“I know. You don’t have to say anything.”
It was getting later, but I didn’t want to go back to the train. I didn’t want to go back to Connecticut. I wanted this day to last forever. I wanted time to behave for just once. I imagined an oversized remote control: a button to pause, a button to stop. A button to rewind, so Sam and I could sit on a stranger’s front steps and eat cupcakes forever, and whenever we reached the end we could do it all over again. I would never get bored with this.
“We better get a cab,” Sam said. “The last train leaves at seven.”
“We could miss it?” I suggested.
Sam laughed. “You’re a bad influence, Lottie Reaves.”
We hailed a cab on the corner of Bleecker and Eleventh Street, and we rolled the backseat windows down to get as much of the New York air as we could before we had to leave it.
“One day I could move here,” I said while we waited for our train.
“Not here, I hope. Grand Central is much nicer.”
I laughed. “You know what I mean. I could get an apartment on Bleecker Street. I could eat lunch in Washington Square Park. I could teach at a school on the East River.”
“You could do whatever you want,” Sam said, and at first it was nice but then it faded into something sad, something darker. “You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“Well, so do you,” I said.
The dark look got a little darker.
“Is something wrong?” I asked when we’d settled into our seats and the train started barreling back toward home.
“Nothing. I had fun today; I’m glad you invited me.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
He looked out the window for a long time. “Remember when we were talking about the things we’re most afraid of? I guess this is one of them. . . . That the good things in life: friendships, trips, trains, the fastest elevators in the Western Hemisphere . . . none of it can last.”
“Damn,” I said.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“No, it’s fine. I want to tell you that you’re wrong and that life is a blessing and you’re going to have time to do all the things you want to do and then you’re going to be ready when it’s all over, but you’re right. It sucks. It almost makes you wonder why we bother doing anything.”
We were sitting across from each other again. Sam took my hand for three seconds and then let go.
“You remind me of someone,” he said.
“Who?”
“Someone who was a lot smarter than I am.”
“There’s always someone smarter than you,” I said. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner you stop trying to be right about everything.”
“Wise words, Lottie,” he said.
I didn’t tell him I’d heard them from Aunt Helen, because for some reason I got the feeling he knew.
I got home close to midnight and the only person still awake was Abe, reading a book in his favorite armchair in the living room. I sat on the ottoman across from him and said, “Have you ever had one of those days where you keep repeating in your head: This is important. Remember this. Remember all of this.”
He put the book down on his lap and thought about it. “When Dad taught me how to drive. When we snuck onto the track to see the meteor shower. When I met Amy.”
“So you know what I mean, then.”
“Of course I know what you mean. Why? What happened today? Mom and Dad told me about the last Hatter book. Is that it?”
“It’s that, it’s everything. It’s these letters, it’s this guy . . .”
“The guy from the party?”
“You saw him?”
“I saw him from a distance. Very nice hair. Good dancer.”
“He went to New York with me.”
“Did you have fun?”
“We had fun. But I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. There’s just . . . something.”
“Well, you have good intuition, Lottie, so I bet there is something he isn’t telling you. It’s probably not a big deal. Oh, like maybe he has a third nipple?”
“Like Chandler?”
“Good reference.” Abe yawned exaggeratedly and stood up. “I’m exhausted. Mom and Dad were hogging Aunt Helen’s computer all day, so I didn’t even get to read it. Is it good? Do they find their parents? Do they really live forever?”
“Abe, holy shit. It’s so, so good. And I’m not telling you anything.”
Abe rolled his eyes and pushed past me. “I’ll find out for myself.”
“That’s the point,” I whispered after him.
I got ready for bed and checked my phone once I was under the covers. There was an email from Wendy (I’d given her my contact info before we left her office): Lottie. Oh my gosh. I just finished the book for the second time. I haven’t even left my office all day. What a marvel. WHAT A MARVEL. I’ll be in touch soon. This is amazing, and it’s all thanks to you.
It wasn’t really thanks to me, though. I didn’t write it. I had only followed my aunt’s instructions. I was just the messenger.
My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Sam:
I had such a great day. I can’t stop smiling.
It had been a week since he’d introduced himself to me at Aunt Helen’s party, a few days since we ate pizza by the ocean and lay down together on the grass to watch the clouds, a few hours since we stood at the top of the Freedom Tower and told each other our greatest fears.
I wrote back:
Me too. I hope I see you soon.
Then I picked up the next envelope from my bedside table and tore it open.
Lottie, How was the view from up high? I hope you are back safe now, in bed or on the couch, tired after a long day but somewhere warm and comfortable. It is one thing to crawl into bed after a normal day, but it is another thing to crawl into bed after an adventure—that’s the best kind of sleep, the still-excited, still-buzzing kind of sleep where dreams blur into reality and it’s almost like the sleeping and waking worlds blur and become one.
Here is something easy, something that may lead you to an interesting discovery. A long while ago I let someone borrow a book that was very important to me. It was never returned. I’d like you to have it, because I have a feeling it will be important to you too. But you’ll have to do some digging. Ask for Leonard at Magic Grooves. It’s a very fun store that I think you’ll enjoy. I mean—I hope you’ve enjoyed all of this so far. There is so much more to come.
—H.
I opened the maps app in my phone and searched for Magic Grooves. Only one possible location popped up, in Groton, Connecticut. The description said it was a record store.
I texted Em:
Another errand tmrw?
She wrote back almost immediately:
Yes, yes OK. I’ll come over early. <3
I put my phone down on my nightstand. Then I grabbed the nearest Alvin book—Alvin Hatter and the Mysterious Disappearance—and started reading it all over again.
“The Overcoat Man didn’t die?” Alvin asked quietly.
“What’s worse,” A. said, “is that you left him alone in the house in the woods. He has access to EVERYTHING. We have no idea what magical secrets he’s stolen!”