She spotted Alvin seated in a pew in the 30th Street Station, dressed in a wool coat too warm for September. He seemed to be focusing on the digital board that held departure information. She’d thought of visiting him at the WellCare Center, which he’d been moved into last month. Their daughter Daphne had informed her of that.
Back when he’d been working, he’d ridden the trains. Up to Trenton or down to Towson to make his sales calls. When they had the tiny apartment on Bach Place, she’d walk to the station, cross the Schuylkill on the JFK Bridge, wait inside the station for him to return. Back at the apartment, they’d have dinner, talk about where they might live someday. Along came Daphne, their baby. They moved into a two-bedroom house in Cobbs Creek. She sat across the main aisle of the terminal from him, didn’t take her eyes from his profile. Her train for New Brunswick was scheduled leave on time.
She decided to text Daphne. Your father is here at the 30th Street Station. Do you know why?
A minute later, her phone rang. She tugged down her facemask. “Daphne.”
“What’s he doing, mother?”
“Sitting, waiting, I guess.”
“What train is he taking?”
“I haven’t the slightest.”
“Have you gone over to him?”
“I will.”
“I’m going to call WellCare, can you stay there?”
“I have a train … yes. But I can catch the next one.”
“I’m calling WellCare, right now.”
She returned the mask to cover her nose. Alvin was not wearing a required face covering. She wondered if an employee, a security person, would say something, but he was an older man and maybe they decided to just leave him alone. She’d need to call her friend Patsy, in New Brunswick. They’d scheduled a lunch date, then were going to see the 3:20 showing of French Exit. Following that, she’d catch the 6:15 from New Brunswick, and return. She would have to choose between the lunch and the movie. She typed out a text for Patsy: Unexpected issue, will have to take the 12:45. Can meet you at the theater. I do want to see how Michelle Pfeiffer is doing.
There were boarding calls, the Acela Line for DC, Keystone Service for New York. A track change for the Empire Builder to Chicago. She thought, When you weren’t working or talking about work, what were you doing? Making love. She peered at him. You gave it to me good, pal. Not only me. She let it go. Once, she’d fucked an art student from Villanova, the guy had been half her age. That was a story. “Alvin,” she said, though there was no way he could hear, not over the announcements, which included the boarding call for her train. He wore tennis shoes, mismatched socks, one brown, one midnight blue.
Her phone vibrated. Daphne spoke, “He’s missing. I told them that you located him. They’re scrambling. They want to send somebody. But I’ll do it. How’s he doing?”
“Sweetheart, he’s sitting in a pew.”
“Does he know why he’s there? You haven’t spoken to him yet?”
“I’ll stay here till you get here, I promise.”
“WellCare is so fucking understaffed. I’ll have a talk with them.”
“All right. Text me when you’re out front.”
“On the Schuylkill side. Be easier for me to get back on the Expressway.”
“I know where you mean.”
~
Daphne lived up in Bala Cynwyd, a twenty-minute drive, maybe not even that on a Sunday morning. It might take a few minutes to walk him across the station to the Schuylkill entrance. When they’d been married, of course she could see traces of an old man coming, the stooping shoulders, sinking cheeks. She’d wanted him to try another line of work. She’d said that to him so many times: Do something else. His response? A wistful smile. This is what I know how to do. The last time she’d seen him, which had been in May to celebrate the graduation of Daphne’s daughter from SJU, she thought he’d recognized who she’d been to him. At Daphne’s they sat next to one another on the couch. He’d smiled and they’d chatted, sparingly. The idea was not to pelt him with questions Remember me? Remember when? We had a good time, didn’t we? When he said something, it was all right to respond, though he should never be pressed. He hadn’t said her name, but Daphne had already told her he was much better with faces.
Patsy texted: Should we do it another day?
She texted: Michelle Pfeiffer!! (They serve wine in the lobby, don’t they?)
If she went over right now, there wouldn’t be a lot to say. None of trains were his, not today. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what he was thinking now, though Alvin’s doctor had reported that his vision was just fine. Footsteps, conversation, boarding calls. Her eyes snapped open; he was still there, hadn’t moved.
Patsy texted: (laughing) will meet you in the lobby.
Then, she noticed a security guard, a smallish woman in a dark uniform, moving deliberately in his direction. The guard stopped a few feet from where he sat, leaned forward and said, “Sir? Sir?”
She arrived right at the guard’s side. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“Oh,” the guard said, straightening.
In a low voice, she said, “He likes coming here, that’s all. It’s what he used to do.” Alvin watched them both and she felt her forehead crinkling. He hadn’t shaved in days. His hair was swept back nicely.
The guard held up her hand to her nose and mouth.
