by Rebekah Pace
I held her palm to my lips and then turned it over. Her hands were delicate, but strong, and a hundred percent real.
I took the ring from the box, and when she didn’t protest, I guided it up over the knuckle on her fourth finger.
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I want to make you happy.”
“You do. And I want to make you happy, too—so we will be. We’re going to have a family. We’ll have everything we wanted.” I held her hand out, so the ring caught the light.
As we strolled past the storefronts, I paused in front of a bridal shop’s window display and envisioned how she’d look in white satin with a lace-covered bodice and a sweeping train.
“What kind of gown do you want? If you like, we could be married here, on top of the Eiffel Tower.”
“I was thinking of something a little simpler.” She put her arms around my neck. “Maybe a garden wedding under an apple tree. With a hand-picked bouquet.”
“If that’s what you want, you shall have it.”
“As soon as we get home, then.”
“Yes. When we get home.”
A moment later she gasped and pointed. “Did you see that? Across the street.” I looked where she pointed, but I saw nothing in the shadows. The wind shifted, and even though it blew warm, she shivered. “Let’s go.” I took her arm, and though we hurried, the ten-block walk back to the hotel seemed to take forever.
When we rushed into the building and across the red carpet, the brightly lit lobby felt like a haven. Mira’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she pulled me past the elevator.
“I can’t ever go inside that tiny box. We have to take the stairs.”
I followed her up the curved staircase. The round globe of the light mounted on the newel post on the ground floor illuminated the stairs as far as the landing but the cheery lights from the lower floors faded into gloom as we climbed. The wall sconces, which had shone bright when we’d arrived, now gave barely enough light to see by as we ran down the hall. She clutched my arm, watching the hall behind us as I fumbled with the key.
In our cozy, romantic room, the invisible hotel staff had left a bottle of champagne on ice, chocolates, and a bouquet of roses on the table. I locked the door, and Mira sank into one of the upholstered chairs and slipped off her shoes. After a moment, she sighed and smiled. I felt safe inside the room too. I popped the cork, poured into the waiting crystal flutes, and raised mine. “To my wife.”
“Just a taste for me. It’s not good for the child.” Tears brimmed in her eyes again as she sipped. Then she set down her glass and opened the balcony doors. I joined her, and as we looked out over the lights of Paris, the eerie silence pressed on my ears. We would never be carefree here. When I could stand it no longer, I put my arm around her shoulders to draw her back inside.
As she let go of the railing, her ring flashed in the light. Then the reflection faded. One by one, the districts of Paris went dark, until only the streets in our immediate vicinity remained alight. The stars glowed bright, close enough to reach out and touch, and then they, too, winked out, as if someone had drawn an inky curtain across the sky.
Mira buried her face in my chest and my arms closed around her automatically. Was this a not-so-subtle hint that our time, as she had feared, was running out? If this was our last night together, we must make it a night to remember so we could carry the memory with us into eternity.
I unzipped the back of her dress, kissing her neck as I eased it off her shoulders. This was the last step on the way to forever, where she would always be my wife. The dress rippled to the floor and I ran my hand up her stocking to the clip on her garter belt. She trembled as I caressed the curve of her hip. As we swayed, almost dancing, I spanned her waist with my hands, and my fingertips met at the base of her spine. I walked her backward, and she gave a little shriek as we fell onto the bed.
My pulse quickened as she loosened the knot in my tie and unbuttoned my collar. The locket rested in the hollow at the base of her throat and felt warm in my hand when I picked it up.
She lifted the red cord over her head and fashioned it into two slipknots, leaving the gold heart dangling between them. She put one loop around her wrist, and the other around mine and pulled the cord taut. “Promise me . . .”
“Anything, Mira.”
She laced her fingers with mine, and I pressed our hands into the pillows, over her head. Our kiss was so deep that I sank into her very core. Then she turned her lips away and whispered close to my ear, “Come to me. In Shanghai. I need you.”
The knot around my wrist constricted, cutting off my circulation. Her fingertips slipped from my grasp. The red silk cord was all that tethered me to her. Lightheaded, I watched as the fibers of silk pulled apart, snapping one by one until the locket slid off the cord and fell. Mira’s face, racked with grief, faded from view. As I blacked out, I heard her whisper, “Goodbye, Peter.”
24
Drenched in cold sweat, I gasped for breath in the darkness, the pain in my chest so intense I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t get out of bed to reach the phone. But I couldn’t die alone. Not now.
Mira had sacrificed whatever time remained for us in the dream and sent me to find her in the real world. She’d said she needed me. But Shanghai? She might as well be on the moon.
My legs trembled as they carried me into the kitchen, where I flipped on the light and sank down at the table with the atlas. I’d just promised never to leave her again. Oy vey. It was lunacy to even consider a trip like that. But what choice did I have? Cradling my head in my hands, I spoke aloud. “I’m coming as soon as I can. Wait for me, Mira. Wait for me.”
***
In the hours before dawn, I paced my apartment like a caged animal, anxious to take action but not knowing where to begin.
I left for the library right after breakfast and was waiting outside when Kara unlocked the door. “Good morning, Mr. Ibbetz. Nice to see you again so soon. Jacob isn’t volunteering today.”
