The time traveler's wife by Audrey Niffenegger Page B

glad it's
not my house all the same. Ruth's older brother, Jake, has also invited his
friends, and altogether there are about a hundred people here and all of them
are drunk. There are more guys than girls and I wish I had worn pants and
flats, but it's too late to do anything about it. As I walk into the kitchen to
get a drink someone behind me says, "Check out Miss Look-But-Don't-Touch!"
and makes an obscene slurping sound. I spin around and see the guy we call
Lizardface (because of his acne) leering at me. "Nice dress, Clare."
    "Thanks, but it's not for your benefit,
Lizardface."

 
    He follows me into the kitchen. "Now, that's
not a very nice thing to say, young lady. After all, I'm just trying to express
my appreciation of your extremely comely attire, and all you can do is insult
me..."He won't shut up. I finally escape by grabbing Helen and using her
as a human shield to get out of the kitchen.
    "This sucks," says Helen.
"Where's Ruth?"
    Ruth is hiding upstairs in her bedroom with
Laura. They are smoking a joint in the dark and watching out the window as a
bunch of Jake's friends skinny dip in the pool. Soon we are all sitting in the
window seat gawking.
    "Mmm," says Helen. "I'd like
some of that."
    "Which one?" Ruth asks.
    "The guy on the diving board."
    "Ooh."
    "Look at Ron," says Laura.
"That's Ron?" Ruth giggles.
    "Wow. Well, I guess anyone would look
better without the Metallica T-shirt and the skanky leather vest," Helen
says. "Hey, Clare, you're awfully quiet."
    "Um? Yeah, I guess," I say weakly.
    "Look at you," says Helen. "You
are, like, cross-eyed with lust. I am ashamed of you. How could you let
yourself get into such a state?" She laughs. "Seriously, Clare, why
don't you just get it over with?"
    "I can't," I say miserably.
    "Sure you can. Just walk downstairs and
yell 'Fuck me!' and about fifty guys would be yelling 'Me! Me!'" "You
don't understand. I don't want—it's not that—"
    "She wants somebody in particular,"
Ruth says, without taking her eyes off the pool. "Who?" Helen asks. I
shrug my shoulders. "Come on, Clare, spit it out."
    "Leave her alone," Laura says.
"If Clare doesn't want to say, she doesn't have to." I am sitting
next to Laura, and I lean my head on her shoulder. Helen bounces up. "I'll
be right back."
    "Where you going?"
    "I brought some champagne and pear juice
to make Bellinis, but I left it in the car." She dashes out the door. A
tall guy with shoulder-length hair does a backwards somersault off the diving
board.
    "Ooh la la," say Ruth and Laura in
unison.
     
    Henry: A long time has passed, maybe an hour or
so. I eat half the potato chips and drink the warm Coke Clare has brought
along. I nap a bit. She's gone for so long that I'm starting to consider going
for a walk. Also I need to take a leak. I hear heels tapping toward me. I look
out the window, but it's not Clare, it's this bombshell blond girl in a tight
red dress. I blink, and realize that this is Clare's friend Helen Powell. Uh
oh. She clicks over to my side of the car, leans over and peers at me. I can
see right down her dress to Tokyo. I feel slightly woozy,
    "Hi, Clare's boyfriend. I'm Helen."
    "Wrong number, Helen. But pleased to meet
you." Her breath is highly alcoholic. "Aren't you going to get out of
the car and be properly introduced?"
    "Oh, I'm pretty comfortable where I am,
thanks."
    "Well, I'll just join you in there,
then." She moves uncertainly around the front of the car, opens the door,
and plops herself into the driver's seat.
    "I've been wanting to meet you for the
longest time," Helen confides.
    "You have? Why?" I desperately wish
Clare would come and rescue me, but then that would give the game away,
wouldn't it? Helen leans toward me and says, sotto voce, "I deduced your
existence. My vast powers of observation have led me to the conclusion that
whatever remains when you have eliminated the impossible, is the truth, no
matter how impossible. Hence,"