“I have a covering for him, yes.” She cleared her throat, stepped forward. “Alvin,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“It’s me,” she said.
“Yes, I know.” She turned partway, gave the guard a solemn nod.
“Well, Alvin,” she said, moving closer. She reached for his hands, felt herself swallowing. The guard moved back. Then, she sat down next to him. She sat forward on the bench, held one of his hands with both of hers and he didn’t find this disagreeable. Her eyes traveled around the immense station. She decided to sit back in the pew, next to him. They sat for a minute, then another, without speaking.
“Well, your ride is outside,” she said. “We’re all ready.”
“Oh, really?” he said.
She held out her hand.
“Oh.” He scooted forward. He was able to stand on his own, but then she had to steady him. The guard returned. She and the guard each took an elbow. Sunlight streamed in through the series of cathedral-height oblong windows. She’d always adored the deco-style chandeliers. Her heart tugged. She wanted him to ask if dinner was ready, what they were having. She said, “Baked chicken, macaroni,” even though he hadn’t said a thing.
“Yes,” he said.
Outside the entrance that faced the Schuylkill, she told the guard they would be all right and the guard finally moved away. She glanced to the north, to the curve of the steel-blue river. He faced the same direction, but seemed to be focused on something else … the Cira Centre building; the blue glass and diamond-like design did seem rather mesmerizing against the clear blue sky. Daphne arrived. Dressed in sweats, her hair tied in a loose bun, she took his arm. “I can walk,” he said, grouchily. Daphne closed the door after he was situated in the passenger seat. She went over to where her mother stood.
“I looked up and there he was,” she said. “You have the keys, right?” Daphne held them up; she had a little Eagles football helmet for a key ring. “Well, how’s my granddaughter?” she said.
“Grad school is a challenge. She’s anxious, happy.” A car honked, a taxi. Daphne made a shooing motion with her hand. “WellCare’s gonna hear from me,” she said. “This could’ve been a lawsuit.”
Daphne looked tired, though she didn’t say anything about it. “Your father’s pretty crafty.”
“It’s supposed to be a decent place. Goddamnit … don’t worry, I’ll handle it. What’re you doing here, Mom?”
“Patsy, just going to see Patsy.”
“I thought you didn’t like Patsy.”
She shook her head. “Will you tell me … when you find out, how he did it?”
“I will.”
The taxi driver honked again. He took both hands from the wheel, held them up. “Well, go on, sweetheart,” she said.
Daphne did shoot the bird at the taxi driver before situating herself in the driver’s seat of her Honda. She stayed outside, watched them drive off, onto the expressway. She felt her shoulders drop, then she went back inside the station.
~
Daphne called her two nights later; it turned out that the mystery wasn’t much of one. On the morning of his escape, the WellCare security cameras recorded her father walking out of the lobby, fully dressed. The lobby was empty, whoever was tending desk there had stepped away. Alvin might’ve been waiting for such an opportunity. Daphne theorized he’d been biding his time in a stairwell. It was not beyond his mental capacity to do such a thing, though this was her opinion, not that of the medical staff. From there, he’d simply walked down the driveway of the clinic and out to Rockland Street. There, he might have waved down a taxi or Uber.
Overall, there was little question the clinic had been lax. No harm was done, there wouldn’t be any lawsuits. Daphne sighed after conceding this. The director promised they would do better in the future. “I’ve heard stories about other clinics, how much worse they can be,” Daphne said. “Hey, he didn’t have a ticket on him. We checked.”
“Right.”
“How was your trip to … where were you going?”
“New Brunswick, to see Patsy. She’s all right. We saw a movie, went to an actual cinema, the Majestic.” She waited, thinking Daphne might ask about which movie. “Michelle Pfeiffer,” she said. “Covid be damned.”
“Oh my god, I love her,” Daphne said. “Tell me she was good.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah … but what, that isn’t that playing here? Somewhere in this great city of ours?”
“Patsy and I take turns. She visits me or I go up there to visit her. It’s a loose arrangement. Get your rest, sweetheart.”
“Right,” Daphne said. “I’ll talk to you next week.”
“Let’s have dinner,” she said right away. “We’ll visit your father after that.”
“Visiting hours are over at eight.”
“We’ll visit when we want to.”
“Right, Mom.”
“Night, angel.” She placed the phone on the nightstand next to the wine bottle. She thought about her next visit with Patsy; she felt like going up to New Brunswick again, soon. She rather liked the little Italian place just up the street from the Majestic. They had this wonderful Risotto Cake. Soon enough, she would be looking forward to it.
~
Andrew Plattner’s new collection,Tower, was recently published at Mercer University Press.