“That’s okay. I am needing to learn about Shanghai, and my atlas is a hundred and twenty years old.”
She laughed. “We have recent books about China, but you can get the most updated information with an online search. Would you like me to help you get started?” Kara taught me how to use a search engine on the computer and left me to read on my own. When I learned Shanghai had a population of twenty-six million, I couldn’t believe it. How would I find Mira in such a large city?
***
I returned home several hours later, my head reeling with new information. The knock on my door caught me by surprise. I looked through the peephole and saw Benny holding a paper sack of groceries. I slid back the bolt and took off the chain.
“Hey, Pete—are you all right, man? You ain’t been around like usual. Are you getting enough to eat?”
Stifling a yawn, I motioned him inside. “Yes, yes I am fine. I am just losing track of the time. I have been busy.”
“Busy? Like how?”
“Reading. Planning. I am thinking of taking a trip.”
“Is that right?”
“You and Valeria, you are doing traveling?”
“Nah. I’m tied down to the business. Most I can hope for is a few weekends at the shore. You ever go to the shore, Pete?”
“Once. In 1949, I am thinking. With my uncle’s family.”
He opened the fridge and looked at the empty shelves. “You planning to leave soon? You ain’t got much to eat in here.”
When I didn’t answer, he put the groceries away. “Where you gonna go? New York? Florida?”
“I am not knowing anybody in either of those places. I am thinking maybe China. Shanghai.”
Benny’s eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared into his hair. “Shanghai?”
“An old friend is there—Mira. I am telling you about her sometimes. We are reconnecting.”
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“How long ago?”
“A few weeks ago, maybe.”
“So how did you get back in touch? By phone? Or did she send you a letter?”
“I have spoken to her.”
“Pete, how can you be sure it’s really your friend? You said you haven’t seen her since you were teenagers. I don’t want nothing bad to happen to you.”
“Benny, you are worrying, but there is no reason.”
“Did she ask you for money?”
“No! Nothing like that.”
“You know what a scam is, right? When crooks try to trick people out of their money?”
“Trick old people, you mean?”
“Not just old people. Good people, trusting people. Promise me you won’t send her any money.”
“Yes, yes. I promise. Mira is not tricking me. Is under control.” I waved away his concerns as I headed for my worktable. “Finally, I am finishing repairs on the music box. You can take it home to Valeria now, right?”
I wound the key, proud of the fact that the tune again played perfectly. Benny held the box gently in both hands. “We’ll treasure this, Pete. Thank you.”
“I am happy you like it.” I patted him on the shoulder. “You are good boy to worry about me, Benny. I am being fine.”
He bit his lip as he nodded. “I sure hope so.”
After he left, I heated up a can of soup and made a sandwich using the groceries he’d brought over. As I looked at the atlas on the kitchen table, I slapped my forehead. Oy vey. In the dream, I’d left Mira in Paris. Would she try to return to Leipzig in the car? How could I let her know I was on the way?
Then I remembered the locket was here, in my apartment, and also there with Mira. So was the atlas. I scribbled several coded messages. If I left them between the pages, perhaps she’d receive them.
Feeling hopeful, I carried my dishes to the sink and turned on the water. As I washed and dried, I was so lost in thoughts of Shanghai and how to get there that the next knock on my door really threw me for a loop. Remember nosy Miss Richter from Elder Services? This was when she and Benny showed up and nearly foiled my plan to find Mira.
25
Benny, Mrs. Simmons, and Miss Richter had their powwow about me downstairs in the hall, and after Benny and Miss Richter left, I watched to make sure she had driven away before I cut open my mattress. I never trusted anyone else with my money. I had always cashed my paychecks and my Social Security checks and hidden what I didn’t need, either in the mattress or under a loose floorboard in my closet. The canvas sack in there was stuffed with cash, a nest egg for emergencies. Until now, I’d never had an emergency, and I’d planned to leave the money to Benny when I was gone.
But he had violated my trust, and I might need every cent of my savings to find Mira. I had no idea how much a plane ticket to Shanghai would cost, so I zipped stacks of bills into my jacket pockets.
In the kitchen, I opened the atlas and put the coded messages near maps of the places we’d visited—Salzburg, Munich, Bruges, Lille, Paris. I hoped it would work like dropping a leaflet bomb, and she’d find a sheaf of messages telling her I was headed to Shanghai to find her. Then I went downstairs and out to the corner, where I signaled for a taxi. When one pulled up, I asked, “How much is it costing to the airport?”
“About sixteen bucks. Plus tip. You got any luggage?”
“No.” As I got in, I saw Benny outside the bodega. When he saw me, he did a double take and hurried toward me, but the cab pulled away before he crossed the street.
The roar of airplanes was part of the ambient noise in my neighborhood, but I had never realized the airport was so close. I watched the planes take off as we drove down Bergen Street, just a few blocks from my house. In a flash we were on the highway heading past the golf course and the park. In another few minutes, we were there.
“What terminal, buddy?”
