Triptych by J.M. Frey Page B

machine faded tee-shirt stretched across work-sculpted pecs, and he actually looked quite dependable. Evvie already knew that he worked unreasonable hours, but she wondered if he had a good benefits package.
    Did he bring home flowers?
    ***
    Breakfast was a rather subdued affair: runny scrambled eggs that Evvie couldn’t cook properly because Basil had taken a piece out of the microwave without telling anyone, and toast that was slightly burnt for the same reason. The tea was hot because he’d had the good sense to leave the stove and kettle alone.
    It had taken some convincing to get them to sit down for one last meal with the Piersons, and Evvie had a feeling that Gwen knew that she had ulterior motives. Motives that were harder to talk about than Evvie had assumed they would be. They sat there like a sixth diner in the corner, and hulked until she just couldn’t take the tiptoeing around them any longer.
    “I want to apologize,” Evvie said.
    Mark didn’t look surprised, nor did Basil. Gwennie was calmly and with great dignity giving herself an egg facial, and Gwen didn’t look up from her mug.
    “I didn’t mean to make you feel…” Evvie looked at Mark, trying to search for the correct word in his face. He found it in hers first.
    “Unwelcome,” Mark said softly.
    Gwen put her mug down on the table and waited.
    “I don’t hate you,” Evvie confessed. “You saved my baby’s life. You’re saving other people’s lives. You are doing work that’s helping people.”
    Gwen snorted, and said into her mug, “Rocks and hard places have nothing on this.”
    “I’m proud of you,” Evvie said softly. Gwen jerked her eyes up, and they were wide and suspiciously wet. Evvie gave Gwen her biggest, warmest grin, the one that matched Gareth’s. And Gwen’s. “I want you to do what makes you happiest, even if I don’t understand it. Even if I don’t get half of what comes out of your mouth.”
    Gwen said nothing, ducked her head and butted it up against Basil’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissed her scar again, and went back to his eggs.
    When the dishes were soaking in the sink and Mark was bouncing Gwennie on his knee, Evvie managed to talk them into one last cup of black, bitter coffee; nearly twenty-four hours without sleep had begun to tug at everyone’s eyelids and she had given up on tea having enough kick to keep them all on their feet. Basil tapped away on his TV-notepad-computer and when Mark asked what he was doing, he said something like, “Detailed mission report. Best to do it as it’s happening, then you don’t forget anything.”
    And before Evvie wanted it to end, it was over. The kettle was empty, the day had fully dawned, and Gwen and Basil were cooing goodbyes to Gwennie in her highchair, shaking the Piersons’ hands with grins and a soft, genial “so long” from Basil.
    “What, ‘so long’?” Mark repeated, startled. “That’s it? No advice? Not gonna tell me which stocks to play?”
    “Can’t go changing the timeline,” Basil said with a cheeky grin. “That’s the Temporal Prime Directive, innit?”
    “That’s ‘Star Trek,’” Mark crowed, triumphant. “I knew that one!”
    Gwen punched Basil’s arm again. Basil conceded and added: “I’ll see you in twenty-nine years, maybe? Come for a proper family dinner, yeah? Uh, pay you back for the Betamax.”
    Evvie felt panic, surprising and sudden. “That’s not… that’s not enough!” she said without thinking. “I want to know…you have to…”
    Gwen stopped, looked at her, expression a cross between amusement, puzzlement, and perhaps the slightest hint of anger. “What?”
    “Just tell me…tell me why ,” Evvie asked, a little desperate. “Why can’t you quit? Why don’t you just walk away? Haven’t you lost enough ?”
    Oh, that look of shock on Gwen’s face. Of course Evvie knew what she had lost. Evvie was a mother. She may have been the product of a time before aliens and