“Hoo boy,” Tommy said. “Come here, baby.” He scooped Dorothy up and carried her to a rocking chair in the corner, where he plucked a faded scrap of cotton attached to a pacifier. Dorothy took this object with both her hands and plugged her own mouth with immediate comfort that verged on the ecstatic. She moaned. “Go for your run,” Tommy said. “I’ve got this.” He sat in the chair and pulled a book off a nearby shelf. Leo army-crawled across the floor and set his head on top of one of Tommy’s feet. Alice didn’t know when she’d turned into a person who ran for fun, but she laced up a pair of sneakers by the door and went out into the world.
37
The doorman swung the front door open wide, tucking his body next to a six-foot-tall potted tree, one of two that flanked the building’s entrance. “Morning, Alice,” the man said in greeting. He was small, with a round face and a barrel chest inside his double-breasted coat. Alice felt terrible that she didn’t know his name, because she could imagine how many people who lived in this building never bothered to use it until it was time to write it on an envelope at Christmas.
“Morning!” she said, and hurried into the predawn air on Central Park West. Unlike Broadway or Columbus, the busy commercial stretches of the neighborhood, Central Park West looked exactly as it always had. The trees leaned over the stone walls like neighbors sharing sugar, some bending low to shade benches below. The apartment buildings that faced the park weren’t glossy monstrosities like Alice could see poking into the skyline in midtown. These buildings were limestone and brick, elegant and sturdy. It could have been any year in the last five decades. There were flower boxes in front of the mostexpensive buildings, and doormen standing sentry by the grand doorways, ready to hail taxis or help carry groceries. Alice slid her phone out of her pocket and pressed her father’s name. What had Tommy said? Go visit her dad? Go see her dad? Had he mentioned a hospital? Alice was almost positive that he hadn’t.
The phone rang and rang and then Leonard’s outgoing voicemail message began to play. Alice hadn’t heard it in so long—in the weeks before her birthday, she’d had no reason to call—if Leonard couldn’t answer the phone, which was, after all, just a pocket-sized hunk of metal and plastic, why would she call? He said to leave a message, and that he’d call back as soon as possible. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe he was having breakfast at City Diner and had left his phone at home—Alice had long envied that about her father, that he retained a certain twentieth-century attitude about telephones, that they mostly stayed at home, and he could easily go hours without touching his, whereas Alice could hardly go ten minutes. Alice hung up instead of leaving a message, then changed her mind, called back, and after the beep, said, “Hi, Dad. It’s Alice. Just want to hear your voice.” She was across the street from the Museum of Natural History, and part of her thought that if she went inside, straight under the whale, she would somehow be able to see herself and her dad lying there. Alice broke into a jog.
A few blocks north, Alice approached the Belvedere corner. She peeked down the street and was relieved to see it empty—no ghosts of Alice past or Alice present. She jogged faster, past ancient couples walking hand in hand, past the hot dog vendors setting up for the day ahead. The steadiness of the city was keeping her upright. New York City could handle any personal crisis—it had always seen worse.
The light changed on the corner of 86th and Central Park West, and Alice leaned over, her hands on her knees, breathing hard. A jogger bobbed up and down next to her, earbuds in. Alice ignored her until the woman waved a hand in front of Alice’s nose.
“Morning,” Alice said.
“Oh, come on,” the woman said. She bobbed faster, like a featherweight boxer, and then began to drum the air. “You say it’s your birth-day... da da da da! Well it’s my birthday, too!” The woman cracked herself up. “I’m kidding, it’s not my birthday. Happy fortieth, lady!” Before Alice knew what was happening, the woman’s sweaty arms were around her body, squeezing.
“Oh wow, thank you,” Alice said. When the woman pulled back, Alice looked at her. It was a Belvedere mom, a real pest. Mary-Elizabeth, maybe? Or Mary-Catherine? There were two little boys, one of whom they’d nearly bounced from the preschool because of a biting problem. Felix and Horace, that was it. Alice could picture their neat haircuts and serial killer manners. “How did you know?”
Mary-Catherine-Elizabeth waved her phone in the air. “Hello, you’ve been posting on Instagram like crazy. Saw the cake with your kids, so cute. My kids are both off gluten because it makes them—” She drew circles around her ears and crossed her eyes. “Anyway, we got a sitter—finally, a new one—and so Ethan and I will both be there tonight. I’ll be ready for some cocktails after a whole day with the kids.” She made another rubbery face. “Anyway, gotta get my miles in! Self-care! See you later!” She was off like a shot, zipping across the wide street in a few long strides, and then vanished into the park, heading south.
