This Time Tomorrow(53)

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 birthday . . . 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 a 90210 marathon 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 unlocked the 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 a how are you was 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.