om is strong enough to walk for weeks after her trips. She remembers her parents, old loves, the smell of pineapple fields at noon. “Money can’t buy time, but it can buy time travel,” she says. “And it’s my money.”
The Travelers follow up with house visits. “They’re like Gandhi,” she says, even when people start coming back wrong, phantom limbs then whole bodies gone missing. The Travelers promise, smile, shake her hands. She travels on Tuesday to June, 1967, Savannah. She won’t say why. “Leave me. I’ll miss you,” she says, and the Travelers have a contract ready.
by Marcella Hammer