“I am thinking to just pull over here.” Sixteen bucks seemed like a lot for such a short ride, but I gave the cabbie a twenty and told him to keep the change.
Inside, the place swarmed with people wearing backpacks and dragging suitcases on wheels. Overwhelmed, but determined, I spotted a clerk at a service desk and headed over. People around me grumbled, and the clerk stopped me before I could ask my question.
“Sir, you need to go to the end of the line.” She pointed over my shoulder. I turned around and saw about twenty-five people behind me, waiting in a queue.
Mumbling an apology, I moved to the rear of the line, where another clerk asked for my ticket.
“I am not having it yet. I am wanting to buy it now.”
She gave me one of those looks young people sometimes give the elderly—like we’ve got no idea how to manage the simplest of tasks. “What is your destination, sir?”
“Shanghai.”
Her surprise showed I’d made an even bigger blunder. “But sir, this airline doesn’t fly to Shanghai. You’ll need to go to United’s international terminal.”
“Can you show me—”
“First may I see your passport, please?”
“What for? My passport is expired in 1958.” Then the light bulb came on. I’d gotten ahead of myself. “Perhaps I am not ready to be leaving yet.”
“Do you need help to get home? Do you live nearby?”
“No. Yes. Please do not worry about it. I am taking a cab.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Never mind. My mistake.” This was more than being a forgetsik. I must have seemed like I’d lost my marbles. I was going to need help.
***
Exhausted by my interactions with people, the voice inside my head asked how I expected to make it to Shanghai when I’d been turned away at the airport. Button it, I told the little voice. I needed to think without anyone interrupting.
Like a prisoner planning a jailbreak, I would need help on the outside. I followed a group of people through the sliding doors to ground transportation and got another cab. I sank into the seat, and when the cabbie asked me where to, I said, “Where’s the nearest whatayacallit, where they are helping you plan a trip?”
“Travel agent?”
“Yes—that’s it.”
The cabbie was a young guy, and he chuckled. “I didn’t know they had those anymore. Hang on a sec and I’ll see.” He started messing with his phone. “There’s one about six miles from here.”
“That far?”
“Yeah. Takes about twenty minutes. You wanna go? They’re open till five.”
“How are you knowing all that?”
“It’s on my phone. Ain’t you ever heard of GPS?”
“No. That is very good thing to have.”
“Sure is.”
The travel agency was located in a narrow slice of a storefront. Inside, the posters advertising destinations like Greece, London, Paris, and Sydney seemed larger than life in the tiny space. The woman behind the desk hurriedly stubbed out a cigarette, waving at the smoke to clear the air. Flustered, she pushed back a lock of dyed-red hair. “Sorry! I know I’m not supposed to but I hardly ever get walk-ins here. What can I do for you, sir?”
My mouth felt dry. “I need to go to Shanghai right away.”
“We have some lovely tour packages that include Shanghai. How many in your party? When would you like to depart?”
“I am wanting to leave today. But first I am needing a new passport.”
“I see.” She tilted her head to the side as she studied me. I glanced down at my cardigan, with its fraying cuffs and missing button, my faded slacks, and my scuffed loafers. She probably didn’t believe I could afford a subway token, let alone a plane ticket.
“It is an emergency. A matter of life and death.”
“Life and death, you say?”
“Yes. My friend—a girl I am knowing a long time ago—n
eeds me. If I am not leaving right away, I am afraid I will be too late. I am missing the chance to see her and tell her I am never forgetting about her.”
“A long-lost love, huh? How long ago are we talking?”
“Seventy-five years.”
Her expression softened. “That’s so romantic.” Then her eyebrows flew up. “Holy mackerel! What are you gonna say to her after that long?”
“I am never running out of things to talk about with my Mira.”
“Honey, I’m a sucker for a love story. You can count on my help.” She extended her hand. “I’m Lucille.”
We shook. “Peter.”
“Pleased to meet you, Peter.” Elbows on the desk, she put her chin on her hands. “Now tell me all about your lady friend Mira. And don’t worry. I’ll get you to Shanghai lickety-split.”
Relief washed over me and I ended up telling Lucille everything—except the part about finding Mira in the dream. I fibbed and told her I’d located Mira’s name on a list of survivors, letting her think I’d been in contact with Mira and she was expecting my visit.
By the time I finished my story, I felt like Lucille was an old friend.
She got two seltzers out of the mini fridge behind her desk and held hers up for a toast. “To reuniting long-lost loves. It’s one of the perks of this job.” I clinked my bottle against hers, and we each took a sip.
Then she attacked the keyboard in front of her with her lacquered nails. I traced my finger through the condensation on the seltzer bottle until the clicking noises stopped.
“Pete, I can get you an expedited passport, but even expedited it’s going to take eight days. The travel visa’s a bigger issue, but with a little luck we’ll find a way around that.” Her fingers flew over the keys in more rapid-fire typing. “Bingo! I can book you on a ten-day cruise to Okinawa.”
“No, no cruise. I am needing to get to Shanghai.”
“Listen to me, I know the ropes, and I’ll get you where you want to go. The only way I can get you into China is as a Transit Without Visa—for tourists who are traveling through to another final destination.”