Page 16 of Life Out of Order

“Streets and Sanitation? Garbagemen?” Zach asks, incredulous.

“Of course not,” Joe says, a note of warning in his voice. “The City of Chicago had nothing to do with any of this.” This is a big fat lie, of course. We couldn’t have done anything on this scale without Gomez’s blessing.

Rosa says, “You don’t need to worry about what’s going to happen to them. We’re going to walk out the front door like it’s no big deal. Nadia will go with Zach. The rest of us will just go home. Caralora and Nick will have to stay and clean up, sorry y’all.”

“I’ll help,” my other self says. “It’s a monumental mess up there.”

“Thanks, Alba,” the twins say, almost in unison. Nick adds, “We ordered a cleaning service, but they won’t be here till around ten.” I wonder if I should stay, too? Silently I check with Other Alba: she shakes her head, no.

“I think they’re done,” Zach says. On the screen all is still. It’s 5:55 a.m. We exhale, relax, stretch surreptitiously.

“We should go up and make sure everyone’s okay,” Caralora says.

Other Alba holds up a restraining hand. “In a few minutes.” We stand quietly, waiting. At 5:59, a dark figure races across the screen. The clatter of footsteps keeps on for a few seconds after the person vanishes. The back door slams. “Now we can go upstairs.”

Several people say, “Who was that?”

“That was me,” my older self says. “I’m on my way to help a friend. Don’t worry about it. It has nothing to do with you.” I feel uneasy; when my older selves say it’s nothing it is usually something.

Curfew has lifted. Upstairs in the living room people are curled inside sleeping bags on the floor, snoring in their party clothes on sofas. It’s still dark outside. There’s no sign that anything is different; you’d never know that body snatchers have been at work amongst us.

Zach is standing next to me, and I start when he touches my shoulder. He leans close and whispers, “Do you want a ride home?” I nod and follow him to the front door. Nadia is waiting for us, her hair disheveled, her expression blank. Max and Joe have brought Lucinda downstairs, still drowsy, but she’s on her feet. The twins emerge from the kitchen, their sleeves rolled up, wiping their hands on dish towels. The Gomolinskis’ psychedelic minibus lurches along the unplowed street and stops, Rosa at the wheel. I give Lucinda a hug. She seems surprised to see us all; I wonder what the Gomolinskis will tell her? We bundle up against the cold. Max and Joe bid Nadia goodbye, somberly, and trundle Lucinda out into the cold. My older self is nowhere to be seen. Zach confers with Nick and Caralora, borrows their snow shovel and heads out, shoveling as he goes. I watch him digging out the enormous vintage car parked right in front of the house. I listen for the helicopter. It’s gone.

Nadia kisses Nick. “I’ll come and find you,” he tells her.

“Come soon,” she replies. They embrace.

Caralora and I retreat into the hall to give them a few minutes together. “Where is Zach taking Nadia?” Caralora whispers.

“Her family’s house in Miller Beach.”

“I don’t like any of this.”

“Neither do I.”

She looks so bereft, so unlike her usual glittery buoyant self; I wish I could undo the night. I remind myself of Junior’s crimes, the lives he’s destroyed, and the complicity of the police—Nadia has endured intimate humiliations to bring things to this point, and I know why it had to happen this way—and yet I think of Junior’s amiable face as he urged me to dance with Zach: even a fascist can accomplish some accidental good, I guess.

Zach has excavated his car. He starts it and comes back inside, leaving the shovel by the door. In the living room, a groggy partygoer sits up. “I’d better make some coffee,” Caralora says. She kisses my cheek, steps into the foyer and murmurs a few quiet words to Nadia, gives her a long hug and a kiss on the forehead. Caralora turns away, hurries past me blindly, disappears into the kitchen. Nick holds the door for me, and I step into the foyer as he steps out.

“Keep me posted,” Nick says.

“Will do,” Zach replies. Zach heads out to the car and motions me toward the front seat. When I get in he says, “Slide over,” and I am sitting close to him as Nadia gets in beside me. She has a shell-shocked expression and doesn’t speak as we pull out of the space. I offer her my hand. She takes it. We are both wearing gloves. Nadia holds my hand tightly. What have we done?

“What kind of car is this?” I ask, just to fill the silence.

“It’s a 1957 Nash Ambassador,” Zach replies. “It’s handy if you want to be ultraconspicuous. It’s also good in snow because it’s so heavy.”

“That’s cool,” I say. I don’t know much about cars; I don’t drive.

Nadia rests her head on my shoulder. No one says another word until Zach drops me off at home. The sun is just coming up; it throws long, skeletal tree shadows up the front of our house.

“You did it,” I tell Nadia. “You were amazing.”

“Yeah, I was,” she says, unsteadily. “Goodbye, Alba.” She whispers in my ear, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper. I kiss Nadia goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see her again.

I let myself in our front door; it is already slightly open, and I step gratefully into the warm house. Beck is there. She closes the door behind me, and through the glass I see Zach’s car slowly glide away. Nadia is staring straight ahead. Then they’re gone.