The time traveler's wife(153)

Celia laughs. "Well, if you get to Hell before I do, save me a place next to Ingrid." She turns abruptly and walks off in search of Clare.





(9:45 p.m.)





Clare: The children have run around and eaten too much party food and now they are sleepy but cranky. I pass Colin Kendrick in the hall and ask if he wants to take a nap; he tells me very solemnly that he'd like to stay up with the grownups. I am touched by his politeness and his fourteen-year-old's beauty, his shyness with me even though he's known me all his life. Alba and Nadia Kendrick are not so restrained. "Mamaaa," Alba bleats, "you said we could stay up!"

"Sure you don't want to sleep for a while? I'll wake you up right before midnight."

" Nooooo." Kendrick is listening to this exchange and I shrug my shoulders and he laughs.

"The Indomitable Duo. Okay, girls, why don't you go play quietly in Alba's room for a while." They shuffle off, grumbling. We know that within minutes they'll be playing happily.

"It's good to see you, Clare," Kendrick says as Alicia ambles over.

"Hey, Clare. Get a load of Daddy." I follow Alicia's gaze and realize that our father is flirting with Isabelle. "Who is that?"

"Oh, my god." I'm laughing. "That's Isabelle Berk." I start to outline Isabelle's draconian sexual proclivities for Alicia. We are laughing so hard we can hardly breathe. "Perfect, perfect. Oh. Stop," Alicia says. Richard comes over to us, drawn by our hysterics. "What's so funny, bella donnas?"

We shake our heads, still giggling. "They're mocking the mating rituals of their paternal authority figure," says Kendrick. Richard nods, bemused, and asks Alicia about her spring concert schedule. They wander off in the direction of the kitchen, talking Bucharest and Bartok. Kendrick is still standing next to me, waiting to say something I don't want to hear. I begin to excuse myself, and he puts his hand on my arm.

"Wait, Clare—" I wait. "I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay, David." We stare at each other for a moment. Kendrick shakes his head, rumbles for his cigarettes. "If you ever want to come by the lab I could show you what I've been doing for Alba..."I cast my eyes around the party, looking for Henry. Gomez is showing Sharon how to rumba in the living room. Everyone seems to be having a good time, but Henry is nowhere in sight. I haven't seen him for at least forty-five minutes, and I feel a strong urge to find him, make sure he's okay, make sure he's here. "Excuse me," I tell Kendrick, who looks like he wants to continue the conversation. "Another time. When it's quieter." He nods. Nancy Kendrick appears with Colin in tow, making the topic impossible anyway. They launch into a spirited discussion of ice hockey, and I escape.





(9:48 p.m.)





Henry: It has become very warm in the house, and I need to cool off, so I am sitting on the enclosed front porch. I can hear people talking in the living room. The snow is falling thick and fast now, covering all the cars and bushes, softening their hard lines and deadening the sound of traffic. It's a beautiful night. I open the door between the porch and the living room.

"Hey, Gomez."

He comes trotting over and sticks his head through the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Let's go outside."

"It's fucking cold out there."

"Come on, you soft elderly alderman."

Something in my tone does the trick. "All right, all right. Just a minute." He disappears and comes back after a few minutes wearing his coat and carrying mine. As I'm angling into it he offers me his hip flask.

"Oh, no thanks."

"Vodka. Puts hair on your chest." "Clashes with opiates."

"Oh, right. How quickly we forget." Gomez wheels me through the living room. At the top of the stairs he lifts me out of the chair and I am riding on his back like a child, like a monkey, and we are out the front door and out of doors and the cold air is like an exoskeleton. I can smell the liquor in Gomez's sweat. Somewhere out there behind the sodium vapor Chicago glare there are stars.

"Comrade."

"Umm?"

"Thanks for everything. You've been the best—" I can't see his face, but I can feel Gomez stiffen beneath all the layers of clothing.

"What are you saying?"

"My own personal fat lady is singing, Gomez. Time's up. Game over."

"When?"

"Soon." "How soon?"

"I don't know," I lie. Very, very soon. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you—I know I've been a pain in the ass every now and then," (Gomez laughs) "but it's been great" (I pause, because I am on the verge of tears) "it's been really great" (and we stand there, inarticulate American male creatures that we are, our breath freezing in clouds before us, all the possible