Page 24 of Across Time

She shakes her head. “It was a good memory and I’m glad to have it. Meeting you reassured her about the future.”

I can’t imagine how that’s possible, but I’m glad if it’s true. "She was lovely. I was able to enjoy her company despite the resemblance to Henri."

His mouth tips up at that but Marie seems like she hasn't even heard it.

She takes the seat across from me and clasps her hands on the table. She appears calm but her hands are twisted so tight they’re nearly bloodless. "And she didn't have any clue what was to come?"

I shake my head no, although, to be honest, I'm uncertain. I saw something in her quiet appraisal of me that was both happy and sad at once. "No. And she didn't want to tell me anything, but once I got her talking about the two of you she opened up." Marie holds herself still, braced for bad news, and I can’t put it off anymore. “There were reports of the circle of light being seen behind Sacré-Coeur, just after the war,” I say gently. "I think that’s where she went.”

“But that—" She closes her eyes as the color bleeds from her face. “That was twenty years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know you were hoping…”

She shakes her head, brushing tears from her face. “It’s okay,” she whispers.

Henri has been silent, brooding, throughout this conversation. “It’s for the best that we know,” he says. “At least we can finally put it behind us now.”

Marie’s head jerks up. “Put it behind us?” she exclaims. “She could still be out there somewhere, trapped. Maybe she has amnesia. There’s nothing behind us.”

Henri and I exchange a stunned glance. I don’t think either of us imagined Marie still hanging on to her hope at this point. “Marie,” says Henri, shoulders sagging under a sudden weight, “there’s nothing to be done now. You have to realize that.”

She turns to me. "My mother said you’d be important to us. Maybe you and I are supposed to go back to 1918 and find out what happened to her."

“Absolutely not,” growls Henri, and though his edicts typically inspire a desire to rebel on my end, I hear the panic that rests just behind his words. “Our mother and Amelie’s aunt both disappeared going there. The two of you risking your lives to find out what happened would be insanity. Our mother would kill you herself for even suggesting it were she here.”

I agree with him. And while I still question if I’ve done enough for them, if I’ve done what my sister wanted me to do, there’s no way I could be the best person to travel to 1918 with her. I’m the worst time traveler I’ve ever heard of, while Marie can flit from place to place and time to time as easily as she breathes. If two people far more skilled than myself got trapped there, it’d be a death sentence for someone like me.

“I’m not saying we do what they did,” Marie argues. “They had no idea it was dangerous, and we do. We can just travel there and watch from afar. See who’s responsible.”

"Marie," I plead, “I can’t possibly be the person your mother claimed was coming to help. My abilities are ridiculously limited, and I'd be so exhausted by the journey you'd need to spend a week nursing me back to health in 1918 before we were on our way. If someone is meant to help you with this, it is not me."

She nods, looking down at the table. "Someone else will come then,” she says, and then she looks at us both with a forced smile. “And for now I will simply enjoy your company. You will stay with us, yes? Another week or two, perhaps?"

I glance up at Henri. At his shoulders straining against the linen of his shirt, that lock of hair falling over his forehead. I will miss him, I realize. I adore Marie but it’s him I’m truly sad to leave. And that is so, so wrong. None of this is real. He’s an old man and I’m practically engaged.

I avert my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I reply. “I really think it’s time I went home.”

"You aren’t ready," says Marie-Therese. "You are swaying on your feet even now."

"I’ll rest tomorrow and leave the day after. What's the worst that can happen?" I ask with a forced smile. "If I can't make it all the way home, you'll just host me 20 years into the future."

The idea makes my stomach swim unhappily. I picture the two of them still here, alone. No children. Their faces lined with years and hard labor. Or perhaps Marie-Therese will be gone and Henri will be here with a wife and children. I don't much like that image either.

Neither does Henri. When Marie goes into the other room, he looks at me, his face a little sad. "When you return home, I'll be an old man," he says. "I don’t want you to see me that way.”

I shake my head, the smallest possible movement. He will be lucky to make it to old age, to survive the war. I don’t want to care. And I already do, more than I ever imagined possible. It makes me wish I’d never come here in the first place.

"Doesn't it seem...unfair somehow?” I ask. “People who are older than us always seem different, almost a different species. As if they were always old and faded and cared about the wrong things. I wish there were a way for us all to see each other exactly as we would like to be seen. To freeze ourselves at a certain age and stay that way if we choose."

"There is a way," he says. "You already have it. All you time travelers do. My mother was 39 when she left but she could have passed for 18. She came to see me at school once. My mates all assumed she was my sister."

"What good is staying young if the people you love can't stay young with you?" I ask.

His gaze holds mine. For one moment, and then another. "You're right," he says quietly. "It would be nice if we could all be young at the same time."

* * *

When I fall asleep, I dream about weddings. A wedding in my apartment, which I’m not prepared for, and guests are knocking on the door while my roommate and I frantically hide all the dirty clothes.