Time After Time

by Lisa Grunwald

  —

  In the evenings now, while Joe listened to the radio and scanned the papers, Nora would settle across from him and read or sketch. He couldn’t quite make out her mood—or her focus. For several weeks now, when she was drawing, she didn’t seem at peace, the way she usually did with a pencil in her hand. He didn’t ask her about it. He figured she would say what was on her mind if and when she wanted to. For the time being, it was a relief that she’d stopped talking to him about travel.

  Still, whatever she was feeling seemed to be pulling her further away from him. She spent more time in her studio, painting. She gave tours of the terminal nearly every day. She wasn’t clipping magazine ads. They hadn’t checked on the apartment in weeks. And they made love only now and then.

  Joe had always thought that as soon as they had their own place, he’d ask Nora to marry him. Now he wondered if he should have done that sooner, or if he should do it now. He imagined getting Sal or Alva to help him put up white streamers and paper bells in the empty train car on Track 13. He could picture Ralston holding the Bible in his graceful hands, asking for the promises that went along with marriage. Would he and Nora be able to have and to hold? For better, for worse? For richer, for poorer? All that, they had done already, and Joe knew they always would. But in sickness and health? He thought about Damian, old and angry, bristling or brooding in his wheelchair. Time, as Nora all too frequently reminded Joe, was going to catch up with him too, though never with her. She was already starting to look more like a daughter than a wife. At some point she would look like a granddaughter. In the end, would she look like his nurse? Joe choked a little at the thought.

  Then he remembered the last part of the marriage vows: until death parts us. Hesitantly, Joe asked himself: Had that already happened, years and years before they had even met?

  * * *

  —

  In May, one late afternoon, he came off his shift and opened their hotel room door to find Nora kneeling beside the coffee table, an issue of Life open on the floor.

  “So, um, what are we doing, honey?” he asked.

  Nora pointed to the headline in the magazine:

  U.N. Headquarters Will Rise Out of Old Turtle Bay

  “The main building is called the Secretariat,” she said without a greeting. “It’s going to be five hundred feet tall, Joe. Thirty-nine floors.” Her face, usually so soft and relaxed, seemed to be drawn tight. She almost—just for a moment—even looked a little bit older.

  From under the coffee table she produced a box of Whitman’s chocolates and stood it on its end on one side of the coffee table. “This is the Secretariat,” she said.

  Next came the room’s small radio with its arched speaker, which she placed on the table’s other end. “This is Grand Central,” she said.

  Next she dealt a line of playing cards from one object to the other. “This is Forty-third Street,” she said.

  Finally, she closed the heavy drapes and turned off all the lights except one table lamp, from which she removed the glass shade. She knelt beside the table, holding the lamp at its neck.

  “The sunrise?” Joe asked.

  “The sunrise.”

  She lifted the lamp, moving it ever so slowly up to the horizon of the coffee table. Joe watched the radio and he watched the chocolates box, and even when the lightbulb sun had risen above the coffee table horizon, the box was blocking the light, which couldn’t reach the radio. Grand Central was in darkness.

  “Your window’s going to be blocked on Manhattanhenge morning,” he said.

  “Whenever that building is finished,” she said. “Maybe even when it’s half done.”

  As if the gesture could hold back time, Joe lunged for the curtains, pulling them apart and bathing Nora and the whole display in light.

  “Don’t you see, Joe?” she said to him. “Once it’s built, everything will change. All the Manhattanhenge mornings will be dark. It’ll be like a cloudy day, but forever. It’ll be the way it was when the mural was up, but forever. Or the servicemen’s lounge, but forever.”

  A long silence followed as Joe took this in. Finally, and softly, he said: “If you stepped out of bounds by accident, you could never come back.”

  “I’d be caught in the in-between,” she said.

  “Forever,” he said. His heart raced; he imagined Nora in the awful state she’d so often explained: forever bumping up against the barrier of a massive building, and not just any building, but one conceived as a lasting monument. Nora would be stuck not in the terminal’s light and not in the ether’s darkness, but in the gray in-between: the frightful, tortured place from which her only escape had been the entrance through the terminal’s middle window. With the building blocking the sun, Nora—if she stepped out of bounds—would be like a train that had run into a mountainside, its engine forever running.

  They looked at each other for a moment, silent in the dim room.

  “Don’t you see, Joe? It’s time,” Nora said at last.

  “Time,” he repeated needlessly.

  “You know I’m right,” Nora said.

  “No.”

  “Time for me to go for good. So I don’t risk the in-between. And you can live your life.”

  Joe shook his head. “I want to live our life,” he said.

  Standing there, looking so young but so resolute, Nora squared her shoulders and stared at him. “We know how Manhattanhenge sunrise has let me live,” she said. “And we know how the sunset can kill me.”

  He said: “And what? You’re going to make that happen? You’re going to choose that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to walk into Manhattanhenge sunset?”

  “Yes.”

  “All that pain again? And that heat?”

  Nora merely stared back at him.

  “That’s suicide,” Joe whispered.

  Nora flung her arms around him.

  He stood completely still, in shock.

