Henry vanished and was gone two years. I no longer worried – he’d turn up full of tales with that impish grin.
“It’s alright for you,” I’d complained, “you disappear and you come back. For me, it’s just waiting.”
Henry never waited for anything and didn’t understand. He re-appeared in summer ‘49, pockets stuffed with Tudor trinkets.
“Damn thing overshot again,” he said.
“One day you’ll arrive and I won’t be here.”
“Nah, Izzy, you’d never leave me.”
“One day I’ll be dead. Please, buy a modern model that returns you where you started.”
“Time travel should be an adventure. Old machines have character.”
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