“Can we please get together?” I asked. “I promise the car won’t break down this time.”

  She half laughed and finally agreed. “But if you stand me up, Alfie, I will never speak to you again.”

  We arranged to meet on a Tuesday at noon. The plan was to walk around downtown Philadelphia, maybe get some pizza.

  Two days before our rendezvous, they started talking about the weather. A huge storm was coming. A hurricane moving up the coast. I didn’t want to know. I saw this day as a chance to clear the slate with Gianna, away from school, away from other friends or guys she knew. Nothing could interfere.

  The night before, my father watched the TV news and said, “This storm is a whopper. They’re saying we might get five inches of rain. Make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

  “I won’t,” I lied.

  Now, these days, Boss, I follow weather all the time, especially if it’s going to be rough and I need to secure the beach house. Put up the storm shutters, check the caulking. It’s part of my job. You even joke about me and rain, how I sit on the deck and stare at it, getting soaked. You once said “Alfie, you must be part frog.” I guess it looks that way.

  But back then, when I was twenty years old, wind, rain, lightning, they were just annoyances. If you wanted to do something fun, you found a way. And meeting Gianna was more than fun. It was going to be the day I told her how I felt.

  ✶

  I got to the city early. The air was thick, and the wind was already swaying traffic lights. You could feel the dark, looming clouds ready to explode.

  Gianna and I had arranged to meet on the corner of Eighth and Market Streets, by a department store called Gimbels. I chose that spot deliberately, because her birthday was the following day, and I wanted to get her a present. A taxi dropped me off an hour before our meeting, and I went in and started wandering up and down the aisles.

  There were few customers. I guess the storm had scared most people off. Searching for the right gift, I entered the women’s clothing area and flipped through sweaters and blouses. Then I realized I had no clue what size Gianna was and would inevitably pick something wrong or insulting.

  So I moved on to the perfume section, where a bored worker offered to spray my wrist with fragrance. I realized I also knew nothing about perfumes. Or body sprays or eau de toilette, whatever that was. So I followed a sign into the jewelry section and perused the glass cases of rings, watches, necklaces, and bracelets.

  “How much is that one?” I asked the saleswoman, pointing to a simple shiny stone on a gold chain.

  “That’s half a carat, bezel set,” she said, pulling it out. “Very nice. It’s two thousand.”

  She must have seen my Adam’s apple jump up my neck.

  “Maybe something simpler?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I rasped.

  “What does she like? The person you’re getting this for?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “Animals.”

  The woman smiled as if I were pathetic.

  “The only things we have with animals are for children.”

  I nodded, as if that were obvious. Then I said, “Can I see those?”

  Five minutes later, I had what I wanted. Or rather, what I could afford. Just then a voice came over the loudspeakers: “Gimbels customers, we’re sorry to announce that we will be closing in fifteen minutes due to the oncoming storm. Please make your final selections.”

  A nervous energy spread through the place. Salespeople put away displays. The scant customers headed for the exits. I looked at my watch. Still twenty minutes before I was supposed to meet Gianna. I didn’t want to get soaked before she got there, so I waited by the front, just inside the huge revolving doors, which kept spinning even when no one was going in or out. I guess they were on some kind of timer.

  Outside, the rain had begun, and it was coming down in veils. The sky was occasionally shocked with lightning, and when the thunder burst, I could feel the rumbling even inside the store. Of all the days, I said to myself. I began to think Gianna showing up was a pipe dream.

  I watched most of the employees leave through a side entrance by the customer service desk. Soon I was alone. I checked my watch again. Five minutes until our meeting time. The sidewalks were empty. Howling wind rattled the large windows.

  I saw a bus splashing through the streets. It stopped on the corner. I whispered to myself, “Be on this bus. Be on this bus.” And when it pulled away, as if someone up above had heard me, there was Gianna, wearing jeans and a yellow blouse and holding a handbag over her head against the downpour. My heart jumped. She darted toward the store and I tried to get her attention, but the rain kept her from looking up. I saw her shoot her gaze left and right, searching. When she finally looked straight ahead, I windmilled my arms, and she smiled at me. Even getting wet, handbag over her head, she smiled. It’s something I would always love about her.

