CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE SUBWAY

Part One

Alexander didn't know she had been there.

He finished the page he was working on at five fifty-five, saved it, and rubbed his eyes. It was still dark outside. His feet hurt. He had walked forty minutes to get here, because a cab was too expensive and he hadn't yet figured out the subway.

He looked down at his shoes. The left one had a small hole in the sole.

"Right," he said to the empty floor. "Enough."

He took out his phone and opened the map. It showed a red line and a green line and a blue one, all tangled like string.

He stared at it for a long time.

The next morning he left the hotel at five. It was still dark. The station was a block away, down a flight of dirty stairs that smelled like rain and metal.

He stopped in front of a machine.

It had a screen. It had a slot. It had a lot of buttons and none of them said what he needed.

"Single ride," he read out loud. "Unlimited. Reduced fare. Refill." He frowned. "What does refill mean?"

"It means you put money on it."

He turned around. A woman in a puffy coat was standing behind him with a coffee and a tote bag. She looked half asleep.

"Sorry," he said. "I haven't done this before."

"You haven't taken the subway?"

"Not in this city."

"Wow." She looked at him with an odd kind of wonder. "Okay. Press the green one."

"This one?"

"No, the green one. The other green one."

He pressed it.

"Now put your card in."

He took out his card. He hesitated. He wasn't sure how much was on it.

"It's three dollars," the woman said.

"All right."

"Do you want a card to keep, or just one ride?"

"What's the difference?"

"The card is cheaper if you ride a lot."

"I'll ride a lot."

"Then get the card."

He did. The machine gave a little beep, and a flat blue card slid out like a tongue.

"Thank you," he said.

"No problem." She stepped around him and tapped her own card on the gate. "Where are you going?"

"Midtown."

"Take the six uptown. Not the four. Everyone mixes them up."

"The six uptown."

"Good luck."

She was gone before he could ask which platform.

He found it, eventually, by following the signs. The platform was almost empty. A sign above the track said 6 Uptown in a small green circle. He stood on the yellow line and waited, and a train roared in and its doors slid open with a hiss.

He got on.

He sat down. He looked at his phone. He had thirty-eight minutes to spare. He almost smiled.

The train rattled. The lights flickered. Somewhere around the third stop he stopped looking at the map, because he thought he understood it.

That was a mistake.

Part Two

"Next stop, Brooklyn Bridge."

Alexander looked up.

He read the announcement again in his head. Brooklyn Bridge. That wasn't Midtown. That wasn't anywhere near Midtown.

He looked at the map above the door. His finger traced the line. Then he found the small number on the side of the train car.

It said 4.

"No," he said quietly. "No, no."

The train stopped. The doors opened. A few people got out, and a few people got in. Nobody looked at him. He stood in the middle of the car, holding the pole, and felt the floor tilt under him.

He was on the wrong train. He had been on it for six stops.

He got off and stood on the platform with his heart pounding. He checked the time. Seven eleven.

Thirty-four minutes. He could still make it.

He went up the stairs two at a time and came out into a street he had never seen. A cold wind pushed at his coat. He opened the map on his phone. It spun. It wouldn't load.

"Come on," he said. "Come on."

The signal flickered. A blue dot appeared. It was nowhere near where it should have been.

He went back down. He found the platform. He waited for a six uptown for what felt like a year. When it came, it was so full that he had to stand with his back against the door and his bag held to his chest.

Seven twenty-six.

"Excuse me," a man said, trying to get past.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. First time?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're holding your bag like it's a baby."

Alexander looked down. He was. He loosened his grip and tried to laugh.

"What stop are you?" the man asked.

"Fifty-first and Lex."

"That's five stops. You'll be fine."

"I'm supposed to be there at seven forty-five."

The man glanced at the little clock on his phone. He winced. "Then you better hurry."

At seven thirty-nine, the train pulled into the station. The doors opened. Alexander shoved through the crowd and took the stairs three at a time.

The street was bright and loud and full of people. He turned in a circle, trying to find the right direction. He saw a clock in a shop window. Seven forty-one.

He ran.

He hadn't run since he was twenty. His shoes slapped the pavement. The hole in his left sole opened up with every step, and he could feel the cold coming through. A woman with a stroller pulled it out of his way. Someone shouted something. He kept going.

Seven forty-four.

He reached the glass front of the building. He shoved through the revolving door and nearly knocked down a delivery man.

"Sorry!"

"Watch it!"

He hit the elevator button. It was on the top floor. He hit it again, as if that would help. Then he ran for the stairs, because he couldn't stand still.

Twelve flights. His lungs burned. His legs shook.

He pushed through the door onto the floor at seven forty-six.

He stood there, bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.

He had never been late for anything in his life.

He looked up.

At the end of the hall, behind the glass wall of her office, Mia was standing with her coffee in her hand. She had her eyes on him. She had been watching him, he realized, from the moment he came through the door.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Then she looked back at him.

She didn't say anything.