  “I promised I’d never leave again without telling you,” she said.

  He stepped back. “No,” he said. “I won’t let you.”

  “Joe, the longer we wait, the less life you’ll have when I’m gone.”

  “I’m not ready to lose you,” he said. “We’ve got to give this more time.”

  “Joe,” Nora said. “I was supposed to have died twenty-two years ago. I was never supposed to have gotten this time.”

  10

  YOUR HEART’S BEATING

  SO FAST

  1947

  On the May morning of Manhattanhenge sunset, Joe woke to find Nora moving quietly around the room. In the dim light it was hard to see the expression on her face. She looked a bit like a shadow, and maybe she’d been that all along: something forever fleeting that couldn’t have existed without the sun.

  But could he really let her go? And more than that: Could he keep her?

  From the moment he woke up, Joe felt the tightness in his chest that he’d been feeling for the past ten days. It had been that long since Nora had shown him her model of the U.N. Ten days since she had told him she’d rather die—truly die—than risk spending eternity in the in-between. Joe had argued his point again and again: Just wait. You don’t have to go now. Look, the building isn’t built yet.

  She had been calm and unwavering: The sooner she went, the more life he’d have, and the less risk she’d have of being trapped.

  Plenty of desperate thoughts had crossed Joe’s mind as Manhattanhenge loomed. What if he locked Nora in the room? Feigned an illness? Pulled her back from the sun, as he’d done to save her four years before? But if he’d become the kind of man who could do any of those things, then he’d no longer be the man she’d loved.

  In any case, she had made up her mind to die a true death, a final death. He knew he had no right to s
top her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Now he said her name softly.

  “ ’Morning,” she said, as if it were any old day. “You slept pretty late. Time to get up.”

  “Come over here first,” Joe said to her. “Please.”

  He could see Nora toss her head back in that way that was so brave and moving. She climbed into bed beside him. She put her head on his chest.

  “You fit just right,” he told her.

  “So do you,” she said. “You always have.”

  They kissed for a long time and were quiet even longer. Neither of them had the heart to speak. They could hear a distant siren, then the rattle of some guest’s breakfast tray being wheeled down the carpeted hallway.

  In his arms, without her makeup on, Nora looked even younger than twenty-three. Joe marveled, as he held her, that her face was still completely unlined, her skin still that pink-peach hue. Even the morning he’d first met her, when her lips were stoplight red, she had looked older than she did at this moment, despite all the time that had passed.

  Was this really the last time they’d lie like this?

  “Your heart’s beating so fast,” she said.

  Joe knew that his only hope was the weather. If it rained; if the sky was cloudy; if just one tiny cloud blocked the Manhattanhenge sunset, then Nora wouldn’t be able to die, and he’d have her at least for another year.

  He stood up, heart beating faster, and opened the bedroom curtains. The sky was the color of pavement, with wide streaks of dark gray and blue. Joe was glad he was facing the window so Nora couldn’t see the relief on his face. He turned back, the tightness in his chest easing. “Looks like rain,” he said to her evenly.

  Nora offered the thinnest smile. “It’s early yet,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ve got to get to work.”

  They had agreed that he should work today.

  * * *

  —

  Joe understood that he couldn’t persuade her to stay, and that it was time for him to stop trying. Down in the tower room, he could be Steady Joe Reynolds. He’d know what to do and how to do it, and best of all, he’d be underground, blessedly unable to watch the sky.

  At the hotel room door, though, he hesitated. “What are you going to do all day?” he asked.

  “Tie up some loose ends,” she said.

  He looked at her warily. She just smiled. “You’ll be late,” Nora said, and she was right.

  She had her hand on the doorknob. Joe was trying to make himself leave, but now the tightness in his chest had become a tightness in his throat. What if the weather did clear?

  “Do you want me to be there tonight?” he asked her.

  “Not if you’re going to try to stop me.”

  “Where do we meet?”

  She smiled. “I’ll be at the clock at ten past eight,” she said. “If you’re not there, I’ll understand.”

  He started down the hallway but rushed back before the door had closed. He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her, deciding at the same moment that there was no way this kiss could be their last.

  * * *

  —

  Belowground, in the tower room, Joe was counting on the Piano to give him his usual sense of control. But today that seemed impossible. The call-and-response was meaningless:

  “Ladder X out of H.”

  “Ladder X out of H.”

  “Ladder X into 40.”

  “Ladder X into 40.”

  He worked with his usual speed and deftness, but the commands were barely words; they were sounds. He was only part of a machine—a machine that was unstoppable, a machine over which, Joe thought miserably, he had no real control. It was the tower director who chose the routes for the trains’ comings and goings. The leverman’s skill lay not in deciding those routes but in making them possible. No argument could take place between a leverman and a tower director. And this, as far as Joe was concerned, was the situation with Nora. She had chosen the time and place of her departure, and if Joe was doing his duty, his only job was to help smooth the way.

  He checked the clock repeatedly. His shift would end at 7:30, and the sun would set at 8:19. He would have plenty of time to shower and meet Nora at the clock. And he wouldn’t have to decide until the last moment if he could watch her go.

