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Zach tries again. “I can do office work. I can write press releases, I know Excel, I’m good on social media, and I can build websites. I can make coffee. I can beat people up.”

“Now you’re talking,” Gomez says. “I think we have a suitable position for you.”

Charisse smiles and says, “You’re in.”

“Whew,” Zach says. “I mean, thank you.” Charisse offers her hand across the table and Zach shakes it, gently, then shakes with Gomez. Zach glances at the closed folder with his name on it, now resting on the pile of folders at Charisse’s elbow, and catches my eye. I frown slightly: no, you don’t want to see that. He gives me a one-sided grin, and I wonder if he’ll try to read it after I’m gone.

I begin to feel a little precarious: I can feel my present pulling at me. “Um, I’m sorry to change the subject, but where is Nadia at the moment? Do any of you know? I think we should keep an eye on her?”

Gomez and Charisse both turn to Zach. He says, “I drove her to a house in Miller Beach—that was where she wanted to go. It was near the beach, on Forest Avenue, a little white house that was set pretty far back from the road. We pulled into the driveway and at first I wasn’t sure if anyone was there, but Nadia texted someone and then a man came out of the house. Nadia got out of the car and they hugged each other. They both thanked me, Nadia said goodbye and I left. That’s it.”

(I knew this already. Nadia and I used to go to her family’s beach house pretty often, sometimes with Caralora and Nick, sometimes by ourselves. I was hoping Gomez and Charisse could tell me where Nadia went next, where she is now. I can see that it hasn’t occurred to them that Nadia won’t return. We’ve known her all her life and can’t imagine that she might have slipped from our comfortable, easy love into the unknown where we can’t follow. I dream about Nadia a lot. Sometimes I dream that she’s dead.)

Gomez says, “That’s Nadia’s father, David Kendrick. The house is their vacation home.” Charisse asks me, “Why didn’t David tell you Nadia was with him?”

“Nadia and Nick left Miller Beach together and we haven’t seen them since. The most David’s been willing to tell me is that Nadia is alive,” I reply. “Here’s why I’m bringing this up now. I need you all to do some detective work; it’s important to keep track of Nadia, or at least try. She might be in Detroit. I don’t know why it’s important, but I have been tasked with this by Isadora, who was very insistent about it.”

“Isadora? Huh,” Gomez says. “That’s odd.” Zach looks puzzled and I explain, “Isadora and Nadia were childhood friends.” Charisse looks like she’s about to say something and Gomez hastily interrupts: “Are you telling me that you don’t know where Nadia is? Or Nick? In 2029?”

“No. We’ll be looking for Nadia and Nick for a long time—years. Future selves have passed back bits of information, the way I’m doing for you now, but Nadia was told to disappear and she did it so brilliantly that we can’t find them. I wonder if they have other reasons now for not wanting to resurface?” In my mind’s eye I see Isadora Hardwick, sitting in a booth in an empty virtual museum cafeteria, fixing me with her goofy, too-intense stare, demanding that I locate Nadia, giving me no better reasons than I miss her and I want to ask her some questions about architecture.

“So, what can you tell us?” Gomez asks. He seems tired and a little impatient. I’m adding to his long to-do list.

“My present self is trying to get in touch with David, and he isn’t responding. Tomorrow I’ll go to his office, and find it ransacked.”

“What? Why?” I don’t think Zach meant to ask this out loud.

“I don’t know. David’s been working on time travel longer than any other scientist that I know of; he was my dad’s doctor and mine, too, so he had two eager subjects. David has some big government grants, he’s working on stuff I don’t know much about. I can think of a few reasons why someone might want to break in. Anyway, it’s not David I’m worried about.”

“They were probably just harassing him,” Gomez says. “But still, not a good sign.”

“It’s funny,” says Charisse, “Nadia was always such a girlie girl. Watching her grow up, I never figured her for a fugitive. She’s a great hacker, though. Do you remember when Rosa had all those parking tickets and Nadia went into the City’s system and marked them all paid?”

“That was Nadia?” Gomez says. “I got into a lot of trouble over that.”

“We used to play spies all the time,” I tell her. “We used to spy on you and Mama.”

“Did you now,” Gomez begins as Charisse says, “Yeah, we used to catch you, remember? You were too giggly to be good spies.” Charisse lowers her voice. “Though I’m surprised the police figured out it was her in Hyde Park—she was masked. We all were.”

Zach says, “It was risky for Nadia to be there at all. What if Junior and his people had seen her?”

Charisse says, “She had a whole story worked out, that she was infiltrating us.”

“She’s impressive,” Gomez says, “but now she and Nick are on the run. I hope they aren’t going to go all Bonnie and Clyde on us.”

“No, you won’t see any sign of them. No headlines.” I feel dizzy. My head is pounding and I’m having trouble seeing. “They’ll be in Detroit sooner or later, but I don’t know when. Maybe on one of those urban farms?”

“Alba, there are hundreds of those in Detroit,” Zach says. “Any hints?”

“Flowers,” I tell him. “Something about flowers.” I stand up, step awkwardly away from the table, hold my hands out to cushion my fall; the room tilts and everything is metallic greeny-purple. Zach is staring at me: he looks horrified. Charisse demands, “Alba, what about 2029, are we all still alive?” I say “Yes” as clearly as I can, and vanish. I don’t know if she heard me, but even if she did, nothing I can say will reassure Charisse; she would only believe me if I told her something terrible.

Zach: Alba stands up abruptly and lurches backward. I am too surprised to move, but Gomez jumps up to steady her and Charisse throws a question at Alba like a lasso, as though she expects it to hold her long enough to give an answer. Alba’s lips move, she jerks her head and arms back as though her legs have given way and just like that she’s gone. Her clothing collapses into a pile on the linoleum. I can hear my heart pounding.

“What did she say?” Gomez asks Charisse.

“I’m not sure.” Charisse seems dejected. “Oh, well. She hates to be asked, but I just couldn’t help it.” She gets up, stoops to gather Alba’s clothing, begins to fold it into a pile on the table.

“She wouldn’t have given you bad news, Charisse.” Gomez notices me. “Hey, Zach, you look like you could use a drink.”