“Are you going to sleep here? You could come to our house, we have a guest room.”

　“Gosh, that’s very nice of you. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to meet your family until 1991.”

　Clare is utterly perplexed. I think part of the problem is that she can’t imagine dates beyond the 70s. I remember having the same problem with the ‘60s when I was her age. “Why not?”

　“It’s part of the rules. People who time travel aren’t supposed to go around talking to regular people while they visit their times, because we might mess things up.” Actually, I don’t believe this; things happen the way they happened, once and only once. I’m not a proponent of splitting universes.

　“But you talk to me.”

　“You’re special. You’re brave and smart and good at keeping secrets.”

　Clare is embarrassed. “I told Ruth, but she didn’t believe me.”

　“Oh. Well, don’t worry about it. Very few people ever believe me, either. Especially doctors. Doctors don’t believe anything unless you can prove it to them.”

　“I believe you.”

　Clare is standing about five feet away from me. Her small pale face catches the last orange light from the west. Her hair is pulled back tightly into a ponytail and she is wearing blue jeans and a dark sweater with zebras running across the chest. Her hands are clenched and she looks fierce and determined. Our daughter, I think sadly, would have looked like this.

　“Thank you, Clare.”

　“I have to go in now.”

　“Good idea.”

　“Are you coming back?”

　I consult the List, from memory. “I’ll be back October 16. It’s a Friday. Come here, right after school. Bring that little blue diary Megan gave you for your birthday and a blue ballpoint pen” I repeat the date, looking at Clare to make sure she is remembering.

　“Au revoir, Clare.”

　“Aurevoir....”

　“Henry.”

　“ Au revoir, Henri.” Already her accent is better than mine.