  She jogged to the door, her sneakers splashing the pavement. I motioned for her to come in, because at least it was dry, but then I remembered they were closing and I didn’t want us to get locked inside, so I jumped into the revolving door just as she pushed in to join me. As we circled each other we made the goofy “oops” face.

  And then, at that very moment, all the lights inside Gimbels went dark and the revolving doors jammed in place, with me in one pocket and Gianna in another. She pushed. I pushed. They wouldn’t budge.

  “Alfie?” her muffled voice said. “What’s happening?”

  ✶

  Our best choices often come when we have no choice. My mother used to say that. That day at Gimbels, Gianna and I tried pushing, slamming, even kicking at the doors that trapped us. Whatever had made them spin was now shut off. And with the store empty, yelling for help was fruitless. Eventually, Gianna plopped on the floor, and threw her hands over her knees.

  Then she started laughing.

  She shook her head and laughed some more so I laughed and then she laughed harder and we kept going until all the anxiety had been released. Finally, with her voice thinned by the glass, I heard her yell, “Oh, God, Alfie, why do I hang out with you?”

  “Because I’m fun!”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Come on! What could be better than this?”

  “What could be better than this?”

  “Yeah. What could be better than this?”

  Outside, the rain was pummeling the sidewalk so hard it splashed back up like ricocheting bullets. The wind blew trash and newspapers up the streets. Lightning kept flashing, as if someone were messing with the world’s electricity. And there we were, trapped inside the most unlikely of shelters.

  “How long do you think it will last?” I yelled.

  “What?” she yelled back.

  “The storm!”

  “What about it?”

  “How long do you think . . .”

  I stopped and shook my head. Didn’t matter.

  “Come closer!” she hollered as she shifted nearer the pane. I reluctantly did the same. I was always self-­conscious about my face being too close to people. But Gianna, up close, was flawless. Not a blemish on her skin, her teeth perfectly spaced, her lips glossed with a shade of red lipstick that was seductive even through dirty glass.

  “This reminds me of Africa,” she said. “Remember when it would rain like this?”

  I could hear her better now.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “It used to scare me,” she said.

  “Not me. I loved it.”

  “Really?”

  “My mom used to take me outside and dance in it.”

  She laughed. “No way!”

  “She was like that.”

  Her expression softened.

  “Do you miss her?”

  “She died a long time ago.”

  “But do you miss her?”

  I hesitated. “Yeah. I still do.”

  Gianna smiled. “I met her once, you know.”

  I was stunned. “When?”

  “She came with you to see Lallu. She was really sweet. She let me use this walking stick she had. I kept trying to pole vault with it. And when you guys left, she said I could keep it. She even hugged me. I still have that stick somewhere, I think.”

  I didn’t remember any of this. But hearing it made me feel closer to Gianna than ever. Which loosened me up for what I said next. She was so near, yet beyond my reach, which is kind of how I’d felt about her for a long time.

  “Listen, Gianna. Can I tell you something? As long as we’re stuck here?”

  “Sure.”

  I took a breath.

  “I think about you a lot. Actually, all the time. It’s weird. Being together as kids, even though we were so little, I feel like we’re connected.

  “I’ve felt this way for a long time. Ever since I saw you at the Miami zoo. To be honest, I came to college because of you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I know that sounds creepy, right? I don’t mean it that way. I just—­I just wanted to be where you were. I like being around you. I know I’ve acted stupid sometimes—­a lot of times. It’s because . . . you make me nervous.”

  “Why would I make you nervous?” she asked.

  “Come on. It’s obvious, right?”

  “What?”

  I exhaled hard.

  “That I like you. That I more than like you. I mean . . .” The words just spilled out. “That I love you. I really do. I know that sounds insane, we’re not even dating or anything. I’m sorry. But it’s how I feel.”

  My mouth went dry and my heart pounded. Suddenly, I felt like a complete idiot. What are you doing? What were you thinking?

  “Alfie,” Gianna said. “Do you mean all of this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because you say a lot of weird things.”

  “No. Yes. I mean it!”

