After school on Tuesday, I walked with Eric back to his house, but Pete wasn't there and neither was my car. While Eric mashed together the ingredients for his daily after-school snack, I spun my phone around on the tabletop and waited for Pete, wishing he had a phone so I could check in on him.

"He must be feeling better," Eric said, sensing my concern. "If he's out driving around."

"I hope so. He was pretty miserable yesterday. It's like he got worse. The day he got out of the hospital he seemed to be feeling pretty good. Well, he was in a better mood, anyway."

"He was probably feeling real good," Eric said.

"Why do you say it like that?"

"I'm sure he still had some pretty good drugs in his system at that point," he said. "Like, when you're drunk, you know? You're happy and relaxed and everybody is your friend and you say things that you probably wouldn't say if you were sober."

I wasn't familiar with that feeling. I'd probably never had enough to drink to get to that point. Or I was destined to be aloof and unfriendly no matter what substances were circulating in my system.

So that brief flirtation when Pete kissed my hand outside the hospital was probably because he was high on whatever pain killers they were giving him. That made sense. Because the day before, he barely spoke to me and brushed me off when I tried to hold his hand. Maybe he was feeling euphoric when he made the decision to come with me. Maybe he was regretting it already.

When my phone buzzed, I jumped.

Sophie: Are you okay?

Vanessa: Yeah, why?

Sophie: Did someone steal your car? I'm at work and your car is parked across the street and there's some guy sitting in it.

I found Pete in my car by the waterfront park, seemingly doing nothing but staring through the windshield. I tapped on the window before I opened the door and sat in the passenger seat. It was just as cold inside the car as it was outside and his lips were turning blue, which reminded me of the boy in my dream- in my memory- and made me want to clutch his hand so I wouldn't lose him.

But once I noticed the tension in his jaw and troubled wrinkle between his eyebrows, I decided to keep my hands to myself.

"Hey, how'd it go today?" I asked.

"Not good."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

He wouldn't look at me, and continued to stare out at the river. A freighter was heading downriver. The ground hummed as it passed. It wouldn't be long before the river would be lined with ice floes, broken up by Coast Guard ice cutters.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"I'm not sure."

"You look like you're freezing," I said. "There's a coffee shop across the street. Do you want to go warm up?"

"I can't go in there," he said quietly. "I can't go anywhere. Not right now."

Then I'd have to bring the warmth to him. "Start the car and turn on the heat. I'll be right back." I started to get out, then turned around and asked, "Wait, peppermint and chocolate together, thumbs up or thumbs down?"

His stony expression softened and he gave a thumbs up.

A few minutes later I returned with two cups of peppermint hot chocolate.

"Liquid holiday cheer," I said as I handed one to Pete.

We sipped our drinks in silence and watched joggers run by in tight athletic leggings and brightly colored windbreakers, and people walking their dogs on the boardwalk. As the sky began to darken, the lights on the garland draped along the boardwalk railing switched on and lights from towns along the border in Canada began to shine across the river.

The infusion of liquid cheer may have worked, or the blowing heat in the car thawed him, and Pete started to talk.

"Where are all those people in tights running to?" he asked.

"Nowhere. They're running for fitness."

"Hm. I didn't realize people needed clothes like that to exercise," he said sardonically, "or that dogs needed coats. I thought they already had them."

"I want to agree with you, but look at that one," I pointed to a puffball of a Pomeranian strutting along in a festive fair isle sweater. "Come on. So cute."

"They had those at the store. Clothes for dogs. And everything else in the world. I don't know what happened in there, I thought I was having a heart attack. It was different than the pain I've been having. Like something was stabbing me right here," he pointed at the center of his chest. "And my heart wouldn't beat right and I got dizzy and I couldn't breathe. I had to leave."

"It sounds like you had a panic attack. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have told you to go there. Or I should have gone with you. Those stores can be overwhelming to anyone. And a few days before Christmas it was probably an absolute shitshow."

"I should be able to handle going to a damned store," he grumbled. "If I can't do that...I don't know. I don't know."

"Hey, do you want to go for a walk?"

I wanted him to see how much of Palmer hadn't changed. Once we passed Main Street, where the old buildings were the same but the businesses occupying them were different, we walked up a quiet residential street which looked pretty similar to how it did in 1953. If you ignored the vehicles in the driveways and the occasional lighted, inflatable holiday yard decorations.

We reached the high school, and passed the auxiliary gym where a warm golden slice of light and pop music from an aerobic dance class spilled through an open door. We entered the school through the main door to the gym wing and heard the squeaking of sneakers on the gym floor from a men's drop-in basketball game.

"Can you do the stairs?" I asked Pete.

"I think so. Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

We swung our legs over the chain blocking off the last flight of stairs and went all the way to the top, where the door was always unlocked in the evening. From the rooftop, the final magenta puddle of light from the sunset was still visible.

"You thought it'd be smart to bring me to the roof of a tall building in my condition?" Pete asked.

"Which condition, mental or physical?"

He folded the collar of his jacket up against the wind and grimaced. "Both."

We stood side by side on the roof and watched the last light of the sun disappear.

"You're gonna be okay," I assured him. "If it happens again, you have to try to focus on your breathing. Imagine there's a hot bowl of soup in front of you and you inhale for five seconds to smell it and then exhale for five seconds to blow on it. Smell the soup, cool the soup."

I heard him inhale deeply, and then he started to cough.

"Okay, you might have to modify it for broken ribs, but you get the idea."

