"Did you like the watch?" Jen asks. "I helped Owen pick it out."
"It's really nice," Liz says, scratching Jen between the ears.
"He wasn't sure whether to get silver or gold, but I told him gold. Gold's a great color, don't you think?" asks Jen.
"The best," Liz agrees. "Say, Jen, aren't dogs supposed to be color-blind?"
"No. Who ever said that?"
"It's something they say about dogs on Earth."
"Those Earth people are funny that way," Jen says, shaking her head. "How do they know if we're color-blind if they never even ask us? I mean, they can't even speak the language."
"Good point," Liz says.
"Back on Earth, I once saw this television report that said dogs had no emotions. Can you believe that?" Jen cocks her head. "Say, Liz, I wanted to thank you for letting me stay with you all that time."
"It was no trouble."
"And I'm sorry for that time" Jen lowers her voice "I peed in your bed."
"It's forgotten," Liz reassures Jen.
"Oh good! I couldn't bear it if you were mad at me."
Liz shakes her head. "I wasn't mad at you."
"Owen's much better now," the dog says. "He's learning to speak Canine and everything."
"You aren't mad at him, even a little?" Liz asks.
"Maybe a tiny bit at first, but not anymore. I know he's a good person. And he said he was sorry.
And I love him. And when you love a person, you have to forgive him sometimes. And that's what I think."
Liz nods. "That's a good philosophy," Liz says.
"Would you mind rubbing my belly?" Jen asks, flipping happily onto her back.
Later that night, Liz stares at the gold watch. Ah well, Liz thinks to herself. The watch isn't exactly like the old one, or anything like it, for that matter. But the intention is good. Liz shakes her wrist, causing the links to make a pleasing bell-like tinkle. She puts her wrist to her ear and enjoys the tick of the second hand. Five ticks later, Liz resolves to forgive the watch for its imperfections.
She kisses its face with tenderness. Really, what a marvelous gift, she thinks.
Before long, Liz forgives Owen, too. Yes, he is flawed, but he is also an excellent driving teacher.
If you are going to forgive a person, Liz decides, it is best to do it sooner rather than later. Later, Liz knows from experience, could be sooner than you thought.
************************************
Part III: Antique Lands
Time Passes
There will be other lives.
There will be other lives for nervous boys with sweaty palms, for bittersweet rumblings in the backseats of cars, for caps and gowns in royal blue and crimson, for mothers clasping pretty pearl necklaces around daughters' unlined necks, for your full name read aloud in an auditorium, for brand-new suitcases transporting you to strange new people in strange new lands.
And there will be other lives for unpaid debts, for one-night stands, for Prague and for Paris, for painful shoes with pointy toes, for indecisions and revisions.
And there will be other lives for fathers walking daughters down aisles.
And there will be other lives for sweet babies with skin like milk.
And there will be other lives for a man you don't recognize, for a face in a mirror that is no longer yours, for the funerals of intimates, for shrinking, for teeth that fall out, for hair on your chin, for forgetting everything. Everything.
Oh, there are so many lives. How we wish we could live them concurrently instead of one by one by one. We could select the best pieces of each, stringing them together like a strand of pearls.
But that's not how it works. A human's life is a beautiful mess.
In the year Liz will turn thirteen again, she whispers in Betty's ear, "Happiness is a choice."
"So, what's your choice?" Betty asks.
Liz closes her eyes, and in a split second she chooses.
Five years pass.
When one is happy, time passes quickly. Liz feels as if one evening she went to bed fourteen and the next morning she woke up nine.
Two Weddings
Someone from Earth's been trying to Contact you," Owen announces one evening after work.
Now the head of the Bureau of Supernatural Crime and Contact, he is usually one of the first people on Elsewhere to know about these matters.
"What?" Liz barely looks up from her book. Recently, she has taken to rereading her favorite books from when she first learned to read on Earth.
"What are you reading?" Owen asks.
"Charlotte's Web" Liz says. "It's really sad. One of the main characters just died."
"You ought to read the book from end to beginning," Owen jokes. "That way, no one dies, and it's always a happy ending."
"That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Liz rolls her eyes and returns to her reading.
"Aren't you at all interested in who's trying to Contact you?" Owen asks. From his coat pocket, he removes a green recorked wine bottle with a sticky palimpsest where the label had once been.
Inside the bottle is a rolled-up ecru envelope. (The envelope is really more pleated than rolled, because of the thickness of the paper.) "It washed up on the wharf today," Owen says, handing the bottle to Liz. "The boys over in Earth Artifacts had to uncork it to see who it was for, but the contents of the envelope haven't been touched. When we get an MIB, we try as much as possible to preserve the person's privacy."
"What's an MIB?" Liz asks, setting her book aside to examine the bottle.
"Message in a bottle," Owen answers. "It's one of the few ways to get mail from Earth'to Elsewhere. No one knows exactly why it works, but it does."
"I've never gotten one before," Liz says.
"They're not as common as they used to be."
"Why's that?" Liz asks.
"People on Earth don't write letters so much anymore. Messages in bottles probably don't occur to them. And it's not always a sure thing."
Liz uncorks the bottle. She removes the thick envelope, which is remarkably well preserved considering its watery voyage. On the front is an address in elegant calligraphy done with a rich, black-green ink:
"Very thorough," Owen says, "but they never write Elsewhere."
"No one on Earth calls it that," Liz reminds him. She turns the envelope over. The return address is in the same calligraphy:
"That's Zooey's address," Liz says as she lifts the flap. Inside, she finds a three-paneled ecru wedding invitation and a long handwritten note. Liz slips the note into her pocket.
" 'You are invited to the wedding of Zooey Anne Brandon and Paul Scott Spencer,' " Liz reads aloud. "My best friend's getting married?"
"You mean your best friend before you met me, right?" Owen teases her.
Liz ignores him. "The wedding's the first weekend in June. That's in less than two weeks." Liz tosses the invitation aside. "She certainly took her time inviting me," Liz huffs.
"You should probably forgive her. It's pretty hard to send things here, you know? She probably sent this months ago." Owen picks up the invitation. "Good-quality paper stock."