“Children!” Heather snapped. “Do not put holes in the fabric of time!”
IT ISN’T A PROBLEM The landlord said in leaden tones.
She gave him a dark look.
He coughed and ran a hand through his curly ginger hair. “Sorry.”
“You need to get a new hobby. Imitating Terry Pratchett’s Death character doesn’t suit you.” Heather reached down to scoop up her youngest. “Look, the roaches, when will you have that resolved?”
“Next week at the latest,” he answered promptly.
She’d heard that one before. “Who’s latest? Yours or ours?”
Something in her look hinted that she wasn’t going to play games, or maybe he finally decided to grow up. “Yours. Definitely yours.”
“Good.” The house wasn’t what she’d expected, but it worked. After the funeral she needed somewhere to go. Some place away from the city and well meaning friends who asked inconvenient questions. Away from her husbands co-workers who dropped by to say hi, and then dropped hints about beautiful women and being alone.
On the Internet site the house had looked like a good deal, big yard, a commute that wasn’t to far, scenic views. Although she really shouldn’t have thought a view of 1795 was a typo come to think of it.
Elsa reached her hand through the window trying to grab the coattail of George III.
“No, Elsa, do not play with time.” She looked around for her dead husband. “Justin?”
He floated down through the ceiling. “Yes, dear?”
“Who’s cooking dinner tonight?”
“I can.” His kiss on her cheek was a cold breeze. Elsa hopped into his arms. “I fixed the upstairs windows, we shouldn’t have any more Templar knights falling in.”
Heather blushed. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t walk in on me doing yoga. I was in a twisting pose and I think he thought I was dead.”
“And a ghostly husband probably didn’t fix matters.” He paused, staring behind her. “You better go find your son.”
“My son?” Heather gave him the LOOK.
“Your son is presently in 2112.”
“Oh mercy! Not again. Remind me to call the landlord tomorrow. He advertised a timeless classic, not a time machine!”
That night, washing electric colors out of her son’s hair, Heather had an idea.
She climbed into bed next Justin. “Sweetie, you know how I said I wanted to go back to work?”
Justin closed the universe he was currently building and nodded. “Yes?”
“Well, maybe we could open a bed and breakfast…”