Page 41 of I Know You

“Do you suppose you get the time-traveling ability from her, then?” Quint asks.

“It makes the most sense. I can imagine she fit into the past as well as Ben did.” I hadn’t meant to say that with as much bitterness as came out in the statement.

“I think you fit perfectly.” He pushes an escaped strand of hair behind my ears, leaving a trail of heat along my cheek in his wake. His hand lingers there a moment before he squints at me and pulls away. I know him so well, I can see his thoughts about my relationship with Ben—whatever it is—in his eyes. He resumes his relaxed posture, leaning back on his hands as he stares out over the pond. We sit in silence for a moment, watching the moon rise and the stars appear, glittering off the still pond before us.

“You are my mother’s best friend,” he says into the silence, his voice soft with discovery. He scratches his jaw and stares into the water, though I know that isn’t what he sees.

I nod in agreement. I feel it in my soul as he says it.

He sighs and then stands, holding out a hand, offering to help me up. “If I’m to remain a gentleman, I must return you to the house,” he says as I take his hand and rise.

But we stay another moment, standing there and facing each other, fingers still wound together, and I think how I wouldn’t mind him being less of a gentleman. Quint reads my thoughts, as one who’s used to reading another’s thoughts for years and years does, and leans forward. He cups a hand around my cheek, then my neck, as he draws me close but then pauses. He takes a deep breath, using the heel of his hand to tilt my head back and stare at me.

“You’ll love me at once,” I whisper, a breath away from his lips. My father had always been cynical about Disney’s rendition of The Sleeping Beauty, but I connect to the words of my favorite song more than I ever have in my life.

“Yes,” Quint says. He takes my hand in his and leads me back to the house.

Chapter Fourteen

“This isn’t fair,” I say the next morning, angry at the emotion in my voice and the fact that I nearly stomp my foot. Ben doesn’t even want me to come into the city with them this time, much less try to do any detective work.

“Going around in a big group will cause more suspicion, especially with a woman tagging along—” He holds up his hand when I open my mouth to argue about his sexism. “It’s a fact of life in 1928, Clara. You have to deal with it.”

“You are insufferable.” I fold my arms, irritated that he’s right and irritated that he’s letting stifling gender roles dictate our assignment.

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “I feel the same.”

When I devoured all those novels and TV dramas about women being independent and sticking it to the system, something inside me said it wasn’t realistic. That something was right.

“I thought the twenties were the era of women’s liberation. No corsets, higher hemlines, shorter hair,” I shoot back. “More independence,” I add, mocking what he’d told me when we first arrived.

“Do you want a history lecture right now?” he asks sarcastically. “About how widely that liberation spread and about the judgment that followed women who dared embrace that lifestyle?”

“So I’ll walk with Quint like we did yesterday, or is that too fast as well?”

“And if you spot Gibbons, you’ll run after him in those heels?” He eyes the tiffany blue and white shoes with the bow buckle across the top of my foot that I’m wearing. Curse these adorable shoes. All the adorable shoes! I have nothing sensible, especially not tennis shoes.

“I’ll be with Quint,” I grind out, well aware that again I have to defer to a man for something, even if I get to tag along.

“I won’t have you left anywhere on your own with Gibbons running around,” Ben snaps. “He’s black ops, and if he turns out bad, a real possibility, who knows what he could do to you.” Ben comes forward and takes me by the shoulders, dropping his hands and sighing when I wiggle out of his grip and step away. Miles have grown between us since we stood hand in hand at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the high-tech airplane, discussing the possibilities and diving into the assignment together.

“You are still very important, Clara,” he says in a softer tone. “You’re driving the getaway car.”

I swallow back any more arguing. I won’t convince him.

He sighs again, shoving his hands into his pockets in defeat, though he’s won. “Perhaps you’ll be able to prod Mrs. Allen into remembering something about your family that will give you more answers than questions.”

Excitement jumps in me at that thought, though I hate finding a silver lining in Ben’s decree that I stay home. Since discovering the possibility the night before, my thoughts have been on that almost completely, possibly because so many of my thoughts also swirl around Quint and the consuming connection that’s sprung up and strengthened since the day before.

“Fine.” I fold my arms.

“Clara.” Ben takes his hands from his pockets and reaches for me again. I stand stiffly, allowing him to take me by the shoulders and pull me closer, even though I resist, and it makes the movement awkward. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

I don’t answer because I don’t know how much I believe that. He doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t think I’m capable. What’s there to be sorry for?

He glances over my shoulder, and as footsteps sound behind us, he drops a kiss on my cheek before stepping away. I turn to see William approaching us.

“When we go home, I will move heaven and earth to discover everything I can about the possibility of your parents knowing how to go through the passages, okay?” Ben’s expression is pleading for forgiveness. If he’s half as smart as he thinks he is, he’d know that gaining it would be letting me help with finding Gibbons, letting me do my job here, and letting me into his life.