The time traveler's wife Read Free Page B

name? Who built it?"
    "It's called Meadowlark House, and it was
built in 1896 by Peter Wyns."
    "Wow. I've seen pictures of it. It was
built for one of the Henderson family, right?"
    "Yes. It was a wedding present for Mary
Henderson and Dieter Bascombe. They divorced two years after they moved in and
sold the house."
    "Posh house."
    "My family is posh. They're very weird
about it, too." "Brothers and sisters?"
    "Mark is twenty-two and finishing pre-law
at Harvard. Alicia is seventeen and a senior in high school. She's a
cellist." I detect affection for the sister and a certain flatness for the
brother. "You aren't too fond of your brother?"
    "Mark is just like Dad. They both like to
win, talk you down until you submit."
    "You know, I always envy people with
siblings, even if they don't like them all that much,"
    "You're an only child?"
    "Yep. I thought you knew everything about
me?"
    "Actually I know everything and nothing. I
know how you look without clothes, but until this afternoon I didn't know your
last name. I knew you lived in Chicago, but I know nothing about your family
except that your mom died in a car crash when you were six. I know you know a
lot about art and speak fluent French and German; I had no idea you were a
librarian. You made it impossible for me to find you in the present; you said
it would just happen when it was supposed to happen, and here we are."
    "Here we are," I agree. "Well,
my family isn't posh; they're musicians. My father is Richard DeTamble and my
mother was Annette Lyn Robinson."
    "Oh—the singer!"
    "Right. And he's a violinist. He plays for
the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. But he never really made it the way she did.
It's a shame because my father is a marvelous violin player. After Mom died he
was just treading water." The check arrives. Neither of us has eaten very
much, but I at least am not interested in food right now. Clare picks up her
purse and I shake my head at her. I pay; we leave the restaurant and stand on
Clark Street in the fine autumn night. Clare is wearing an elaborate blue
knitted thing and a fur scarf; I have forgotten to bring an overcoat so I'm
shivering.
    "Where do you live?" Clare asks. Uh
oh. "I live about two blocks from here, but my place is tiny and really
messy right now. You?" "Roscoe Village, on Hoyne. But I have a
roommate."
    "If you come up to my place you have to
close your eyes and count to one thousand. Perhaps you have a very
uninquisitive deaf roommate?"
    "No such luck. I never bring anyone over;
Charisse would pounce on you and stick bamboo slivers under your fingernails
until you told all."
    "I long to be tortured by someone named
Charisse, but I can see that you do not share my taste. Come up to my
parlor." We walk north along Clark. I veer into Clark Street Liquors for a
bottle of wine. Back on the street Clare is puzzled.
    "I thought you aren't supposed to
drink?" I m not? "Dr. Kendrick was very strict about it."
    "Who's he?" We are walking slowly
because Clare is wearing impractical shoes.
    "He's your doctor; he's a big expert on
Chrono-Impairment."
    "Explain."
    "I don't know very much. Dr. David
Kendrick is a molecular geneticist who discovered—will discover why people are
chrono-impaired. It's a genetic thing; he figures it out in 2006." She
sighs. "I guess it's just way too early. You told me once that there are a
lot more chrono-impaired people about ten years from now."
    "I've never heard of anyone else who has
this—impairment."
    "I guess even if you went out right now
and found Dr. Kendrick he wouldn't be able to help you. And we would never have
met, if he could."
    "Let's not think about that." We are
in my lobby. Clare precedes me into the tiny elevator. I close the door and
push eleven. She smells like old cloth, soap, sweat, and fur. I breathe deeply.
The elevator clangs into place on my floor and we extricate ourselves from it
and walk down the narrow hallway. I wield my fistful of