Page 85 of Life Out of Order

I’m making a mental note to include some mermaids in the Museum of Lost Souls, when I glimpse an idea. “Excuse me for just a minute?” I say. I grab my handbag on my way to the bathroom. I sit on the side of the tub, take out my phone and start making notes: ARIEL—a benevolent spirit AI? What if Isadora was more like fairy servant, less like child. A changeling. Isadora doesn’t know what is impossible, she can rearrange reality, anything becomes possible in her world. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.” My mind is rushing with ideas, but I should get back out there. I put away my phone, wash my hands, return to the table. Clare can see that I’m inspired, and she gives me a knowing smile. Plates have been cleared, now Alba brings the cheesecake to the table, Clare makes coffee, Kimy cuts the cake into slices. I think about the ways I can alter Isadora’s code. A muse in the machine.

Alba eats her cheesecake by running her fork under the top skin of the slice, eating a bite and then skimming it again, slowly removing the filling from top to bottom until she’s left with the crust. I used to do this when I was a kid. It always irritated my dad. I’m watching her, thinking of him, when Alba matter-of-factly asks, “So, are you going to move in with us and get married now?” She’s just making conversation. She’s not even curious—she knows what will happen; she’s only unsure about when. Clare looks like she wants to evaporate. Kimy says, “Alba,” with a warning in her voice.

“Well, not right this minute,” I say. “I’ll keep you apprised of the situation as it develops.” I try to keep my tone light; Clare has warned me to expect anachronisms, but this is a little much.

Alba seems satisfied. “Okay,” she says. “What kind of music do you like?”

We embark on an exploration of my musical tastes (it’s humbling to talk to an eight-year-old who’s a living encyclopedia of music when I mostly just love the songs that were on the radio when I was growing up, Detroit techno and Afrofuturism, plus the Motown and jazz standards my parents loved and played incessantly on our ancient stereo). Alba tells me politely that she will do some “research,” and I smile, imagining this earnest little white girl time traveling to the Majestic Theater or The Shelter. I tell her I will listen to the Goldberg Variations, because she’s been enthusing about them for the last ten minutes.

Alba asks, “Can I call Nadia now, Mama?” Clare replies, “What do you say to Beck?” and Alba says, “It was very nice to meet you, Beck.”

“I enjoyed meeting you, Alba,” I tell her.

Alba stares at me, trying to decide if I mean it, then grins and turns away, as though the whole encounter has been too much, and goes clattering across the wooden floor at top speed—“Don’t run in the house!” Clare says—then a door shuts, and I hear a muffled voice.

Kimy and Clare and I all sigh audibly. “Would you like more coffee?” Clare asks me and Kimy. “Or a stiff drink?”

“Drinks all around,” Kimy says. “Oh, boy. I always think I’m gonna get used to that girl, but I never do. Here, I’ll do it, Clare, you sit.” Kimy disappears into the kitchen.

Clare turns to me, apprehensively. “You were great, she really likes you. I hope that wasn’t too bizarre?”

“Well, I can’t remember the last time I was that nervous about meeting somebody,” I say. “Is life always this exciting around here?”

Clare grimaces. “We’ve tried to stop her, but she can’t always differentiate between stuff nobody knows yet and things the grown-ups aren’t telling the children. I’m sure she thought she was the last to know, not the first.” Clare offers her hand, and I take it.

“I’m glad,” I tell her.

“So am I,” Clare replies.

I hear a cocktail shaker in action. Soon Kimy emerges from the kitchen with three red-purple drinks on a tray—“In honor of Alba’s misadventures with beets,” Kimy says—“Sloe gin fizzes,” Clare adds. Kimy offers a toast: “Welcome to the family.” We click glasses. The purple liquor effervesces on my tongue. For the first time in forever, I feel at home.

Henry Calls Home

Sunday, July 18, 2010 (Henry is 43, Clare is 39, Beck is 34, Alba is 8)

Clare: I wake up panicked and confused. The phone is ringing. I think, Henry? Alba? There’s someone sleeping next to me and I think it’s Henry and then I remember, Beck.

I fumble the phone off its cradle and onto the bed and manage to press the button that quells the jarring noise. Beck turns toward me in her sleep and sighs.

I whisper, “Hello?”

“Clare?”

Henry. Now I’m awake. I slide out of bed, reach for my bathrobe and awkwardly put it on while holding the phone against my shoulder. “Where are you?” My heart is racing. I walk out of the bedroom as quietly as possible and close the door behind me. Beck still appears to be asleep, though the phone is so loud it surely must have awakened the whole neighborhood. Alba is with her grandfather.

“I’m at the Newberry, in my office,” Henry says. “Though it seems to be someone else’s office now. What’s the date?”

“2010. July, maybe the 18th?” I speak softly as I walk down the hall, into the kitchen, and close the door behind me. It was hot all day, and we went to sleep with the air-conditioning cranked up. Now the kitchen floor is cold under my bare feet. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“No—I mean, I do, but you wouldn’t be able to get in, it’s three a.m., the alarms are on. Just talk to me.”

“Sure, of course.” These calls are rare. Sometimes I dream that Henry calls; now I pinch my arm to see if I’m still asleep. It hurts. “Um, when are you coming from?”

“2006. Thursday, November 2.”

“Oh.” I know he can hear the sadness in my voice. I imagine Henry sitting there naked in his office that is now someone else’s office, his stumps new and painful; he only lost his feet a month ago, in his present. “Are you—okay?”

“Ah, not really, but there’s not much I can do about it at the moment. I’m sitting on the floor; I can’t even figure out how to get this chair to hold still while I try to get into it. I took some pain meds right before I ended up here, so it’s not as bad as it could be. Never mind, just distract me. Tell me what’s going on with you and Alba.”