things are better. Much better than they are now. The secretary of state was a woman for several years until she resigned. Now she’s running for president.”

“A woman president?” Carrick laughed heartily. “You’re joking.”

“Not joking, I swear. And this will blow your mind. Our current president? The man who is president in 2015 and has been for seven years? He’s black.”

Carrick’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.

“That’s...” he breathed. “Are you pulling my leg?”

Faye grinned. “No, I swear it’s true. His father was a black man from Kenya who came to the United States for school, and he married a white woman and lived in Hawaii. And their only child is our president. Two-term president. Very popular, too, especially around the world. I voted for him twice.”

Carrick rocked back in the chair, put his hands behind his head and interlocked his fingers. He looked utterly flabbergasted.

“It’s not even legal,” he said.

“What?” she asked. “A black president?”

“A black man and a white woman marrying.”

“Not now,” she said. In 1921 there were certainly laws against mixed-race marriages. She would hold off telling Carrick about same-sex marriage in 2015 lest he have a stroke. “But it’s legal in 2015 and has been since the 1970s, I think. Maybe the 1960s. The laws varied by state. But in my time, there are a lot of interracial marriages. A lot of people don’t even get married. They just live together. You know, like we’re doing.”

He ignored that comment.

“You know you couldn’t be president if you stayed here,” he said. “Maybe in your time, but now?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I could be president in my time,” she said. In 2015, Faye’s own husband didn’t want her working. “But I don’t want to be president.”

“What do you want to do, Faith?” He closed his eyes, wincing. “Faye,” he said.

“Victoria Faye Barlow. That’s my name. I always went by Faye since Vicky was my mom.”

“Barlow? Not Fielding?”

“I didn’t take Will’s last name when we were married. Does that shock you?”

“Why wouldn’t you take his name?”

“A lot of women don’t anymore. I had already established a pretty successful freelance career as a photographer under my maiden name when Will and I got married. It would have been a pain to change it.” She decided not to tell Carrick about websites. She wouldn’t even know where to begin with the internet. “We’d decided our kids would be Fieldings. But we didn’t have any kids.”

“You would take my last name.”

“Carrick, I already have. Remember?”

“Don’t remind me,” he said. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands for a moment before looking up at her.

“There’s something else you should know,” Faye said.

“Please don’t tell me you’re from Mars.”

She laughed. “No. We haven’t sent people to Mars yet in 2015, only robots.” Carrick started to open his mouth. She held up her hand to stop the question. She’d explain robots another day. “Did Pat tell you about Hagen?”

“No. He didn’t tell me much about you, said he should leave it to you. Who’s Hagen?”

“My other husband.”

She had to give Carrick credit. He didn’t gasp or swear or anything at all. He simply looked at her and waited.

Faye told Carrick everything—about Will, the baby, Hagen, the miscarriages, the failed infertility treatments, her divorce, everything. No more secrets. No more lies. She wanted him to love her, as Faye and not Faith, the way she loved him, as Carrick and not Will.