“I mean...”
“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 asmuch 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 beready 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.”
