Twice

Chapter 3 #7

There were times I was tempted to use my power for more money. Rent a bigger place. Buy a car. But my mother’s warning about doing that stayed with me. And how would I explain to Gianna that we could suddenly afford such things?

Besides, there was something in our frugal existence that seemed to magnify our affection.

“Aren’t you getting tired of me being this close?” Gianna once asked as she cuddled under the blankets while I dressed on the edge of the bed.

“Why would I get tired of someone I love?” I said.

She nudged me with her feet.

“That’s the right answer,” she said.

She pulled me down and pushed my shirt off my shoulders and we made love in the way we had blissfully gotten used to, tender, thrilling, satisfying. I could have stayed in those days forever.

?

Our building was pre–-World War II, and we lived on the ninth floor, with an elevator that was often broken and a hallway that smelled of other people’s cooking.

On Sundays, we heard gospel music through the walls.

There was an alley behind us with a faded green trash dumpster, and one day Gianna discovered some stray cats living there in a Dunkin’ Donuts box. She brought them food every morning.

The months glided by. I wrote songs at night and tried to sell them to record companies or music publishers.

For my twenty--fourth birthday, Gianna bought me a two--track tape recorder so I could make my own demos—-she must have spent every dollar she had—-and that night, we made instant hot chocolate and Gianna sat next to me on the piano stool. I pressed record on the new machine.

“What do you want to hear?” I said.

“Play that ‘Try Me’ song you always sang in college.”

I placed my hands on the keys.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing my fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“OK.”

“Did you ever do this with another woman? Sit and play for them? Like this?”

“No.”

“Good. I want this to always be our thing.”

She let go of my hand.

“What about you?” I countered. “Did you ever sit next to a guy who played a song for you?”

She thought for a moment. “Once. In college. With Mike. But he just banged on his electric guitar.”

I looked down.

“Hey. Alfie?” Gianna said, turning my chin with her finger. “I was just waiting for you, OK?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, even in Africa, I sensed that you were somehow going to be in my life. When I saw you again at the zoo in Miami, I knew I was right.”

“Then how come it took us so long to get together? In college, you went out with other guys. You got mad at me a bunch of times.”

“I told you,” she said. “I was waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to grow up.”

I didn’t want to smile. But sometimes she made so much sense, I couldn’t help it.

“Don’t be hurt,” she said, squeezing my arm. “Destiny is patient.”

“You mean this was always going to happen?”

“Yup.” She smiled. “If you went back in time it would all still happen again.”

I think I visibly gulped. And then, feeling so close to her, I blurted it out: “I can do that.”

“Do what?”

“Go back in time.”

She grinned mischievously. “Oh, yeah?”

“I’m serious. I have a gift. I can do things twice. I’ve done it most of my life. If I don’t like something the first time, I can travel back and try it again.”

“I see.” She narrowed her gaze, feigning seriousness. “And can you take me with you, professor?”

“What?”

“Can we go back in your time machine together, say, to Africa? And Lallu? Right now?”

I made a face. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Ah.”

“But what if it did?” I said. “What if you could go back and redo something? What would it be?”

She looked away. She breathed out softly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It would be like taking a stitch out of a tapestry. The whole thing could unravel.” She turned back to me. “I figure every little thing that happens is part of life or fate or God or whatever leading me to where I’m supposed to be.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Who am I to undo that? It’s not finished yet.”

I nodded blankly. I felt sheepish.

“So should I go back and erase this whole conversation?”

She took my arm. “Yes, please. I really don’t want to think my boyfriend is insane.”

“OK. Twice.”

I snapped back two minutes.

“Don’t be hurt,” she was saying, squeezing my arm. “Destiny is patient.”

I looked straight into her eyes. “Yes, it is.”

She pushed my fingers onto the keys.

“Play,” she whispered.

I hit the first chord and sang the song she’d asked for.

“Try me, try me,

Darling tell me, I need you

Try me, try me,

And our love will always be true.”

Gianna laid her head on my shoulder, and on the last verse she whisper--sang along with me.

