“Of course,” Grandfather said. “I need to speak to Maggie for a moment. Will you excuse us?”
Anna nodded and left us to look at the presidential china on display.
I waited for Grandfather to turn to me. Concern lined his blue eyes, which were so much like my own. His hair was white now, and he wore a mustache. He’d always been a gregarious sort of fellow with a big laugh and a heart of gold.
Now, as he studied me, he looked old and tired.
My concern mounted, and I took a step closer to him, putting my hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been so tired lately, and I easily lose my breath while walking up stairs or being active.”
“Are you having chest pains or back pains?”
He shook his head. “But my indigestion has been terrible lately, and my feet and ankles are swelling.”
All my medical knowledge rushed in, fighting to be heard. But even as I listened to his symptoms, I knew there was little I could offer him for treatment. If it were 2001, I would check his blood pressure, cholesterol, and run an echocardiogram because I suspected heart disease. But there was no medication available for hypertension or hypercholesterolemia in 1941. The best I, or anyone else, could suggest was a healthier lifestyle, but that only went so far if he had a genetic predisposition for high cholesterol. The most common suggestion for dealing with hypertension in 1941 was eating a rice-based diet. My 2001 knowledge knew that wasn’t necessary, that he needed to follow a heart-healthy diet of fresh fruits and vegetables, high fiber, little to no sugar or salt, and to eliminate alcohol. He should also stop smoking his pipe.
“What is it?” he asked me, and I realized I was doing a poor job of keeping the concern from my face. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
“I have a suspicion, but, Grandfather—” I swallowed, tryingnot to let my alarm color my voice. Knowing what he needed to do but not being able to tell him because it wasn’t yet common knowledge was heart-wrenching. How could that be right? “I believe you have hypertension, but no one in 1941 will be able to help you with medicine—and I cannot give you information that is not available to anyone else right now.” I hated that my hands were tied. “There are people researching it, and they are making great improvements, but there won’t be medication to treat it for almost a decade.”
He studied me for a moment but then slowly nodded his head. “I should have known not to ask you. It’s wrong of me to make you feel torn. I, of all people, should know not to tempt fate by changing history.”
“There have been some advancements regarding diet changes.” I told him about the rice diet and reducing the fatty food he liked so much, which would help him lose weight. It would be better than doing nothing at all.
Grandfather listened intently, nodding.
“I want you to go see your regular physician,” I told him. “He will be able to give you more information. And perhaps I’m wrong.”
“You’re brilliant, Maggie. I’m sure you’re right.”
“I hope I’m not.” But everything I knew about hypertension told me I was.
“Anna?” Grandfather called. “Are you ready to meet the President?”
Anna came out of the China Room, and when I saw the look on her face, I knew she had been eavesdropping on our conversation. She had the acute grief in her eyes that had plagued her after Richard died. If she lost Grandfather right now, I wasn’t sure how she would survive.
What would happen if I chose not to stay in 1941? She was still fragile in so many ways. The thought of forcing her to grieve my loss scared me more than almost anything else.
Wrapping my arm around Anna’s elbow, I followed Grandfather up to the State Floor and into the Yellow Oval Room to meet the President. Concerns for Grandfather’s physical health and Anna’s mental health lingered long into the evening.
6
APRIL 22, 2001
WASHINGTON, DC
I lay in bed for a long time on Saturday morning, staring out my window at the trees along P Street. Birds sang their sweet trills, and the bright blue sky promised a warm and pleasant afternoon of sightseeing with Seth.
It had been several days since I’d been at the White House with Grandfather and Anna. Though I had three days to everyone else’s one, it still passed by far too fast, especially here in 2001. I often woke up to an alarm clock before the sun rose and ran from one thing to the next until I crashed into bed at night. I rarely took the time to wake up at my leisure and just lie in bed and think.
I turned on my side and pulled the thick comforter up to my ear as I let out a long sigh.
“Knock, knock,” Delilah said a moment before she opened my bedroom door, two cups of coffee in her hands. “It’s so unlike you to wake up after me that I had to come see if you were still alive.”
I made a face at her and sat up to stretch, happily acceptingthe cup of coffee she handed me. It was warm in my hands and smelled like energy. Thankfully, no matter what path I inhabited, coffee was a constant source of joy.
Delilah wore a pair of checkered pajama pants and a faded Prince t-shirt. She sat on the padded window seat and tucked her bare feet up under her. “So,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, “are you nervous?”
