Free Reaching Through Time by Lurlene McDaniel

the job.
    “Start tomorrow,” Dennison said. “Be here by nine. Leave at four.”
    “I won’t be late.”
    Drake slid his cell phone from his pocket, checking the time. The screen was dark, which he thought odd because it had been fully charged when he’d left home. He understood that there might not be cell service up here, but he didn’t understand why the timekeeping function had stopped working. He shook the phone, embarrassed.
    “There is a grandfather clock upstairs. It will let you know when it’s four o’clock every day without fail.”
    Drake couldn’t imagine not depending on his cell, but he shrugged and said, “I’ll listen for it.”
    Back upstairs, Drake again looked at the clock. It appeared too old and decrepit to keep time, but the hands were pointing to eleven o’clock. He did some quick math—if he’d left home around eight-fifteen, arrived at nine according to the old clock and it now read eleven, the clock really was screwy. He couldn’t believe he’d been here two hours already. On cue, the clock chimed, the sound clear and melodious as a bell. He shook the professor’s hand.
    Gina opened the front door for him. “See you tomorrow.”
    Her smile was radiant, and Drake felt a tug on his heart. He returned to his car telling himself to stop imagining the impossible. Girls like Gina were dream fodder. He’d known since preschool that bias against the handicapped was never stronger than among his own kind.
    “I’m telling you, Mom, that house has to be seventy-five or eighty years old.” Drake and his mother sat at the kitchen counter eating spaghetti and meat sauce. He’d filled her in on his new job.
    “There are a lot of old houses in this area.”
    “Maybe so, but number thirteen didn’t look that old. I’m serious. The furniture looked new, the floors all shiny.”
    “It’s probably a replica. New builds can look old if the homeowner’s willing to spend the money,” his mother said. “Although I don’t care too much for your sitting in a damp basement all day. Promise you’ll take your lunch and eat outside in the sunshine.”
    Drake dropped his head in exasperation. “Mom, I’ve got a job to do—it’s not supposed to be a day at the beach. I want to keep this job.”
    “And I’m glad for you, but can it hurt to take some time for lunch outside?”
    Drake recognized her protective instincts, so he changed the subject. “Listen, communication isn’t the best up there.” Who was he kidding? It was nonexistent. “No cell service, no wireless. They may not even have a phone. This guy likes his privacy.”
    She frowned. “I don’t like knowing we can’t get hold of each other.”
    “I’ll send up smoke signals if you want.”
    She eyed him humorlessly. “What’s this man paying you to sit in his basement and wade through old musty boxes?”
    Drake felt heat crawl up his neck. He’d never asked. How could he confess that Gina had distracted him to the point that he’d have taken the job for free? No need to mention Gina to his mother at this time. “Enough,” he said. “It isn’t rocket science.”
    “Is this how you really want to spend your summer? In a basement by yourself pawing through artifacts insteadof having fun, maybe meeting kids you’ll be going to school with?”
    People who were perfectly formed couldn’t identify with people like him. Drake had CP. He was broken. Damaged. Invisible to most of the able-bodied. “Yes,” Drake said firmly. “This is exactly what I want to do.”

3

    T he next morning, Drake parked his car in the brush and retraced his steps from the day before to the great house. The house looked razor sharp against the brilliant blue sky. Gina waited at the gate beneath the trellis, the purple wisteria swaying in the early summer breeze above her head. She waved and he grinned and waved back.
    “Hi,” she said, swinging the gate open for him. “We have a surprise for you.”
    She was his surprise. “I like