Page 31 of Across Eternity

I place a hand on her forearm. “I’ll go.”

This seems to send Yvette spinning into motion for the first time all night. “He’s my husband. I’ll go.”

* * *

It’s only when the door shuts behind her that Marie turns to me with tears in her eyes. “My God, Amelie, what happened to you? We were so certain you were dead.”

With Henri gone the fight has left me. I bury my head in my hands. “I wish I was. I should have just died there.”

Marie’s arm wraps around me. “I know this is a shock. But don’t say that. You have no idea how sick we’ve been, thinking you’d died. I had so much guilt about leaving you. But…I don’t understand. We found your body. We went to Paris and Henri climbed into that hole and found you, wearing the necklace.”

“Found me?” I repeat, before realizing he must have found Iris. Coron probably buried any remaining skeletons under the floor, after that fire. Fewer questions asked that way. And Henri found one and assumed it was me. I shudder at the idea, until I remember how quickly he seemed to have recovered. There’s so much I could tell her—about my aunt, about the babies, about all the women who died after they left. I don’t have the heart. Maybe this, here, is my punishment for it all.

“I lent it to someone,” I say simply. “There was a fire and I was able to climb upstairs and jump out the window. I’d hoped to time travel while I was in the air, but it didn’t happen fast enough.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “For what you’ve suffered and for what I put you through when it was...all for nothing. When my mother must have been killed right away.”

I’ve had the same thought, at times, and yet I can’t blame her for wanting to know. “You’d never have been sure about her if you hadn’t seen it for yourself.”

“Thank God you survived,” she replies. “To see you here now, in perfect health. I can’t tell you what a miracle it is.”

“Not perfect. I can’t have children now, because of the fall.” I laugh and it turns into a sob. “I guess Henri dodged a bullet, didn’t he?”

She squeezes me tight. “God…this situation…I’m sorry. Henri would never, ever say he dodged a bullet, but I’m sorry. It must be such a shock for you.”

“Cecelia—the woman who helped me the last time I went back—she warned me,” I whisper. “She tried to warn me that things would not be as I hoped when I arrived here. She made me swear I’d stay until the end of October. I should have refused.”

Marie places a palm on my face. “A piece of Henri died, thinking you were gone. You need to know…it was not the way Yvette made it out to be. Henri grieved for you. I watched him hold your skeleton. He wept like a child. I’ve never seen him, the way he was that day.”

I feel sick at the thought. I can’t imagine Henri crying. But I can no longer afford to feel sympathy for him, over anything. His words and his actions toward me were meaningless when I was here before, easily discarded. Why should anything else he does be judged differently?

Humans lie, I think. Humans do whatever makes them feel good in the moment, without loyalty, without a thought for others. Perhaps having some of Coron and Iris is a good thing. If I’d had their chilly self-interest a year ago, none of this would have happened.

“Do not expect me to feel sorry for him,” I reply, my voice low and gritty with the need to cry. “If the situations had been reversed, I’d have mourned him for years, Marie. Years.”

“It’s not what you think,” she pleads, clasping my hands.

“How? How is there possibly an alternate explanation?”

She hangs her head. “It’s not my story to tell. But this is hard for him too. You could, if you wanted…” She stops, and her voice drops to a whisper. “You could undo it.”

I blink. “What?”

“You could go back in time and warn yourself, refuse to go.”

The whole stupid trip to 1918. I could go back to the previous fall and tell Marie the truth: Your mother died immediately. You and I go, and we suffer terribly, so let’s just stay here.

“I thought of doing it a thousand times,” she says, staring at her hands. “But I assumed you were dead so it would do no good.”

I’m surprised she’s even suggesting it, under the circumstances. That’s her niece Yvette carries. “I can’t,” I reply, my teeth grinding. “There were two infants there. Girls. I helped get them out. At least I hope I did. Did your mother ever say anything about them?”

“Infants? Why would my mother know?” she asks, and my heart sinks. Marie was a newborn herself at the time. Of course she wouldn’t know.

“Your mother is the one I wrote to. I asked her to find them homes.” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t go back and change it all anyway.”

Her head tilts. “No? Why not?”

“Because it’s better this way,” I reply, anger steeling my heart, making all of this bearable for a moment. “If it hadn’t happened, I’d never have realized how little Henri actually cared. I’d never have realized he didn’t deserve me in the first place.”