We kissed at the end and she said “That was really good, Alfie” and I looked around at our cramped apartment and this beautiful woman on my shoulder and the wisdom she had that I clearly did not and I swallowed hard and thought, This is what they mean when they say “choked up,” because I really was, choked up, and I pulled Gianna close and she threw her arms around my neck and I lifted her as she squealed with joy.

We made love on the futon, not bothering to open it. Afterward, lying next to her, I felt as full as I’d ever felt after my best meal, as rested as after my best sleep.

“I love our little apartment,” Gianna whispered.

“Let’s get married,” I whispered back.

“Alfie,” she said, cupping my face in her hands, “Alfie, Alfie, Alfie . . .”

Nassau

“That was it?”

Alfie stopped and looked up.

“Yes. That was it.”

LaPorta stroked his chin.

“You’re right. Wasn’t much.”

“Did it need to be?”

“Some people make a big deal. You know, hide a ring in the apple pie. That kind of thing.”

“Is that how you did it?”

“Me? Nah.” LaPorta chuckled. “My first wife orchestrated the whole event. Picked out the ring. Even picked out the box. Told me to give it to her at Christmas. Then she cried when she opened it. ‘Oh, Vince, it’s so beautiful!’ I don’t know. She liked to make a big production out of things.”

“Is that why you split up?”

“Yes and no. She was a pain.”

“And your second wife?”

“Well, that’s a whole diff—-”

LaPorta stopped himself. What was he doing? His story didn’t matter. This notebook didn’t matter. Roulette scam. Two million dollars. He glanced at his watch. The police would be here any minute to take Alfie to jail.

“Look, pal. I don’t care what you read next. But if it doesn’t explain why we’re bothering with this notebook, you’re done.”

“It will,” Alfie said.

The Composition Book

We went to visit my grandmother not long after we got engaged.

The nursing home was as I remembered it.

But when Yaya was wheeled out, I was stunned at how much she had changed in a short time.

She sat low in her chair, arms limp in her lap, her mouth slightly agape.

Her beautiful hair, always full and youthful, was now matted back under a shower cap.

“Alfie,” she said. “I didn’t know . . . you were coming.”

“I called a couple days ago. Remember?”

“Oh, you did? I don’t . . . I’m . . .”

She looked down and shook her head. I nudged Gianna, who was standing behind me.

“Yaya, this is Gianna.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Oh. Gianna. Finally!”

She motioned for me to lean in.

“Let me jump back to this morning,” she whispered. “I’ll get cleaned up.”

“No, Yaya. You’re fine the way you are.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She squeezed my hand, then raised her voice to Gianna.

“You are lovely,” she said.

“Thank you,” Gianna said. “Not as lovely as you.”

“Oh, my, well,” my grandmother said.

She turned to her orderly. “Go away,” she snapped.

He rolled his eyes but headed down the hall.

“So, Gianna,” my grandmother whispered, “you got any cigarettes?”

?

We visited for two hours. My grandmother drifted in and out.

Sometimes she was right there, sharp as a needle, making comments about my haircut or how she hated answering machines.

Then she’d nod off or repeat something she’d said five minutes earlier.

She kept glancing at a small refrigerator, as if waiting for something to emerge from it.

But she and Gianna got along splendidly.

Gianna had a warmth that touched anyone in her orbit.

When Yaya drifted, Gianna held her hand until she was able to focus again.

They spoke about Africa, college, photography, our apartment.

She told Yaya how beautiful her skin was.

At one point, still holding Gianna’s hand, Yaya reached for mine. We edged our chairs closer together.

“This one,” she said, nodding at me, “I worry about sometimes.”

“It’s all right,” Gianna said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“I believe you.” Yaya smiled deeply. “I want to give you something, OK?”

“OK . . .”

Yaya closed her eyes, still smiling. We sat that way for a few seconds. Then she opened her eyes and said, “Good.”

“What was that, Yaya?” I asked.

“Just a little prayer.”

“Thank you,” Gianna said.

“So,” Yaya said. “Will Alfie make an honest woman out of you?”

“An honest woman?”

“Marriage.”

Gianna smiled. “Yes. He proposed.”

“I don’t see a ring.”

“We’re gonna get to that, Yaya,” I said. “We’re saving money.”