Alice was having a birthday party. Again. She pulled out her phone to text Sam, but when Alice looked at the thread, it was sparse. Mostly Alice’s texts in blue bubbles—Hi! Just checking in! Free for dinner next week? How’s it going? There’s a90210marathon on, FYI—with Sam’s infrequent replies.Yes to dinner—this week is crazy! Ha!Alice put the phone back in her pocket. She’d try later.
It took another six minutes to jog to Pomander Walk. Behind the gate, Pomander was quiet, but it wouldn’t be for long. Alice unlockedthe heavy gate and hurried to her father’s door. She didn’t want to see any of the neighbors, because she didn’t know any answers to the basic questions—even ahow are youwas an existential landmine. Alice shut the door behind her and Ursula was immediately darting in between her legs. Alice leaned down and scooped her up and held the cat against her chest.
“Hi, puss puss puss,” she said into Ursula’s black fur, whispering in case her father was home and still asleep. All the lights were off, but the sun was starting to rise, and Alice could make her way well enough. She could have made her way with a blindfold. At the end of the hall, she reached for her father’s bedroom doorknob, but then hesitated. What did she want to see? Did she want to find him there, asleep? Did she want to see an empty bed? Instead, Alice reached for her own bedroom knob, and thrust the door open into her room.
There was a rug on the floor. It looked old and expensive, Turkish, maybe. It was possible that it had always been there, underneath her piles of belongings, but Alice couldn’t remember ever seeing it. There was a desk where her bed should have been, a big handsome wooden one.
“What the fuck,” Alice said. Ursula jumped down to the floor and landed with a thump. Alice opened her closet door and found clothes hung neatly, and folded sheets and towels. Nothing that belonged to her. “What the fuck.”
Alice backed out of her room and hovered outside her father’s door. She knocked once, quietly, and put her ear against the wood. There was no sound, and so she knocked again, and then slowly turned the knob.
Leonard’s bed was empty, and neatly made, as always, with four pillows at the top and his familiar patterned quilt pulled taut and even at either side. Alice closed the door again and walked back down the hall. Ursula meowed, clearly asking to be fed as elegantly as she could, and so Alice pulled out a fresh can and emptied it into Ursula’s bowl, which was where it always was, on a small tray on the kitchen floor.
Most things in the kitchen looked the same. That was the truth of living in one place for decades, if you were like Leonard—the things you bought once upon a time, on a whim or just because you needed a step stool and so you bought the first one you saw at Laytner’s Linen, well, that was just what you had. Leonard had never cared about interior design, or design of any kind whatsoever. But there was something different about the kitchen, and it took Alice a few moments of standing still to figure out what it was.
There were no ashtrays.
Alice looked on the table, and there was none. She looked on the kitchen counter. The house smelled like lavender and soap. She turned to the fridge and put her hand on the handle, but then stopped—there was a photo of her stuck to the door with a magnet Leonard had had all her life, a circular NASA logo that they’d bought at a museum when she was a little girl.
The photo looked like a holiday card—professionally photographed and printed on thick card stock.Happy New Year!it read, in large gold letters. In the photograph, Alice was holding Leo and Dorothy on her lap, the former clutching a toy truck in his fat little hand. Tommy stood behind them, cupping his hands around Alice’s shoulders like a bad masseur.
The front door creaked, and Alice jumped. “Dad!” she said, and turned around, her heart beating fast.
“Um, no?” a small voice said. A skinny girl wearing blue jeans and an enormous sweatshirt waved at her from the doorway. “I’m Callie, from next door? I’m taking care of Ursula while Leonard—your dad—is in the hospital.”
“Right,” Alice said. She swallowed. “Hi, Callie. Thank you. I just fed Ursula, but I’m sure she’d love nothing more than to have you pet her for a while.”
“Okay,” Callie said, still standing in the doorway.
Alice touched the card on the fridge, covering her own face with the pad of her pointer finger. “Right, thanks,” she said, and ducked out the door. Visiting hours started at eleven, so she couldn’t go straight uptown. Alice looked at the keys in her hand and started walking back toward the San Remo. She couldn’t quite bring herself to think of it as home.
38
The children yelped when Alice walked in the apartment’s front door. That’s nice, Alice thought, a welcoming committee. She had thought a lot about the downsides of parenthood—sleepless nights, diapers, a lifelong commitment of love and support—but she had not spent very much time pondering the benefits.
“I’m hopping in the shower, then I’ll be right there!” Alice called out. She’d always lived alone, and it occurred to her now that she’d always been just a little bit lonely, on top of enjoying her quiet and her space and her freedom. In the bathroom, Alice locked the door, not ready for the full-throttle intimacy that Tommy took for granted, and tried calling Sam, but instead of leaving a message when she didn’t pick up, Alice sent a text.Would really love to talk, please give me a call when you can.
