Slingshot

"You know very little about me and are angry with me. Not without just cause. I thought I was right then, but clearly I wasn't. And, as little as I'm sure it means, I am sorry about that," Patricia said.

Gemma said nothing.

"David and I had been friends and colleagues for decades. After Miles died, I was the first person he told about discovering the principles of time travel. I was among the few who spoke to him after Miles's smear job. The two of us joined with others and created the Chronal Studies Institute. And we all agreed that his journals had to be classified and hidden. Only the two of us have ever read them all. Others have read only bits and pieces. Just enough to do what was needed to make time travel work," she said.

"He also told me he has already been visited by time travellers. Two of them, at four different times. And that one of them was his daughter."

Gemma put her beer on the table and stared at the woman across the table.

"You knew? The whole time and you fucking knew?"

"Yes. And I was the one who had to find and recruit you into the program. At that point, David was too ill to do it himself. Also, he didn't...trust himself. Didn't trust what he might do if he saw you as a teenager," she said, looking out the grimy window and into the Toronto night.

Gemma wanted to be enraged. She remembered the guilt she felt at different times dealing with David. That she was manipulating him. Maybe he should have been left alone to choose his own destiny without future assholes deciding who he should be. Only to find out that he'd been responsible for everything all along.

"Son of a bitch. I guess he had the last laugh after all," she said, drinking from her beer.

"No, very little of it was funny to him. It wasn't the morals and ethics of time travel that bothered him. It was the damage slingshotting did to people. It horrified him that he might hurt you, or potentially take years of your life, just to spend a few hours with him. But then he met Meredith, and that was that. He couldn't have a world where she didn't exist," she said.

"Well, he was right about that," Gemma said. Then she looked at the package on the table again. "And what's that?"

Patricia pushed it across the table towards her.

"I have been holding onto those since just before he died of cancer in 2021," she said. "With instructions to deliver them to you today. Here."

Gemma took the brown paper package, undid the string and pulled it carefully apart. Inside were three thick, leather-bound journals.

"His journals? But they're classified."

"Yes, they are. And remain so. Once David realized people in the future were reading his journals - and he suspected that shortly after your first encounter with him - he was cautious about what he put in them. For example, there are no...intimate...details about you two. There was just enough to make it obvious that you, and only you, had to come back and talk to him.

"Only I know these books exist. David swore to me there was nothing in them that was dangerous. He just...longed to talk to you. These journals are his conversations with you. Or so I've been told. I respected his wishes and never opened them," Patricia said.

Gemma's hand shook as she reached for the first book on top. She opened it. Inside was a letter and two pictures. The first picture was the one of her and Meredith. Her daughter had left with it just hours ago. The second was a picture of David and Meredith, sitting at the same pub she was in now, with big smiles on their faces.

And for the first time in years, Gemma let herself cry.

Patricia stood up, and as she walked by Gemma, she gently put her hand on her shoulder.

"Perhaps it means little coming from me. But he did love you," she said. "I know it's an open slingshot, but you might as well get used to her absence for a bit. David got fond of having time-delayed letters sent to the institute and me. One arrived today. Meredith will return in about six months. She decided to spend some time with her father.

"She'll be fine. She won't even need recovery time," Patricia said. "It's a whole new world of time travel with her. Quite exciting."

"If she decides to continue," Gemma said. She was glad Meredith got to meet her father, but she prayed it was her first and last slingshot. It wouldn't be, though. She recognized the excitement on her face when she talked about the slingshot. It was the same excitement she had over 20 years ago.

"I guess we'll see. I'll leave you to it. Take care, Gemma," she said, and left the pub.

Wiping away her tears, Gemma picked up the letter and carefully unfolded it.

February 14, 2020

Dear Gemma...

Fucking time travel, eh?

I wished I'd invented a better kind of time travel. One where it didn't physically hurt you to see me, and one where it didn't break our hearts quite so much. I wish for a great many things. More than once, after I invented it, I thought about destroying my notes and sparing both of us the grief. Then I met Meredith.

My God, Gemma. She is an amazing young woman. I met her and knew everything had to happen despite the pain and heartache. You did a fantastic job with her. One more reason to be so proud of you. She joked that they got by even without child support payments from her deadbeat dad.

Gemma put the letter down for a second and sighed. She told Meredith not to make that joke. Then again, she was a lot like her...not listening to what others told her to do.

She told me you seemed so sad for so many years when she was growing up. That she spent so much of her life trying to make her mom happy. I can't be with you anymore. I am a person of the past. But she's there now. And she loves you so much, despite your fights and challenges. So be there for her.

As for support, this may help.

Below was a string of numbers and a password. Plus, an address in Switzerland.

I wouldn't have survived Miles's onslaught without the information you gave me. Our daughter also had the clever idea to memorize some sporting events before her slingshot. It paid off well. Consider this a repayment for that help. With interest, it should be a decent sum.

"Jesus Christ, David," she muttered out loud.

For better or worse, these journals are for you. I started writing them shortly after we met. Sometimes, I desperately wanted to talk to you, even though you were decades in my future. There are a lot of different emotions in there, and some may not be easy to read. But it's all honest.

And I encourage you never to read them. Or read them decades from now. You're free of this loop now. That means finding someone else. Live your life, Gemma. Stop looking to the past.

I always loved you...

David

A drop of water splashed on the letter, and it took a moment for Gemma to realize she'd started crying again. She let herself have that, then composed herself. She reopened the first journal and turned to the front page. On top was the date February 17, 1970.

Gemma paused, stared at the date for a moment, and then closed the journal. She took the letter and two photos, put them in her purse, and rewrapped the journals. Then she walked to the door of the pub. She paused and took one last look, knowing she would never come here again.

"Ok, David. Time to leave the past behind," Gemma said, then walked out the door.