Zoey Cummings And The Relics of Bergen-Belsen

1. Change

More than anything else in the world she knew she had to go back and try to change some things even if Wells had said that they were “too big.” In her mind they weren’t so significant they would disrupt history…

* * * * * *

For a few minutes Catherine Cummings sat alone with her thoughts in the sticky, vinyl covered booth at Manny’s Corner Coffee Shop while Barry had gone off to use the restroom. She felt a bit more confident that she had it all figured out this time.
“The twelfth time’s the charm,” she told herself, half sighing and half chuckling.
“Quite a hot one today, eh?” A waitress interrupted her thoughts as she placed two small glasses of ice water on the table along with some extra paper napkins. “Can I bring you something else to drink?”
“Two ice teas, please,” Catherine answered politely, “one with no ice, for him.”
As if on cue Barry Cummings returned to the booth. Off and on he would use the flimsy laminated menu as a fan.
As Catherine sat staring at him, she couldn’t help but be charmed by his fine, definite features. Thick blond hair topped his wrinkle-free forehead; his chiseled cheekbones and soft sloping chin were sharply cut and well defined. Eyes that were a unique blue-ish-green read and re-read the menu. And Catherine watched as he absently rubbed his well-groomed moustache. Yes, this definitely was the Barry she had fallen in love with in college. She just couldn’t lose him now, at this point in her life.
“I think I’ll just get soup,” Barry swiftly slapped the menu shut and began fanning again.
“How on earth can you eat hot soup in this weather?”
Barry answered. “Maybe it’ll help clear my sinuses.”
“Are they still bothering you?”
“Even more.”
“I’m sorry, Bear. I’m sure it’s the Santa Anas.” Cathy reached across the table and placed her hand on his.
Barry sat up straight. “I’ll live,” he quipped.
Catherine’s hand twitched ever so slightly and she had to fight off a shiver.
For the most part the two ate their lunches quietly. Catherine was preoccupied with her thoughts – mainly that, no matter what, she could not leave Barry alone this time. She was certain that was the key to turning things around.
“I still think you should take the afternoon off,” she suddenly suggested. “between the heat and your sinuses. We could just lounge around the house. The kids are still with Gertruda until 3:15-ish. Come on, Bear,” Cathy pleaded.
Barry just shrugged and smiled slightly. She couldn’t tell if it was the heat or what but she felt she was wearing him down.
“How’s Phoebe doing?” he asked.
“She’ll be okay,” Cathy assured him. “It’s really just mild colic. We were lucky with Zoey.”
After Barry had paid for lunch and left a generous tip, the two of them drove separately to the Cummings’ house. This was the part that made Cathy extremely nervous. She trailed him as close as she was able to. And she felt her heart start to race and jump up to her throat whenever they came to a stop sign or a red light.
When they finally reached their house and both were parked and out of their cars Catherine suppressed a girlish giggle with a deep sigh. Then she gave Barry an enormous hug.
“Wha—? What was that for?” he asked and smiled.
“Just because.”
“Because what?”
She paused, “I’ll always love you, Bear.”
Their eyes met, followed quickly by their lips. “I love you too, hon…”

Once inside the house Barry made a snap decision. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he said. “The steam might help.”
To pass the time while Barry was in the shower Catherine tried to straighten up a bit. But eventually she caved and flopped down into an armchair.
Soon Barry was out of the shower and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. He sat down on the couch and towel dried his thick blond hair.
“You look peppier,” Cathy said brightly.
“Oh, man, it helped,” Barry replied.
“You know, a cool shower sounds pretty good right now,” she said, struggling somewhat to pull herself up out of the chair.
Barry laughed. “You need some help?”
“Ha ha.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ll be right out.” She kissed Barry on the top of his blond head. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

Cathy Cummings hadn’t been in the shower more than a couple of minutes when Barry hopped up and checked the fridge for a beer. No luck. He thought for a moment, glanced towards the bathroom and then quickly headed for the front door. On his way he grabbed his car keys from a tray on the end table.
Second thoughts caused him to pause so he stopped and scribbled a quick note,
“CC, I went for beer-- Be right back.”
And he set it on the coffee table. Quickly, he left the house, jumped in the silver Toyota and rushed on down to the local liquor store…

A few minutes later Catherine poked her sopping wet head out from the bathroom door, “Hey, Bear, could you get me a clean towel?” she called. “Bear? Hey, Bear?
Barry?” It was quiet, too quiet.
Still dripping and her hair soaked, Catherine urgently slipped back into her damp clothes. She hesitated for the briefest moment then hurried into the living room.
“Barry, hon?” She picked up his towel from off of the couch and wrapped it through her hair. Then, suddenly, her eyes were drawn to the note on the coffee table. She picked it up.
“Oh, no,” she murmured.
The note fluttered to the floor…

* * * * * *

As twelve-year old Zoey Cummings stood there, adjacent to the red brick sidewall of the Village Square Liquor Store, she could still picture the photograph she had used to travel back. It was a photo of her mother and father outside the front of this very store. The vision of the two of them engaged in horseplay was imprinted in the front of her mind. Her mom was halfway up onto her dad’s back and shoulders with one fist raised high as if she were riding a bucking bronco. They were both laughing.
Zoey had just put her timepiece back into her pocket and had taken no more than three or four steps when suddenly she heard the high-pitched squealing and screeching of brakes and the horrifying sound of metal smashing and crunching. Then, only silence.
Zoey stared blankly at the red brick wall. She wanted to move, to hurry around to the front of the store to try to assist with the crash that she knew had just caused her fathers’ death but her legs were leaden. She seemed frozen. Everything told her she had traveled back too late.
So, instead, with every fiber of her being crying out, she summoned up the courage to run, but to run in the opposite direction. Zoey started running as fast as she could down the long block, away from the accident. The heat and lack of humidity caused the air to be thin yet heavy. It burned her throat and lungs but she kept moving. She was headed toward her old house, the old Cummings’ residence.
Zoey’s cheeks were now wet as the houses began to blur by. She raced from one block to the next, fighting a cramp in her side as she ran. Finally, in a much shorter length of time than she had anticipated, she reached her old block and then her old house. Awareness swept over her and surrounded her but, at that point, it was of little comfort.
Now, sweating profusely and gasping for air, Zoey stood, bent over, in the driveway for a minute next to her mom’s old car. That minute passed very slowly. Finally she caught her breath, for the most part. Everything regarding the house and the yard appeared the same to Zoey. She paused briefly as her eyes were drawn to the two distinct rose bushes where she first buried the glossy wooden box with the help of that kindly old man, Wellington T. Clemens.
Wells…