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.”