Below us, Christmas lights blinked on, dogs barked and cars turned into driveways as people arrived home at the end of the day.  A cloud of steam billowed from the salt plant in the distance and the reflections of the lights from Main Street sparkled on the black river.

"There's a lot that's different," I said, "but the sky, the sunset, the trees, and even most of Palmer look the same. It's all about the simple things, right? Like hot chocolate, a warm coat, snow crunching under your feet, being with people you-" I paused and shivered as a chill ran up my neck, "being with people. Or not. Being alone is good, too." The few inches between us as we stood side by side felt like a mile that I was aching to shorten. "Anyway, all that stuff that's different, that feels like too much, it's all fake. The things that matter are mostly the same." 

"Being alone is alright at first," he said, "but after a while, it's not so good. For me, anyway."

"So you weren't perfectly happy in your cabin in the woods with your books and your guitar, like you led me to believe?" I teased.

"Not exactly."

I spotted the Rockmore House all aglow and pointed it out to Pete. I couldn't believe I'd been there during four different decades in the span of a few weeks.

"There's something I think I should tell you," I said. "I met your dad. The house you're staying in used to be a hospital, and last month when I was there I accidentally went back to the thirties. I fell when it happened and got a gash on my head and he stitched me up."

"He was working there?"

"Well, no. Not officially. He kind of barged in. He was hanging around outside the hospital because you were there."

"Was it when I had whooping cough?"

"No, it was actually the night you were born." He silently peered down at the former hospital and shuddered as he hunched his shoulders against the cold. "Is this too weird?"

"Can I see?" he asked.

"Sure." I pulled my hat off and parted the hair on the back of my head. I put my phone on the flashlight mode and handed it to him. "I had the stitches taken out, but you can probably see the scar."

"You're not pulling my leg?" he asked with a thickened voice.

"I wouldn't do that." I felt him lightly touch the scar. "He seemed really nice. And funny. He totally stood up to this cranky nurse so he could get into the hospital and take care of this for me. And to be closer to you, obviously. And your mom."

He coughed and handed my phone back.

"Is there anything this thing doesn't do?" he asked.

"No, not really." I ignored his attempt to change the subject. "I didn't try to change anything. I'm sorry. I got kicked back to the present before I could think about what to do."

"When I was a kid I thought it was me or his job, and then me or the war. I was an only child and I suppose I thought everything was about me. When he didn't come back, I was so angry because to me it seemed that he chose the war, permanently. But as I grew up, I thought about all those soldiers in field hospitals he must have saved, and how some of them probably had kids, too. So, I wouldn't want you to change anything, even if you could."

He buried his hands in his pockets and shivered in the borrowed coat he was wearing.

"I know a place where we can find you a warmer coat and maybe some other clothes, too, that probably won't be overwhelming." I checked the time and said, "If you want to give it a try. It's open until six on Tuesdays."

The Episcopalian church thrift shop was only two blocks away. Every time I'd ever been there it was empty, except for the elderly lady volunteer, and that evening was no exception. Classic country music drifted from a speaker somewhere while Pete picked out some shirts and blue jeans in the men's clothing section in a quiet back room, and I perused the women's.

A crimson dress caught my eye and I pulled it from the rack. It looked about my size and it had a Peter Pan collar and a full skirt. It probably wasn't hers, but it was exactly like the one I'd borrowed from Joan. She'd offered to let me keep it that night, but I changed back into my regular clothes at her house and left it hanging in her bathroom. I thought about Joan and how she was so generous and forward-thinking and determined, and I was crying in the aisle between the dresses and coats when Pete found me.

"This must be so hard for you," I said as I wiped my tears. "How can you stand it?"

He looked from the clothes draped over his arm and back to me in confusion. "This wasn't so bad, actually."

I couldn't bring myself to say what I really meant, that everyone he'd known in Palmer before was either dead or sixty years older. So instead I forced a smile and said, "You found some stuff. Good!" I took the clothes from him and laid the red dress on top and went to check out.

Back at my car, Pete asked, "Weren't you supposed to work tonight?"

"Yeah, but I called in."

"What for?"

"I was afraid you'd sit in the car all night and freeze to death without some intervention."

"You shouldn't have done that. You could lose your job."

"I'm pretty sure they can find another subpar waitress." And I could find another job, but I couldn't find another Pete. "It was nice to talk to you. It seemed like you were in rough shape yesterday. You were pretty quiet."

"There have been people around. All the time. And they're....they make my head spin.  Everything makes my head spin. And I don't want to say anything wrong. So I don't say much."

"You can say whatever you want to say with me."

"Hm. Remember that day at the baseball game, when you said you were waiting for your life to begin?  When I didn't know if you'd made it or not, I couldn't stop thinking about how you might have been gone already and you didn't think your life had started yet. And I told you that day that all I wanted was to go back to when my dad was still around. But after I left and I was alone every day, I thought about how both of us were dismissing years of our lives as...irrelevant. It wasn't fair to the people who were there. One important person in my life was gone, but the rest of them were there: my mother, my friends, my little sister, and I took it all for granted."

"You can have that again," I said. "There's no reason you can't go back to the life you wanted."

He looked at me as if he was seeing me through a one-way mirror and he could really observe me without my knowledge, without having to hide the uncertainty- or maybe it was disappointment- on his face.

"Maybe you're right." He dug the spare key to my car out of his pocket and dropped it in my hand. "Thanks for your help. I think I'll walk back."