Jonathan had never gotten over the loss of his father. As a teenager he blamed the abandonment for his mother’s early death, and developed an absolute hatred of space travel and all things associated with it. When he married, he vowed to his bride that he would never go into space, because he would hate himself if he ever became like his father. “God, no,” he had said. “Don’t let me be like him.”

Looking back, it seemed to Edith—and to Jonathan, who in a profound sense was talking to himself through her—that the things we vow never to become are the very fates to which we doom ourselves. Edith imagined that Jonathan probably believed he had kept his promise. He had stayed away from space, yes, and gone into the sea instead; but the history was the same. The only reason he was alive today was that he had left a wife and son for a career on the bed of the Atlantic. Edith was certain that if the Devil himself offered Jonathan a chance to explore the Titanic, he would have pricked his finger and signed the contract without even stopping to read the small print. She loved her son, loved him so much that she would have died for him; but she detested the choices he had made.

“Grow up, Johnny. You’re a big boy now.”

“Are you blind? Can’t you see that I have grown up?”

“I see very well. You are the one who does not see. Which is why you need me to get around yourself.”

“But look around you. See this world I’ve built!

It’s perfect in every detail.”

“Perfect, maybe. But all a figment from the past.”

“No. If you think and speak and argue with me, then you’re as real as I am.”

“How can you be certain?” How can you prove either of us is real? Edith almost said. Jonathan heard her distantly, but ignored the question. “What year is it?” she asked.

“Nineteen twelve.”

Edith took Jonathan’s hand in hers, and this time they remained warm and alive to each other. “What can that mean to you, when you stand here knowing all about Alvin and computer programs?”

Jonathan considered this, and tears began to sting his eyes. “Why can’t you just let me stay here? I don’t want to see the future.”

“You are the future!” Edith said, knowing what must come next and regretting that if she hoped to become Jonathan’s savior, she must also become his tormentor. “Do you not understand? You are alive. I am dead. The Titanic is dead! Now let it go.”

“And go back to that dead world?”

“Yes. You’re afraid?” Edith’s eyes were filled with sorrow. “Who wouldn’t be afraid? You’re running the gamut of escapism, and I don’t think you can escape anymore. You’re going to have to face up to what’s happening around you and survive.”

As if on cue, Hollis’s voice pierced Jonathan’s bonephone. “Reality check, Wayville. Time to put your toys away and come topside. We’re about to make landfall.”