  Meanwhile, Joe worked and waited, and he recognized what he was feeling. It was like the Manhattanhenge mornings when he had prayed for the skies to be clear so that the sunrise could bring Nora back to him. On those days, too, he had kept his head down and pretended it was just a regular day. But the worry had always been there too: the knowledge that, at a certain moment, his life would go one way or the other. Ladder X into 40. Ladder X into 38. Push, pull, the click of the levers, the smell of the sweat, brass, and oil. And in the end, despite any knowledge or love or hope or prayer, he would be at the mercy of the sun.

  * * *

  —

  What Joe wanted to see, coming up from the tunnel into the concourse, was a swarm of people in rain boots and hats who were shaking out umbrellas while Gus and other workers scrambled to mop up all the puddles. What he found, however, was a view of a cruel blue sky, with only the smallest, most feathery clouds.

  Nora was standing at the gold clock, as promised, and for the first time since she’d told him her plan, she looked nervous about it.

  “I’m just going to ask you one more time,” Joe said.

  “You know the answer, Joe,” she said. “Let me ask if you—”

  “Yes, Nora,” Joe said. “I understand.”

  He reached out to take her hand, her miraculous hand, once more an electric thrill. Together they started up the marble steps, surrounded by people hurrying outside as they buzzed and chattered about Manhattanhenge.

  “I just don’t know what I’d have done if the weather hadn’t cleared up,” one woman said. “I’ve come all the way from Jersey for this.”

  That gave Joe and Nora one last chance to laugh. Then, with a suddenness that nearly overwhelmed him, Nora crossed her wrists behind Joe’s neck and kissed him so deeply that it could only have been for the first time or the last.

  When she broke off the kiss, Nora tore away, bounding up the stairs and out the door, as if the energy of the sun was already driving her. By the time Joe reached the top of the stairs, Nora had passed the cabs on Vanderbilt Avenue and was running toward Forty-third Street. They had always looked back at each other when they parted in the concourse. This time, Nora didn’t.

  The sky had become a jazzy blue. The unexpected heat of a late spring day had made the air heavy, and the street smelled of tar. The sun made its slow entrance from the left side of the canyon. Only a minute or so remained. Joe started to run after Nora, but running was merely a reflex, and he made himself stop. She was free to make this choice. It was among the only freedoms she had.

  The sun hovered between the buildings, a balled-up fist. Joe watched through tears while Nora lifted her arms from her sides as if she was taking in a last moment of joy. Then she fell to the ground.

  “Nora!” Joe shouted, despite himself.

  The sun opened its fist, stretched out its fingers, and all but pulled her forward.

  Joe’s last glimpse of Nora came just as the sun reached the center of the horizon and seemed to explode before his eyes, so bright he had to close them.

  When he opened his eyes again, Nora was gone.

  * * *

  —

  Joe was on his knees, sobbing. It didn’t matter a damn to him if anyone was watching. He stayed on the street for a long time as the crowd slowly dispersed. He watched the sky darken, the trucks and cars turn to silhouettes. Then he walked back through the terminal to the Biltmore lobby, the place where he’d first brought Nora to stay; the place where so many other couple
s would have so many embraces. Crossing the plush, carpeted lobby, he felt he was walking on Nora’s grave.

  Back in their room, he saw that this time she had gotten rid of everything. There were no boxes, no clothing or combs or makeup. She’d left behind only her old blue purse. Joe sat in an armchair and opened it. He took the things out, one by one: her change purse, with some bills and coins; the silver case with the lipstick that had painted on her last kiss; and the passport, which he opened, seeing the swept-up hair and the cream-and-tea photo of a bright, free flapper girl.

  It was not until Joe had removed all these things that he found the envelope in the bag.

  Inside it was a ticket for the 20th Century Limited.

  11

  THE 20TH CENTURY

  1947

  It took Joe a few days to get things in order. There was the job, the bank, the goodbyes, and the promises to Faye and the kids that as soon as he was settled, they could come and visit him. He wanted to go as soon as he could, to get away from the feeling that he would or could ever see Nora again. It didn’t escape him that if he stayed, he would, oddly enough, feel haunted by her. He knew he could never come back to this place without his heart breaking.

  The 20th Century Limited left at six o’clock every evening. Joe got a second suitcase from Mr. Brennan and filled it, along with the one he’d taken to Atlantic City with Faye. He left a bunch of things with Faye to send later, so he neither needed nor wanted a Red Cap to carry his bags or usher him down the red carpet and into the lavish wilderness of “the most famous train in the world.” He found his seat and watched the other passengers come aboard, the porters fussing around them and the Century Girls getting them settled. It was every bit as swank as he’d always imagined it would be.

  When the train started moving, Joe gripped the armrest. He had neither regrets nor fears, but he also had no certainty. From the rumbling darkness under Park Avenue, the train emerged into a gleaming summer sky. Silver arrows shot off the windows of the receding skyscrapers. Then the river came into view, the Hudson River, which he’d never seen like this, all stretched out and calm. It looked like a piece of fabric that had been wrinkled and then smoothed flat.