Leonard looked at her and said, “Wow, wow, wow,” over and over again. His face made no sense—Leonard was smiling like Alice had just told him the best news in the world. It was the kind of look that Alice assumed parents gave when you told them you were getting married, or having a baby—delighted surprise mingled with a note of their own mortality. Alice didn’t know if he actually believed her or thought that she was pranking him for some reason, but either way, Leonard just seemed happy.
Leonard crossed and uncrossed his legs. “I won’t ask how I’m doing. I’ll just assume that you live with me on Pomander Walk forever, and that we’re both aging beautifully.”
Alice swallowed. “You guessed it.”
“Okay,” Leonard said. “Okay. Let’s get your friends home, and then we can talk.” He stood up, and so did his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Alice stared at him, trying to understand. Maybe he needed hearing aids already—those would come later. Maybe he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Someone knocked on the door, and Sam pushed it open before they responded.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” she said, and Leonard quickly moved out of the way. Alice watched him slip back into the hotel room, and then lifted the toilet lid and reached for Sam’s hair.
35
Unlike Alice’s friends, who kissed on the way in and out and sometimes in the middle just for fun, Leonard’s friends just waved and moved along, as if they’d all been sitting on a bus.
“Thanks, guys,” Alice said. John would get a good part, one where he actually showed his face, and he’d win big awards, and everyone would say he’d been a hidden gem all the while. Leonard would go with him to the Golden Globes and cry when they said his name. Her father had had good friends. But they were also men, and men weren’t trained to be in charge of their own friendships. Howard had called the hospital, and Chip, but she hadn’t seen or heard from the others in years. People were allowed to outgrow relationships, of course, Alice knew that, but still—there were times when you were supposed to show the fuck up.
“The people here are really weird, Leonard,” Sam said. She was still a little bit wobbly, and leaned against one wall of the hotel while Leonard hailed a cab.
“The people here are awesome,” Tommy said. He walked up to Alice and kissed her on the cheek. “I love it.”
“Okay, party’s over,” Leonard said, and shoved all three of them into the back seat of a taxi, then opened the passenger door for himself.
The radio was on, blasting WCBS-FM, 101.1, the oldies station. The taxi turned up Sixth Avenue and cruised past Radio City Music Hall. Alice closed her eyes again and just listened. Sam was snoring a little bit on one side of her, and on the other Tommy was drumming his fingers on her thigh to the beat of “Bernadette.” He lived the closest—the San Remo was on Central Park West and 74th—and Leonard directed the taxi there first. All the lights were yellow for two blocks, then three blocks, then six blocks in a row, just catching them all.
The cab started to slow down half a block from Tommy’s building, and Alice leaned over. “This is going to sound crazy,” she said. “But marry me. Not now. Not even close to now. Just eventually. After college. Promise me. Okay?” Her voice was low enough and the music loud enough that no one else in the car could hear her. She didn’t even know if Tommy could hear her. She didn’t even know what she was trying to accomplish—more of this, more of sitting together in the back of a taxi, with her healthy dad talking to a cabdriver about how he’d once given Diana Ross a ride. Alice just wanted to push her hands against the walls of her life and see if they would move. She wanted to hit the reset button over and over again until everyone was happy, forever. Tommy looked at her, his brown eyes sleepy, and said, “Okay,” like he was agreeing to apple juice instead of orange juice at the diner, and then he got out of the car and waved. Alice watched as his uniformed doorman, gold buttons shining, pushed open the heavy door and then stood to the side to let Tommy walk in.
Sam shoved Alice all the way over in the back seat and then lay down in her lap. “When you go back, I still get to keep you, right? Like, you’ll still be here? Will you remember all this?”
“I don’t know,” Alice said, and put her arm across Sam’s body like a seat belt. They were quiet for the rest of the ride up to 121st Street, where Alice helped Sam get into her building and apartment while Leonard kept the driver company down below. Sam’s apartment was quiet and dark—Lorraine would have been asleep for hours. The clock in Sam’s room said it was 1:30 a.m. Alice pulled back Sam’s covers and tucked her in.
“I love being your friend,” Alice said. “It’s okay that you move to New Jersey.”
“Oh my god, stop it, get out of here,” Sam said. “I love you.”
Alice slipped out the door like a burglar and ran down the wide stone steps to the waiting cab. Her father was still in the front seat, now deep in conversation about something. It took Alice a minute, then she got it—the driver was talking about Time Brothers. Leonard smiled at her through the partition and rolled down his window, letting the cool air in as they drove back down to Pomander Walk.
* * *
? ? ?
Leonard unlocked the gate and pushed it open for Alice. The Romans’ lights were still on, but the rest of the street was mostly dark, with just one lit window on the second floor here and there—front bedrooms. Alice imagined all their neighbors in their beds, books open or televisions on. She felt like she always had on certain summer nights, like she was already missing the moment that she was still living inside.
“Okay,” he said. “Now we can really talk.” Leonard jogged quickly toward the door, keys jangling in his hands. “We don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?” Alice said. She remembered the mess her father was about to see. “Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you. I had a party. It wasn’t that big, not as big as it was last time, but—” Leonard opened the door before she could even finish her sentence. The kitchen was a disaster—someone had spilled a beer, and Alice’s and Leonard’s shoes made sticky thwacking sounds as they crossed the floor—but Leonard didn’t even seem to notice. He went straight to his regular seat, pushed aside all the empty bottles in front of him to clear a space, lit two cigarettes in his mouth, and then held one out for Alice.
“Sit,” he said.
Alice sat. She took a drag of the cigarette and flicked it nervously between her fingers.
“I believe you.”
“Really? At the hotel, before I found you, I was talking to your friends about time travel stuff and, it all made it sound ridiculous. Like, a magic bone? What does that even mean? There is no science that supports this.” Alice looked at the yellow spots on her finger, slick little nicotine patches. What if she had exercised, ever? What if she didn’t drink forty ounces of beer all in one sitting? What if she had paid attention in math class? What if she had actually enjoyed her father as much as she could, every day? What if Leonard had exercised, or learned to cook, or quit smoking? What if she could fix everything that ever went wrong and he would live until he was ninety-six and then die in his sleep? All she wanted was for everything to change, all the bad stuff.
Leonard raised his eyebrows and took a long drag. He puffed out three perfect smoke rings in a row, and then stuck his finger through them. “Simon’s magic bone is ridiculous, of course. Even he knows that. But what you’re saying is not ridiculous, and I know it. Because I’ve done it, too.”