Page 98 of Twice
“But what you wrote in that notebook—”
“It’s true.”
“Alfie.”
“All of it.”
Gianna placed her palms on the sides of his face. He inhaled with her touch.
“Oh, Alfie,” she whispered. “You’re not well.”
“Don’t feel bad for me, Gianna. I’ve been blessed. I got to be with the woman I loved for more than forty years.”
Gianna raised her eyebrows.
“Me?”
“Of course.”
“But we were never... in love.”
“Speak for yourself.”
He took her hands. They were cold, and he squeezed them together.
“Gianna, listen. When I was in the hospital, after my stroke, I felt like I had wasted my life. I missed you so much. I missed the way you greeted me when I came home, the little notes you left me on the piano, the touch of you in the morning, the way we used to make love.”
Gianna felt dizzy.
“Alfie, thatnever happened.”
“It did. Once. Sharing a bed with you was such a privilege.Losing it left a hole inside me forever. But in that hospital room I realized, even if I could never receive such love again, I hadn’t lost the ability to give it. To shower you with it from afar.”
He smiled. “There’s no rule against that.”
Gianna looked down, but Alfie lifted a finger under her chin until her eyes again met his. “That’s what I did, Gianna. As soon as I’d recovered enough to croak out a single syllable, I chose the one word that’s defined my whole insane life.”
“Twice?” she whispered.
“Twice. And I went all the way back to 1978, that day in Philadelphia, during the thunderstorm, remember? Only this time, knowing you could never care for me the same way, I never took that elephant necklace out of the bag. Never said ‘I love you.’ Never kissed you through the glass.
“We hung out, as friends, and from that point on, I did everything I could to stay close to you. I became your sounding board, your confidant, your lens-carrier, your midnight pizza-cutter...”
Gianna, despite herself, began to smile.
“Your runner-to-the-drugstore, your morning coffeemaker, your electrician, your caulker, your B12 shot-in-the-thigh-giver...”
She was laughing now.
“Your chauffer, your toilet-unclogger, your temperature-taker, your one-phone-call-away assistant—”
“My everything,” Gianna whispered.
“Everything I could be, except the one thing I couldn’t.”
Gianna dropped her head. She saw their feet lined up together, her two white tennis shoes, his two brown loafers.
“You really believe this,” she murmured.
