The time traveler's wife by Audrey Niffenegger Read Free Book Online

hurts.
    "Who is it?" Now Clare is frightened,
and so am I.
    "Henry. It's Henry, Clare. I won't hurt
you, and I wish you wouldn't throw anything else at me." "Give me
back my shoes. I don't know you. Why are you hiding?" Clare is glowering
at me. I toss her shoes back into the clearing. She picks them up and stands
holding them like pistols. "I'm hiding because I lost my clothes and I'm
embarrassed. I came a long way and I'm hungry and I don't know anybody and now
I'm bleeding."
    "Where did you come from? Why do you know
my name?"
    The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
"I came from the future. I am a time traveler. In the future we are
friends." "People only time travel in movies." "That's what
we want you to believe."
    "Why?"
    "If everybody time traveled it would get
too crowded. Like when you went to see your Grandma Abshire last Christmas and
you had to go through O'Hare Airport and it was very, very crowded? We time
travelers don't want to mess things up for ourselves, so we keep it
quiet."
    Clare chews on this for a minute. "Come
out."
    "Loan me your beach towel." She picks
it up and all the pens and pencils and papers go flying. She throws it at me,
overhand, and I grab it and turn my back as I stand and wrap it around my
waist. It is bright pink and orange with a loud geometric pattern. Exactly the
sort of thing you'd want to be wearing when you meet your future wife for the
first time. I turn around and walk into the clearing; I sit on the rock with as
much dignity as possible. Clare stands as far away from me as she can get and
remain in the clearing. She is still clutching her shoes.
    "You're bleeding."
    "Well, yeah. You threw a shoe at me."
    "Oh."
    Silence. I am trying to look harmless, and
nice. Nice looms large in Clare's childhood, because so many people aren't.
"You're making fun of me."
    "I would never make fun of you. Why do you
think I'm making fun of you?" Clare is nothing if not stubborn.
"Nobody time travels. You're lying." "Santa time travels."
    "What?"
    "Sure. How do you think he gets all those
presents delivered in one night? He just keeps turning back the clock a few
hours until he gets down every one of those chimneys."
    "Santa is magic. You're not Santa."
    "Meaning I'm not magic? Geez, Louise,
you're a tough customer." "I'm not Louise,"
    "I know. You're Clare. Clare Anne Abshire,
born May 24, 1971. Your parents are Philip and Lucille Abshire, and you live
with them and your grandma and your brother, Mark, and your sister, Alicia, in
that big house up there."
    "Just because you know things doesn't mean
you're from the future."
    "If you hang around a while you can watch
me disappear" I feel I can count on this because Clare once told me it was
the thing she found most impressive about our first meeting. Silence. Clare
shifts her weight from foot to foot and waves away a mosquito. "Do you
know Santa?"
    "Personally? Um, no." I have stopped
bleeding, but I must look awful. "Hey, Clare, do you happen to have a
Band-Aid? Or some food? Time traveling makes me pretty hungry."
    She thinks about this. She digs into her jumper
pocket and produces a Hershey bar with one bite out of it. She throws it at me.
    "Thank you. I love these." I eat it
neatly but very quickly. My blood sugar is low. I put the wrapper in her
shopping bag. Clare is delighted.
    "You eat like a dog."
    "I do not!" I am deeply offended.
"I have opposable thumbs, thank you very much." "What are
posable thumbs?"
    "Do this." I make the
"okay" sign. Clare makes the "okay" sign. "Opposable
thumbs means you can do that. It means you can open jars and tie your shoes and
other things animals can't do."
    Clare is not happy with this. "Sister
Carmelita says animals don't have souls."
    "Of course animals have souls. Where did
she get that idea?"
    "She said the Pope says."
    "The Pope's an old meanie. Animals have
much nicer souls than we do. They never tell lies or blow anybody up."
"They eat each