“Okay. I love you, too, I really do.” She could hear him smile. He had been young, and she had been young—they had been young together. Why was it so hard to see that, how close generations were? That children and their parents were companions through life. Maybe that’s why she was here now. Maybe this was the moment when they were both at their best, and together. Alice thought about Kenji and his beautiful mother. He’d gone home early—his curfew was only midnight. Alice could understand how hard it probably was for his mom to let him out of her sight at all. Once you had proof of the sudden cruelty of life, how could you ever relax? How could you just let things happen?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad,” Alice said. She wanted to remind him of all the things he was supposed to do—to write Dawn, to find Debbie, to be happy—but she knew that she didn’t have to. She would have to trust it this time. Because she wasn’t going to come back. Wherever she ended up, that’s where she was going to stay. “Will you do one thing for me?” She was going to tell him not to do it anymore, not to travel, that all that love would kill him eventually. But then Alice thought about how good it felt, right now, to hear his healthy, strong voice, to hear him having fun with his friends, and to be so full of it all, and she found that she couldn’t.
“Of course, honey, what is it?” Leonard asked. The blender went on in the background. It was so loud, he could probably barely hear her.
“Just take care of yourself,” Alice said. “Okay?”
“Until the future,” Leonard said, the line from Time Brothers. Alice laughed. Leonard must have been drunk, drunk enough to find his own work amusing. He hung up first, and then Alice sat there until the phone started to blare out its complaint. She settled the receiver back in its cradle and looked at the time. The plan was to leave him a note, telling him what she knew, more or less. Telling him not to travel, not to jump, not to visit. Alice started to write it over and over again, but it was never right. Instead she just wrote, Until the future/my future/your future, what does the future mean, anyway? love, Alice, threw the rest in the garbage, and went to bed.
62
It was before dawn when Alice opened her eyes. She was still on Pomander—in the living room, on the couch, with Ursula purring next to her face. Alice tried to sit up without disturbing the cat. The kitchen light was on, which made it look like a stage set, with Alice the only audience member. Ursula hopped up into the window and flattened one side against the glass. Debbie entered from stage left, dressed in sweatpants and an ancient Dawn of Time crew sweatshirt, which made Alice realize that for the first time, she had woken up in the same place she’d fallen asleep, albeit in a different room. She watched Debbie toddle into the kitchen, open a cabinet, and then pour herself a glass of water from the tap. It was still dark outside, and the air was windy, knocking small branches against the window. October was a good month to confront death—this was why Halloween worked. The trees were mostly bare and the air was warm enough that you hadn’t yet pulled out a heavy coat. It was a month on the cusp, nature shifting from one mode to another. In transition. Alice sat up.
“Honey!” Debbie said, blinking into the dark. “What on earth are you doing here now? I don’t have my contacts in yet.” Alice looked around Pomander, as if she would see something that made sense—full daylight, a yellow brick road, anything.
“I guess I was asleep,” Alice said. She swallowed, not wanting to ask the question. She had on sweatpants, too—ancient regulation Belvedere gym class attire. They were the Belvedere Knights, as if teenagers on the Upper West Side needed any help thinking of themselves as exceptional and brave.
“Of course. Glad you’re here.” Debbie pinched the air in front of her until Alice moved into the space and Debbie could wrap her arms around her in a tight hug. Ursula rubbed her body against Alice’s ankles. Debbie finally let go, and Alice bent down to pick up the cat.
“I’ll just be on the couch. Go back to bed, I didn’t want to bug you.” Alice kissed Debbie on the cheek and turned around, heading back to the couch.
“I’m sure your dad would want to say hi, Al,” Debbie said, her voice now playful. “You don’t want to poke your head in?”
Alice turned back around. Ursula climbed up to her shoulders and bumped her wet nose against Alice’s ear. “He’s here?”
Debbie cocked her head to the side. “Course he is. The good nurse is in there, too. Mary. He likes her best. Her family’s from Trinidad and when she comes she brings these amazing little chickpea sandwich things, doubles, they’re called. So delicious.”
“Is he awake?” Alice asked. The hallway leading to the bedroom was dark.
“Here and there,” Debbie said. She gave a sort of half smile. “Mary thinks we’re close. The doctors said so, too, of course, but what do they know. Once he shifted over to hospice, they sort of washed their hands of him. I don’t think doctors like to lose. It’s not good for their stats.” Alice thought of the giant banner stretched across Fort Washington Avenue, proclaiming the hospital one of the best in the country, and imagined if instead it kept a tally of everyone who died, and all the babies born. This many in, this many out.
“Okay,” Alice said. She set Ursula back down on the floor. The hall was dark, and when she pushed open the door to her father’s bedroom, a nice-looking woman with glasses and a small book with a reading light was sitting in the corner. The regular bed was shoved all the way against the far wall, and Leonard was in an adjustable hospital bed right next to it, which made the small room feel even smaller. There was only a tiny strip of floor to walk on, no more than a foot wide.
“Leonard, you have a visitor,” Mary said. She closed her book and put it behind her on the chair. Leonard moved slightly, rolling his head from one side to the other.
“Oh yeah?” he said. Leonard was always better with company—alone, like most writers, he was prone to grumbling, but he turned on the charm when he wanted to, especially with strangers, especially with young people, and women, and bartenders. With most people, really. He was curious and always asked questions—that was why all her friends had always loved him. He wasn’t like most dads, who would mansplain about the grill or the Rolling Stones and then vanish after their soliloquy. Leonard was interested.
“It’s me, Dad,” Alice said. She took a few steps along the wall, until she reached his hands.
“Al-pal, I was hoping you’d come over today,” Leonard said. He turned his palm up, and she put her hand in his. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Alice said. It was weeks ago now. “How are you feeling?”
Leonard coughed, and Mary hurried over, squeezing past Alice to adjust his pillows. This was a dance, a duet between Leonard and whatever was on the other side, and the other side was starting to lead. Alice flattened herself against the wall to let Mary by. When she left the room, Alice let herself get closer to Leonard’s face. His cheeks were sunken, and so were his eyes. He was smaller than she’d ever seen him before.
“I’ve been better, Al.” Leonard offered a weak smile.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Alice understood what hospice meant, but it just felt wrong not to do everything one could. But of course, they already had.
“No, no,” Leonard said. His mouth pulled into a grimace. “No. This is the deal. We all have a time, and this is mine. Whether it’s today or tomorrow or next month, this is it.”
“I just don’t fucking like that, Dad.” Alice was surprised to find herself crying.
“I don’t like it much, either,” Leonard said. He shut his eyes. “But there’s no other way. This is how it ends, for all of us. If we’re lucky.”
“I’m just really going to miss you, you know?” Alice’s voice caught in her throat. “I don’t know how many people I really, really love, who really, really love me, you know what I mean? I know that sounds pathetic, but it’s true.”
“It is true,” Leonard said. “But that love doesn’t vanish. It’s still there, inside everything you do. Only this part of me is going somewhere, Al. The rest? You couldn’t get rid of it if you tried. And you never know what’s going to happen next. I was older than you are now when I met Debbie. Time to go forward into the breach. Until the future, at last.”
Alice nodded, willing herself not to cry, not yet.