Page 38 of Across Time

Marie ignores him as she turns to me. "Madame Beauvoir heard about your ankle from the doctor. She's decided you should come read to her mother, Madame Perot, until you're back on your feet. Her sight is troubling her, and she thinks reading in French will help you learn the language."

"Non,” says Henri. “She couldn't care less about the reading. She's just hoping to throw Amelie in the path of her dolt of a son, André."

Marie’s shoulders sag. “We can’t afford to alienate the Beauvoirs, Henri, especially with a war coming. And reading a book aloud doesn't typically result in marriage.”

I could assure her it definitely won’t result in marriage, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried. “But what if...I slip up somehow? I've done it here, with you, several times."

"You're more relaxed with us. It's not necessary to hide who you are when you are here," says Marie. "And if you mess up badly, I can always travel back to warn you so it doesn't occur."

I groan, letting my head rest against the back of the chair. "So you'd warn me about a misspoken word, but not about an ankle break that will immobilize me for another five weeks?”

"Yes," she says, unapologetic as ever. "Things having to do with Madame de Beauvoir are not fate."

I still don’t think it’s a great idea but at least it will give me an excuse to see Saint Antoine. “I suppose I can just tell him I’m married. It’ll be true soon enough.”

“So that…that’s actually a plan?” Marie asks. “You’re really getting married when you get home?”

I shrug. "Not right away, no. Mark wants me to move to New York next year to live with him and finish my degree there. I want to stay where I am, so I'm not sure what's going to happen...but either way, there's no rush. People in my time live together before they get married usually anyway."

"Live together?" gasps Marie. "As a couple?"

I laugh. "Yes. It's not a big deal. Things—everything, really—is much...looser. People don't wait for marriage to have sex. They live together. Sometimes they even have kids together before they marry, or they just choose not to marry at all."

Henri's jaw shifts a little at that. "In my time, there's a name for women who give themselves away before marriage."

I feel irritation inching upward. "But no name for the men, I assume?" I ask. "It's okay for you to sleep with whoever is agreeable and then look down on her afterward for it, yes?"

"Not necessarily, but look at it from an evolutionary perspective,” he argues. “Women are driven to find the best provider for their young, and men are driven to procreate. Women must keep the gate closed in order to ensure men hold up their end of the bargain."

I can’t believe he’s defending this nonsense. I thought he was smarter than that. "Maybe men are just better at keeping promises in my day."

His jaw grinds. "Maybe women just aren't desperate enough to accept any lie in mine."

Marie rubs her temples. "The two of you will find anything to argue about, won't you?"

"She started it,” says Henri, flushed and angrier than the situation calls for.

"Me? I don't argue with anyone! Mark and I have never argued once. It's you."

"How could you argue?" he asks, heading for the door. "You're too busy letting him walk all over you."

The door slams behind him and the windows rattle in his wake.

"It's both of you," says Marie. She says something in French as she heads for the stairs, too quickly for me to understand.

"You know I don't speak French."

"It was your Emerson," she says, turning to me from the landing, raising a single brow. "Thou art to me a delicious torment."

* * *

The next day, once I’ve donned the hose and one of the better dresses and Marie has rolled up my hair, Henri walks me to the car, holding the door for me, taking my crutches once I’m in. It’s silly, but also kind of sweet. I suppose the 1930’s code of chivalry is helpful if your ankle is broken.

The two of us have barely exchanged a word since last night’s argument, so I’m not surprised it’s what he decides to lead with. “You only have a year left of school,” he says abruptly before he’s even started the car. “Why would he ask you to move with him?”

My shoulders tighten. “I’m nervous enough about going to the Beauvoirs. Can you not pile on by starting another fight with me right now?”

His tongue darts out, tapping his lip. “I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear it. I’m just trying to understand. If I say the sky is blue, you insist it’s green. But this man wants you to drop out of college and you’re okay with it?”