Page 67 of Intersect

In the first, we are in the treehouse—I’m sitting between him and Ryan, and all three of us are grinning wide, missing teeth. The second is the two of us at the lake as teenagers. The shot is taken from behind, but our faces can be seen in profile. The third is of us dressed up for a dance of some kind, maybe in college. Me with regrettable hair and him all arms and legs in a tux that doesn’t fit quite right.

“Are they photoshopped?” he asks.

I smile, marveling at my mother once again. “No. There are elements here you can’t fake. So even if someone wanted to argue that we’d Photoshopped it, any expert would testify on our behalf that it couldn’t be done.”

“But how? If you can’t even time travel with clothes, how the hell can you time travel with photos?”

I shake my head. I have no idea. While some of my memory has returned, time traveling and its rules remain, for the most part, a complete blank. “I don’t know. Now do you believe my mother wasn’t evil?”

His smile fades. “I’m getting there, but there’s something we need to discuss. What she said, about going back to see her—” He sighs. “I know you’re going to want to go, and I know I can’t stop you. I shouldn’t even ask. But…I can’t get Grosbaum’s wife and my grandmother out of my head.”

“Grosbaum’s wife was probably doing things I wouldn’t,” I argue. “Your grandmother too. I’m not looking to go to China in the 1600s or something.”

“You have no idea what they did,” he counters, “but you do know they had more experience at it than you. Quinn, I…” He stops, jaw grinding as he runs a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t fucking stand it if you were stuck somewhere. Not knowing if you were safe. I couldn’t. I feel like I just got you back.”

I swallow. I’d feel the same way if our situations were reversed. “I know,” I reply. “And I swear I won’t go crazy with it. But I do need to go see my mom, somehow. There are things I need to learn and not just out of curiosity.”

He leans forward unhappily, elbows to thighs. “Like what?”

“We are going to have twins who time travel, Nick. And they’re especially good at it, according to my mother. We can’t go into it blind.”

His eyes close. I wish I could give him the simple life he’d have with someone else. A life where his girlfriend can’t be stuck in another time, where his children won’t be in danger. Except he didn’t want that life in the first place. I already know he’d choose this one with me, dangers notwithstanding, a thousand times over.

“Then at least promise me you’ll wait,” he finally says. “It’s bad enough to worry about you, but the thought of you somewhere pregnant kills me. What if something happened? Even if you survived you’d have children you couldn’t bring back and I’d never even know if you were okay.”

My stomach churns. I hadn’t thought about that. The twins could be stuck somewhere with me for well over a decade before they came into their powers. Nick would miss their entire childhoods. “But Darcy…”

He shakes his head. “I already know what you’re going to say and believe me, I want to go back and change what happened to her as much as you do, but you can’t risk three lives to save one. Even if it’s hers.”

My mouth opens to object and no words come out. He’s absolutely right. I just don’t want him to be.

“Quinn,” he says, pushing my hair back from my face, “even if you managed to go back a few years, where would you even go? You might be able to find Sarah, but if you couldn’t…what then? I didn’t know you. There’s a small chance you’d fix things and a huge chance you’d make things worse.”

I picture it, me meeting Nick a few years back—I’d be a stranger to him. A naked stranger, begging him to listen to my story about time travel…it could ruin everything. But saving Darcy was my one goal other than saving myself. And now I’m going to abandon her.

“Maybe we’ll find Rose,” says Nick. “Maybe Sarah left names in her office of people we can talk to.”

I nod. I know it’s the responsible decision. But it feels like the wrong one.

35

QUINN

On the way to the airport, we take a quick detour…back to Cecelia, the palm reader who must have helped my mother with her plot. She opens the door, and when she sees me her eyes fill with tears.

“Ça fait longtemps, Quinn,” she says, placing a hand on my face. It’s been a long time.

“Je suis désolée,” I reply, glancing from her to Nick in alarm. “Je ne pense pas vous avoir déjà rencontrée.” I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met.

Nick gawks at me. “Since when do you speak French?” It’s only his question that makes me realize I am speaking French. Fluently. The words tripped off my tongue without forethought. “I…have no idea.”

“And unlike you,” says Cecelia to Nick, brushing away her tears, “her accent is flawless. Come in, come in. You have questions.”

We follow her inside. We take seats at a small table while she puts her dogs out back. I look around the room—Nick was right. It does look like something out of the 1600s. “Wow,” I whisper to Nick, directing his glance upward. “Look at how they did the ceiling.”

I hear a low laugh from the base of his chest. “Only you would visit a psychic palm reader to learn about your time traveling mother and be fascinated by the ceiling of her house instead.”

Cecelia comes back into the room and takes a seat. “I suppose you have many questions.”