“Is that yours?” Gianna asked, pointing to the jeweled band on my grandmother’s finger.

“Uh--huh,” she answered. She let go of our hands and ran her fingertips over the small stone. Her mouth curled downward.

“Go outside now, sweetheart,” she said to Gianna.

?

Once Gianna had gone, my grandmother’s tone changed.

“Bring me that,” she said, pointing.

“The fridge?”

“The book on top.”

I walked over. It was a photo album, open to the first page. I put it in her lap, and she ran her fingers over the faded images of an old black--and--white family portrait.

“My mother,” she said. “And my grandmother. That’s your uncle Nikos. And my daddy. Look how young.”

I studied the familial faces, the men in suits and the women wearing embroidered Greek jackets, their hair tucked under tight--fitting hats.

Yaya flipped the page. “Now. You see that fellow?”

It was a fraying photo of Yaya at the beach as a young woman, standing next to a dark--haired man with a barrel chest and squat, muscular legs. He looked to be about her age.

“Who is he?”

“George. From the Seminole reservation. That’s the only picture I have of him.”

“A friend?”

She shook her head wistfully. “More.”

“More?”

“He loved me a lot.”

I chuckled. “Well, not more than Grandpa.”

“More than anyone,” she corrected. “He wanted to marry me.”

“How did you feel about him?”

She closed the book. She covered her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Yaya?”

Her chin dropped. I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep.

“Alfie!” she suddenly said, her eyes springing open. “You have to know this!”

“What, Yaya?”

“Love is different. If you change your mind, if you jump back and start seeing someone else, your first love will never love you again.”

“What are you—-”

“It’s the only thing you can’t do twice!”

“I don’t understand.”

She tapped the photo several times.

“George. We got involved, you see? It was wonderful. True love. But my parents wouldn’t allow it because he was different.

So, I went back. I undid things. I started seeing your grandfather.

I gave my love to him. But it wasn’t the same.

It didn’t feel as strong. So one night, I snuck out to see George again. ”

“And what happened?”

Tears filled her eyes.

“It was gone. The way he felt. The way he looked at me. I was just another person to him. I tried so many times. So many jumps. It never worked. What we’d had was erased.”

I handed her a tissue. She wiped her cheeks.

“This woman. Gianna. Is it true love?”

“I think it is.”

“Then I’m worried, Alfie.”

“About what?”

“That you’ll do something stupid.”

“Yaya!”

“Like I did!”

“Yaya. What do you think I’m going to do?”

She waved her fingers dismissively. We sat in silence. I heard the sound of someone vacuuming the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Alfie. I’m old. This is what being old is. You worry about the young.”

I didn’t know what to say. She looked so frail.

“Yaya?”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t you go back a few years? Just to be healthier?”

“Oh, Alfie, I already have. So many times.”

She gripped the photo album. “At some point, you get tired of reliving the past. You’re ready for what comes next.”

The finality in her words frightened me.

“I don’t want to lose you, Yaya.”

She looked at me tenderly.

“I want, and you want, and God does what God wants.”

“That’s what Mom told me.”

“Well.” She smiled. “Who do you think told her?”

Nassau

Alfie paused his reading. He leaned back.

“She died a month later.”

“Was she telling the truth?”

“About what?”

“That you can’t get someone to love you twice?”

“Yes.”

“And was she right about you? That you were bound to make a mistake?”

“I’ve made many.”

LaPorta chuckled. “You know, for people who get to do things over and over, you folks have a lot of regrets.”

“That’s true.” Alfie’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe because the second time, you can’t blame anyone but yourself.”

“Whatever.”

LaPorta’s phone buzzed. He read the screen.

“Looks like we’re done here, Alfie Logan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re going with the police now.”

“But we haven’t finished the story.”

LaPorta rose from his chair. “I’m going to hear another story.”

“What are you talking about?”

He flipped his phone around to show a text.

“We’ve located Gianna Rule. And—-what a coincidence—-she’s staying on the island.”

“Wait. She’s here?”

“This oughta be interesting,” LaPorta said, grinning.

As the detective opened the door and yelled for the guard, Alfie’s expression changed. He creased a page in the notebook and carefully closed it around his fingers.