Rollback

"Well, you can’t be any more than thirty," she said.

"I’m older than that."

"Thirty-one? Thirty-two? Don, I don’t care about six or seven years. I’ve got an uncle who is ten years older than my aunt."

I can do ten years for breakfast, he thought. "Keep going."

"Thirty-three?" Her tone was getting nervous. "Thirty-four? Thirty—"

"Lenore," he said, closing his eyes for a moment. "I’m eighty-seven."

She made a small raspberry sound. "Jesus, Don, you—"

"I’m eighty-seven," he said, the words practically exploding from him. "I was born in 1960. You must have heard about the rejuvenation process they’ve got now. I underwent a rollback earlier this year. And this" — he indicated his face with a counter-clockwise motion of his hand — "is the result."

She scuttled sideways on the bed, like a crab on hot sands, increasing the distance between them. "My… God," she said. She was peering at him, studying him, clearly looking for some sign, one way or the other, of whether it was true. "But that procedure, it costs a fortune."

He nodded. "I, um, had a benefactor."

"I don’t believe you," Lenore said, but she sounded as though she were lying. "I- I mean, it can’t…"

"It’s true. I could prove it in a hundred different ways. Do you want to see some photo ID, the way I looked before?"

"No!" An expression of… of disgust, perhaps, had fleetingly passed over her face.

Of course she didn’t want to see the old man she’d just had inside her.

"I should have told you sooner, but—"

"You’re damn right you should have. Shit, Don!" But then, perhaps the thought occurring because she’d just uttered his name, a glimmer of hope appeared in her eyes, as if she’d realized that this might all be some elaborate put-on. "But, wait, you’re Sarah Halifax’s grandson! You told me that."

"No, I didn’t. You guessed that."

She pulled even farther away, and managed to cover her breasts with the sheet, the first hint of modesty he’d ever seen from her. "Who the hell are you?" she said. "Are you even related to Sarah Halifax?"

"Yesss," he said, protracting the word into a gentle hiss. "But" — he swallowed hard, trying to keep it all together — "but I’m not her grandson." He found himself unable to meet her eyes, and so he looked down at the rumpled bedspread between them. "I’m her husband."

"Fuck," said Lenore. "Shit."

"I am so sorry. Really, I am."

"Her husband?" she said again, as if perhaps she’d misheard the first time.

He nodded.

"I think you should leave."

The words tore into his heart, like bullets. "Please. I can—"

"What?" she demanded. "You can explain? There’s no fucking explanation for this."

"No," he said. "No, I can’t explain. And I can’t justify it. But, God, Lenore, I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone." His stomach was churning, and he felt disoriented. "But I want you to… to know, to understand."

"Understand what? That everything that has gone down between us has been a lie?"

"No!" he said. "No, no, God, no. This has been more… more real than anything in my life for—"

"For what?" she sneered. "For years? For decades?"

He let out a long, shuddering sigh. He couldn’t even protest that she was being unfair. The fact that she was even still talking to him was more, he knew, than he had a right to. Still, he tried to defend himself, although, as soon as the words were out, he realized how ill-advised they were. "Look," he said, "you’re the one who turned things physical."

"Because I thought you were somebody you aren’t. You lied to me."

He thought about protesting that he hadn’t, not technically, or at least not often.

"And, anyway," she continued, "who started things is so beside the point it’s not even in the same solar system. You’re an octogenarian, for God’s sake. You’re old enough to be my grandfather."

He’d expected those last few words, but they didn’t hurt any less for that. "Sarah underwent the same treatment," he said, blurting it out. "But it didn’t work for her.

She’s still physically eighty-seven, and I’m… this."

Lenore said nothing, but her mouth was slightly downturned and her eyebrows were drawn together.

"Cody McGavin paid for it," continued Don. "He wanted Sarah to be around when the next reply comes in from Sigma Draconis. I- I was just along for the ride, but…"

"But now you’re Sarah’s caregiver."

"Please," he said. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

"No, no, of course not. It all just sort of happened — a multi-billion-dollar medical procedure."

He shook his head. "I should have known you wouldn’t understand."

"If you want understanding, go to a support group. There must be one for people like you."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. They’re meeting right now, in Vienna. I can’t afford to go there. I am — I worked it out — I am four orders of magnitude poorer than the next poorest person who has undergone this process. For every single dollar I’ve got, they’ve each got ten thousand dollars. That’s not being in the same solar system, Lenore."