I blinked.Forgive me.
Suddenly I was not in a little Italian restaurant; I was not holding the stem of a wineglass. I was in a place where the atmosphere had a pulse, where there were stars I could not see in Boston.
I was with someone else.
But Brian, of course, knew none of this.
“The woman asked my grandmother if she had been in Pionki. My grandma said yes, but she didn’t recognize the woman.”
“It was Tobie!” I said, shaking myself back into the conversation.
“Yeah. But she wasn’t five anymore, obviously.” Brian smiled at me. “They’ve stayed in touch all this time. She visited my grandmother about a week before you came to the hospice.”
I took a long drink of my wine and focused on Brian. “So you noticed when I showed up.”
“September fourth, just after tenA.M.,” Brian said. “Which sounds way creepier out loud than it did in my head.”
I wondered what it would be like starting over in Boston, after Egypt. I wondered if Brian’s grandmother had woken up for years after her liberation, panicked and bitter as memories of her prewar life grew harder and harder to recall.
When Alzheimer’s came at the end, was it actually a blessing?
Suddenly I wanted to cram my brain with details that had nothing to do with the Book of Two Ways or what Wyatt Armstrong looked like when he was asleep, and a dream was chasing him.
“What’s your middle name?” I demanded.
“Rhett.” Brian laughed. “My grandmother didn’t just loveGone with the Wind. She got my mom to love it, too.”
“Look at the bright side,” I said. “You might have been Ashley.”
Brian grinned. “Brussels sprouts. Yay or nay?”
“Yay,” I told him. “But God save me from celery.”
“Who doesn’t like celery?”
“It’s whatsadpeople eat. It has no taste and it’s hard labor for your jaw,” I insisted. “First pet?”
“Komodo dragon,” Brian said.
“Why am I not surprised?”
“In a world full of elementary school kids with hamsters, I was an original.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. “Theme song you know by heart?”
“M*A*S*H*,”I replied. “Used to watch reruns with my mom. How about you?”
“The Facts of Life,”Brian said. “Don’t judge me.”
We kept this up through the main course, a shared tiramisu, and a second bottle of wine. I learned that he could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue. I told him I could whistle through my thumbs. By that time, the room was soft at the edges, and we were the only diners left.
“When was the last time you sang?” I challenged.
He ducked his head, smiling a little. “To my grandmother. She’s the only person who thinks I’m a decent baritone.” Brian drained his wineglass. “Okay, what’s your best cocktail party random fact?”
“When the mummy of Ramesses II was sent to France in the 1970s, he got his own passport, and the occupation was listed asKing/Deceased.”
Brian burst out laughing. “That is so, so good.”
The waiter appeared with the check. I couldn’t imagine how expensive it was; I never ordered bottles of wine, only glasses. But I reached for the little leather folder anyway, only to be stopped by Brian, who grasped my wrist. “Please. My treat,” he insisted, but he didn’t let go, and his fingers tangled with mine.
