Time and Again

over, checking and adjusting until he had Libby in frame. "Got it." Pleased with himself, he jogged over to sit beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Smile."
    She already was.
    He used the staff of the hoe to press the button, grinning when he heard the shutter click. The print slid out.
    "Very inventive, Hornblower."
    "Don't move."
    He retrieved the first print, settled back beside her and pressed again.
    "One for you, one for the box." He set both prints aside. "And one for me." He tipped her face up to his with his finger and kissed her.
    "You forgot to take the picture," she murmured many moments later.
    "Oh, yeah." His lips curved against hers as he poked with the hoe.
    She took the first print in her hand and studied it. They looked happy, she thought. Happy, ordinary people. It meant a great deal to her now, and would mean even more to her later. She continued to hold it as she rose. "We'd better go bury the capsule."
    They strapped it on the back of the cycle so that Libby was sandwiched between it and Cal's back.
    When they reached the stream, he slipped off and frowned at the shovel she handed him.
    "This tool is very primitive. Are you sure there's no easier way?"
    "Not in this century, Hornblower." She pointed down. "Dig."
    "You can have the first turn."
    "That's all right." She sat on the ground and tucked up her legs. "I wouldn't want to deprive you."
    She watched him put his back into it. What would he use, she wondered, to dig it up again? How would he feel when he opened it? He would be thinking of her, she knew that. And he would miss her. She hoped he would sit in this same spot and read the letter she had tucked into the box. She'd made certain he hadn't seen her put it in.
    It was only a page, but she'd put her heart on it.
    She cupped her chin in her hand, listened to the water's music and remembered every word.
    Cal. When you read this, you'll be home. I want you to know how happy I am for you. I can't claim to understand what it was like for you to find yourself here, away from everything familiar, separated from your family and friends. But I wanted you to know that in my heart I wanted you to be where you belonged.
    I don't know if I can make you understand what the time I've had with you has meant to me. I love you so much, Caleb. It overwhelms me. There won't be a day that goes by that I won't think of you. But I won't be unhappy. Please don't think of me, or remember me that way. What you gave to me in these few days is more than I ever imagined, all I ever needed. Whenever I look at the sky, I'll picture you.
    I'll still study the past to try to understand why man is what he is. Now, having known you, I'll always have hope for what he can become.
    Be happy. I want to know you are. Don't forget me. I wanted to put a sprig of rosemary in the capsule, but I was afraid it would only turn to dust. Find some, and think of me. "Pray, love, remember."
    Libby.
    "Libby?" Cal leaned against the shovel, watching her.
    "Yes?"
    "Where were you?"
    "Oh, not very far away." Glancing down, she lifted a brow. "Well, I knew a big strong man like you could dig a hole."
    "I think I have a blister."
    "Aw." She rose to kiss the tender skin between his thumb and forefinger. "Let's put it in. Then you can watch while I cover it up."
    "Good idea." The moment the box was in, he handed her the shovel. Libby eyed it, then the pile of dirt that had to be replaced.
    "Four women presidents?"
    He stretched his tired back. "Might have been five."
    With a nod, Libby began to shovel. "Cal?"
    "Hmm?" He was giving serious consideration to a nice, lazy nap.
    "The questions I asked before, those were the big ones, the sweeping ones. I wondered if I could ask you something more personal."
    "Probably."
    "Would you tell me about your family?"
    "What would you like to know?"
    "Who they are, what they're like." She tossed dirt into the hole in a steady rhythm that Cal enjoyed. "I'd like to imagine I knew them a little."
    "My father's a research and development technician. Lab work, all indoors and confining. He's very dedicated, dependable. At home he likes to garden, plants flowers from seed and works them all by hand."
    As he drew in the scent of the freshly turned earth that Libby worked, Cal could almost see his father cultivating his garden.
    "Sometimes he paints. Really, really bad landscapes and still lifes. He even knows they're bad, but he claims art doesn't have to be good to be art. He's always threatening