Einstein's Secret Read online

  The sun was setting and the forest was swathed in amber light. That soothing glow helped me focus on the next step—getting back into Weldon’s estate and searching that study—rather than blame others for my own failure.

  Our footsteps crunched the underbrush, and neither of us spoke. Soon I found myself thinking about the bigger picture, not just the mission at hand. The building blocks of history. The facts. The kind of facts that were rock solid, documented, and confirmed. The kind of facts that never changed. Only the interpretations of those facts changed.

  But if all facts changed, then there was no history.

  There had to be some facts that didn’t change and never changed. And those facts kept the whole shebang together.

  Einstein is the key. His secret is the key.

  “Eddie, do you have any ideas about how to get back into that house and into the study?”

  “We have to scout the place first.”

  “Like common criminals.”

  “Common criminals would just break in again. Scouting the place is a little more sophisticated. I say we wait until tomorrow so we can scout the place in daylight. And there’s always the chance that they’ll leave during the day.”

  Waiting until tomorrow seemed like an eternity, but right now, trudging through the forest of 1950s Maryland, I didn’t have an alternative. At least, not yet.

  *

  We made it to the road as dusk descended. The amber light had faded and stars were starting to dot the sky. Night hadn’t fallen yet, but without the light pollution that the next sixty years would bring, the stars were already way brighter than any I’d ever seen.

  With more than ten hours to kill before daylight, it was time to find a place to regroup. Headlights were approaching from a distance, and I was suddenly conscious of what we were wearing. Blue jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers.

  “Let’s stick to the woods instead of the road. I don’t think we came dressed right.”

  “We’ll pass. Grown men didn’t usually wear jeans and T-shirts, but even in the fifties some people refused to grow up.”

  “Sounds like a rationalization.”

  He laughed. “It is. If we can’t get back right away, we’ll need new threads.”

  The headlights swooped past us without slowing down. It was another one of those oversized sedans, but this time Eddie didn’t call out the model.

  A few more cars passed, and Eddie asked, “What’s down this road?”

  “In sixty years, not much. So I’m guessing not much now.”

  But past the treetops, about a half-mile up head, I saw a bluish light flickering above the forest.

  “What do you think that is?” Eddie said.

  My first thought was based on conjecture. It was an overpowering floodlight from one of the isolated houses out this way. My second thought was based on fact. It was that shuttered drive-in that I’d seen on this road.

  “It’s a drive-in,” I said, and it’s no longer shuttered.

  Eddie upped his pace. “Sounds like a perfect place to regroup. I wonder what’s playing.”

  A wave of cars passed us, and as we moved closer to the drive-in, I saw much more traffic from the other direction. People were pouring in from town.

  It wasn’t much longer before huge, orange neon letters announced that we’d arrived at the Oriole Drive-In. If I’d been with the original Eddie, he would’ve made the same connection I did, to a certain photo and a certain man’s tie. More synchronicity.

  The title of the night’s feature was right below the neon, This Island Earth. “Wow,” Eddie said. “You picked a great night to go to the movies.”

  “We’re not going to the movies.”

  “I’m going.”

  “We can’t risk it. We have to lay low.”

  “It’s not going to be the end of the world if we see a movie. I’m not going to pass up the chance to see This Island Earth with the audience it was intended for. In case you didn’t know, it was a big- budget extravaganza that made history, cinematically speaking, and you’re a history professor.”

  It was clear that Eddie wanted to soak up the fifties.

  “We can’t risk changing history even more. What if we change it so much that we can’t go back?”

  “The changes are already happening. Remember the trails? That’s how you convinced me to help you. Watching a movie isn’t going to make things worse.”

  Eddie walked toward the drive-in.

  I hesitated, then caught up with him.

  We stepped up to the chain-link fence that separated the woods from the huge lot. The lot was a whirlwind of activity. Cars were maneuvering into spaces, groups of teens were hurrying to and from the concession stand, and families were setting up lawn chairs and picnics in front of their cars. An animated short was unfurling onscreen above the commotion.

  “You’re not planning on lifting some collectables from in there and bringing them back,” I said.

  “Are you a time cop now?”

  “Just sayin’. Your lucrative business is based on fifties memorabilia, and you’ve hit the jackpot.”

  “How do you know about my busin—Oh. I told you in the future.”

  “Eddie’s Emporium.”

  “Well, I must’ve been a real talkative fellow.” He looked back to the screen. “Check that out.”

  On the massive screen, an animated polar bear was singing “Rock-a-bye Baby” to a ferocious guard dog. The cartoon was hand drawn, the traditional way, with no CGI. It was sumptuous, rich and warm.

  “That’s The Legend of Rockabye Point,” Eddie said, “nominated for an Academy Award.”

  “Hey, you gotta pay!” someone shouted from the other side of the fence.

  I looked down and saw a kid walking toward us. He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, eyes that seemed strangely familiar.

  “You can buy walk-in tickets,” he said when he reached us. “This one’s worth it.”

  Not only did the kid’s eyes look familiar—so did the kid. I moved closer to the fence and read the shiny, plastic nametag pinned to his shirt.

