Page 59 of I Know You

He strokes my cheek when I pull away. “You are worth all of this and more. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“I know.”

He stares at me a little longer, then nudges me away. “Go change.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

Ben chose a wide-brimmed, black hat with a huge bow so that I can hide beneath it when necessary, but it’s restricting my vision as I scan the crowd around me on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C.

We’ll never find her, an inner voice worries. Aloud, I say, “There are so many people, Ben.”

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Don’t worry, dear.” He pulls the pocket watch from the pocket of his suit, more for my sake than his own. I peek over his shoulder at the time. It’s been more than half an hour since we strode out of the home nearby that we’d used as our insertion point. It was empty, thankfully, but I used my talents to pause for a moment before we stepped out and view the room that surrounded the mirror. Ben had laughed with appreciation. I am definitely getting better at traveling.

With the White House looming large behind us, we walk against the throng of people down the wide, crowded avenue, scanning around us to match the scene from the picture we both hold of the moment my mother stands in a spot nearby.

My throat clenches. I’m so close. My mother is here. Somewhere in this mass of women marching behind showy floats and theatrical women on horses. Somewhere listening to the men nearby shout in protest. Somewhere.

“There,” Ben says, suddenly clutching my hand and pulling me forward.

I tip my head back, moving the brim of the hat enough to see where Ben drags me. My throat clenches again, this time with emotion, at the hat bouncing along before us, the familiar figure dressed in a dark green dress with a wide, blue-striped collar.

“Mrs. Granville!” Ben calls.

The woman whirls, her shoulders stiff with surprise at being recognized. My hand flies to my mouth, and I rush forward. Mom gasps at seeing me but holds out her arms as I rush into them.

“Clara? Dear, what on earth are you doing here? And how…”

I can’t speak. The emotion pounding through me will give too much away, so I just hold on. Even when Ben puts a warning hand on my back and says lowly, “Clara, dear.”

Even when my mother repeats in a concerned tone, “Clara?”

I can’t let go. It’s been five years since I’ve felt my mother’s arms around me, since I’ve smelled the lilac-vanilla perfume she wore. Since I’ve heard her voice.

“Clara,” she says, firmly this time, putting her hands on my shoulders and holding me away so she can look at me. “Why did you follow me here?”

“There were some questions we needed to ask, Mrs. Granville,” Ben says, after I open and close my mouth a few times. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ben Mitchell, a … dear friend of your daughter’s.”

I laugh. “Boyfriend, Mom. This is my boyfriend.” The laughter breaks away some of the intense reaction I’ve had, allowing me to speak again.

Mom beams. “Well, I’m very glad to meet you—and at some point in the future, I presume, as well.”

“Yes, of course,” I say in a rush, but it doesn’t stop Mom’s mouth from tightening.

“But Clara, why have you come?” Her brows furrow.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the time-traveling?” I ask, reaching out to grip my mother’s arm.

“I will when you’re twenty-one. I haven’t yet?” She squints at me, as though she can determine my age by studying me.

“Please, Mom. Don’t ask questions. I can’t answer any of yours.” I force a laugh.

“Of course not,” she murmurs. Then she chews on her lip.

Ben and I share a look. Burke and Cooper will not be pleased if this visit alone—just showing up—changes too much about my future. I have to grind my teeth together to hold back a warning about the fire. Ben takes my other hand and squeezes it. It reminds me of one important reason I can’t mess with my past.

“We wanted to wait to tell you—to make sure that you were an adult who could make responsible decisions—and not just run off to the past if you became angry when you were ten,” Mom explains with a chuckle. “Especially since we don’t know how much of the family ability you’ll have—do have. Obviously. If you don’t carry enough energy, you risk becoming trapped.”

“If you can’t control it precisely, why do you take the risk?” I ask. “Going back in time if you don’t know when you can return?”