  Richie Morgan.

  My pulse quickened and my legs went wobbly.

  How can this be happening? I was face to face with my dad.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How much is a ticket, little man?” Eddie said.

  “Twenty-five cents for walk-ups.”

  I forced myself to remain steady. What the hell was this about? I didn’t understand time travel, but at least running into Einstein made some kind of sense. This didn’t. Why was my dad here?

  Eddie reached into his pocket, checking for change. “I think we can afford it. We’ll come around front.”

  Riche started to walk away. “Enjoy the show!”

  “Richie,” I said.

  “Yeah?” He turned back.

  I had to talk to him. If running into Einstein made some kind of sense, then running into my father must’ve, too. Even if didn’t know why.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” I said.

  He approached us again. “What is it?”

  I didn’t know, yet.

  Eddie looked at me, curious, as if he wanted to know, too.

  “Harold Weldon,” I said.

  Richie moved closer. “What do you want to know about him? My dad used to work for him.”

  Maybe this was going to come together after all. “We’re writing a story about Mr. Weldon for the Pittsburgh Gazette,” I said. “He won’t talk to reporters, so it’s hard to get any information about him.”

  “You’re reporters?” Richie looked us over, as if he were just noticing that our sneakers weren’t quite right and our haircuts didn’t quite fit in. “You don’t look like reporters.”

  Not a good start. “We pretended to be Weldon’s cousins from California,” I said, hoping that would explain our odd style choices. “But he still wouldn’t talk to us.”

  Eddie shot me another strange look, and I wanted to tell him that it was
his turn to be patient, that this was my dad, and to let me play this out.

  “You said your dad used to work for Weldon?” I was hoping to get Richie back on topic.

  “Yeah. But not anymore.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “He painted some of the rooms.”

  I remembered the tarps in the dining room. “Isn’t the place still being painted?”

  “Yeah, but…” Richie looked down, avoiding my eyes. He was ashamed of something. His dad—my grandfather—must’ve been fired.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I hear that Weldon isn’t the easiest guy to work for.”

  Richie looked up at me. “It wasn’t fair. That’s all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It wasn’t his fault that he heard them all talking about a treasure.”

  “That’s why he was fired?”

  Richie nodded.

  “What kind of treasure?” Eddie said.

  Richie suddenly took a defensive stance, squinting his eyes and tightening his jaw. He must’ve thought Eddie doubted him.

  “My mom didn’t believe my dad, either,” he said, anger in his voice. “She said it was another one of his crazy stories. But she’s wrong, you know. My dad isn’t crazy.”

  With contrition on his face, Eddie glanced at me. This time he’d screwed up.

  “Your dad is right, Richie,” I said. “I know that for a fact.”

  Richie’s jaw slackened. The possibility of finding an ally had turned his anger into hope.

  “Do you know what the treasure is?” he said. “‘Cause I don’t.”

  It was the portal. “No, but I know that it really exists.”

  Richie stared at me for a long time, as if he were deciding whether he could trust me or not.

  Finally, he blurted out, “And you won’t believe this part.”

  “Try me.”

  “My dad saw Albert Einstein at Mr. Weldon’s house.”

  “I believe you. That’s why we’re here.”

  A smile took over his face. “So it’s true? My dad was right?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow!” Richie was now giddy with excitement. “I told Mark and Danny and they didn’t believe me. They’re like my mom. They never believe anything my dad says.”

  My heart went out to him. The young boy had his own battles to fight. I knew that my grandfather, his dad, probably suffered from mental illness. I remembered my mom telling me that.

  Eddie looked at me, as if to say, where are you going with this?

  “Einstein’s here because of the treasure,” Richie said. “Right? That’s what my dad says.”

  In this case, mental illness or not, Richie’s dad was right. One hundred percent on the money.

  “That’s what we came to find out,” I said.

  “You want some help?”

  Yes, I thought, but kept my mouth shut. Wasn’t recruiting my father into this the most insane risk of all?

  “Yes,” Eddie said. “We want your help.”

  Richie looked at me, instead of Eddie. “Will you promise to write the truth in the paper if I help?”

  The kid wanted a quid pro quo, and I imagined him waiting for our article to come out, then rushing to get copies of the paper when it did. He’d show the article to his mom and his friends, proving once and for all that his dad wasn’t crazy.

  But there’d be no article.

  “It’s a deal,” Eddie said.

  Just then the crowd clapped and all three of us looked up to see the credits rolling on the animated short.

  “I love this job,” Richie said. The screen’s flickering light reflected in his blue eyes, and I recognized the joy there. It was the same joy that I’d seen in that movie theater, when he was the grown-up and I was the kid, and we’d both laughed and laughed and laughed.

  I now understood the reason for my dad’s love of films. He’d found solace and stability at the movies. His family had moved around a lot, but the movies must’ve always been there for him. He’d taken me to the movies so I could experience that same comfort and joy.

  “I gotta get some things done before the movie starts,” he said. “I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at the storage shed next to the concession stand.”

  He took off, and Eddie and I headed toward the drive-in entrance.

  “You just recruited my dad.”

  “What?” Eddie stopped and, for the first time—including both versions of Eddie—his face went pale. “It can’t be. You just think it’s your dad because of some freaky residual effect of time travel.”

  “It’s him.”

  “How is it possible that you didn’t know your dad lived in Cumberland? It doesn’t add up.”

  I’d been thinking about that, and it did add up. “My dad’s family lived in Pennsylvania for a while, and Cumberland is less than ten miles from the Maryland/Pennsylvania border. I don’t know exactly where he lives, but I’m positive that it’s nearby, just across that border.”

  Running into my dad couldn’t have been just a coincidence. It had something to do with time travel, and I thought about explaining all the other coincidences to Eddie, but realized that was unnecessary. This one was big enough to make the point. But what exactly was the point? I hadn’t figured that out, and that worried me greatly.

  “I’m not so sure involving my dad is the best plan,” I said.

  “Right now it’s the only plan. Let’s see what he has to say.”

  “We’re sinking deeper into the swamp.”

  “Then let’s at least enjoy tonight’s feature presentation before we go completely under.”

  *

  As we walked alongside the line of cars waiting to get in to the drive-in, I couldn’t help but think about my dad, not as the kid I’d just seen, but as the adult that I had never known.

  Right after he’d died, I thought he wasn’t really dead. I thought he’d come back. And not as a zombie, but exactly the way he was. At four, I didn’t know what a zombie was, and I didn’t know what death was. I expected my dad to walk back into our house any day.

  Around five or six, I started to understand that he wasn’t coming back. I felt this overwhelming sense of loss. Like a piece of me was missing and that piece contained happiness. Then I realized: if I didn’t think about him, that sense of loss disappeared. So I started building a fortress around myself to keep any thoughts of him away. That fortress was completed in fourth grade.

  After that, I stayed inside my fortress and didn’t dig into my father’s story. Sure, my mom talked about him, but it made her sad, too, so she didn’t talk about him too often. She’s the one who’d told me about his home life as a kid, and though she never said it directly, it was clear that his dad, my grandfather, wasn’t a well man.

  She told me that his dad had fought in World War II, but hadn’t been one of those GIs who’d returned home and adjusted to civilian life. He hadn’t fulfilled his destiny as a member of the Greatest Generation. His story was more like the stories we hear about nowadays. He was a war vet who had a hard time jumping back into civilian life. He couldn’t hold down a job, and probably suffered from undiagnosed PTSD.

  But now, somehow, his troubled life was strangely connected to Einstein’s secret. One of the jobs that he couldn’t hold down was painting Weldon’s mansion. So it wasn’t enough that history now recorded that my dad worked at a drive-in in Cumberland, Maryland. History now also recorded that his dad had crossed paths with Einstein himself.

  Synchronicity was out in full force, and that thought triggered a theory. What if synchronicity was a real “force”? What if it wasn’t just strong coincidences? Was if synchronicity was a powerful energy, an energy that changed facts? What if it had changed facts about my family?

  Maybe that’s what synchronicity was. History changing itself and making connections where none existed before.

  But why would it do that?

  I pictured a powerful vortex sucking me deeper into the world of Ein
stein’s secret, and rearranging facts as it spun its own new history.

  *

  We approached the drive-in’s entrance, where we had to walk much closer to the waiting cars. I feared we were pressing our luck. Surely someone would notice we were out of place and point an accusing finger out the window, shouting, “Get them!”

  But I ended up staring at the carloads of teens and families far more than they stared at us. As Eddie had mentioned, we were protected by the innocence of this era. Outsiders weren’t embraced during this decade, but neither were they feared. Everyone was far more interested in getting inside the drive-in, finding a parking space, and loading up on concessions.

  We were three cars away from the ticket window when I realized that instead of running through abstract, complicated theories of history, I should’ve been thinking about simple reality.

  “They’re not going to accept our money,” I said.

  “Not all of it, but we lucked out on the price of admission. The face of the quarter hasn’t changed much, and I’ve got two of them.” Eddie waited for the car in front of us to pay. “But don’t plan on any popcorn.”

  We stepped up to the ticket window. Eddie handed his two quarters over to the cashier and received two walk-up tickets in return.

  Inside, we didn’t see the storage shed, but easily spotted the bustling concession stand. We headed that way, passing an endless stream of happy kids carrying burgers, hot dogs, popcorn, and ice cream. They paid no attention to us. When we got closer to the concession stand, I noticed a large patch of open ground where people sat in folding chairs.

  “That’s the walk-up section,” Eddie said. “Fifties nostalgia always leaves that part out. Not everyone drove cars to the drive-in.”

  “We’re not staying for the movie. We talk to my dad, then leave.” We were getting way too involved with the past without knowing what we were doing or how the portal worked.

  “There’s the storage shed,” Eddie responded, rather than fight me about staying.

  The storage shed was over to the side of the concession stand, at the back, away from the hustle and bustle. Just as we got there, the movie screen went dark and the din of excited voices hushed. A few seconds later, the film started.