  Then, as if she needed physical proof, I opened the bag and took out a small white box.

  “Look. I got this for you.”

  I pulled off the top and removed a kid’s necklace. Dangling from the bottom was a little silver elephant.

  “For your birthday. Happy birthday, Gianna.”

  She blinked several times. It looked like she might cry. She put her hand to the glass and I pushed the elephant forward. She moved her fingertips as if touching it.

  “Oh, God, Alfie,” she said, smiling.

  “What?”

  “It took you long enough.”

  I exhaled so hard, I fogged up the glass. But when that moisture evaporated, she was staring at me with the most loving expression. And whatever man she was seeing that day was the man I wanted to be forever.

  She curled her index finger. I moved my face closer.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing could be better than this.”

  She pushed her beautiful lips in my direction and I felt my nose brush the glass. That was our first kiss. Through a revolving door that a thousand dirty hands had pushed against that morning.

  It was perfect.

  Nassau

  “Well, hallelujah,” LaPorta said, sneering. “You finally hooked the big fish.”

  He leaned in.

  “How long before you got her in the sack?”

  Alfie shook his head.

  “That’s all you’re getting from this?”

  LaPorta pushed back in his chair. “Am I supposed to be getting something else?”

  Alfie cocked his head.

  “Have you ever been in love, Detective?”

  “Sure. Lots of times.”

  “I don’t mean the lots-­of-­times kind. I mean the tumbling, can’t-­stop-­thinking-­about-­her, can’t-­wait-­to-­see-­her kind.”

  LaPorta smirked, but his mind did jump to his second wife, Barbara, and the summer they met in Las Vegas, a late-­night swim they took after the pool was closed. They couldn’t stop pawing one another in the water, bobbing and kissing and wrapping their legs around each other. Eventually, they ducked into a nearby cabana and yanked the curtain closed. He was still in solid shape in those days, stomach tight, chest firm, and he remembered the sensation of her body pressed against his, the dampness of their skin, her breath in his ear. He wanted every inch of her, every minute of her. It stayed that way for a while.

  “Let’s say I did,” LaPorta offered. “What about it?”

  “What Gianna and I had was like that,” Alfie said. “Every day in college, I just wanted to know where she was. Every meal, we would sit together. If I went to a convenience store, I’d buy her a key chain or a little stuffed animal. Or she’d show up at my dorm room with a record album she’d bought because I said I liked a song on the radio.

  “When I had exams, she left good luck notes under my door. If she got sick, I brought her chicken soup and nose spray. When we walked around, we held hands. When we watched a movie, she leaned her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t be around her without physically connecting, you know?”

  “Whatever,” LaPorta snipped. He didn’t want to let on that he’d experienced such feelings, too, but lost them along the way. He couldn’t tell if Alfie’s story was making him sympathetic or envious. It was definitely distracting, like getting caught up in a TV show when you’re supposed to be doing work. He wanted to find out what happened with this Gianna.

  But.

  “What does any of this have to do with the two million dollars?” he asked.

  “I told you, the notebook will explain everything.”

  “Or it won’t, and you’ll go to jail.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Listen, pal. You gotta take this more seriously—­”

  His cell phone buzzed. He lifted it to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “I have some new information, Vincent.”

  It was Sampson, his connection with the Bahamian national police. LaPorta rose and stepped into the hallway. He closed the door behind him.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “Your suspect went straight to the bank after the casino. He wired all the money out.”

  “I know that already.”

  “The big chunk went to that woman’s bank account in Florida. Rule. Gianna Rule?”

  “Yeah, I know—­”

  “But, listen. He went to another bank twenty minutes later. He did a second wire. Two hundred thousand. To Zimbabwe in Africa.”

  “What?” LaPorta grabbed his forehead. “Why didn’t we know this before?”

  “The teller who did the wire went home just before we got to the bank. We found him this afternoon when he came in for his shift.”

  “He confirmed?”

  “Two hundred grand. To an account in Bulawayo, wherever that is.”

  “What kind of account?”

  “It’s a company. We’re trying to find out who owns it, but it’s the middle of the night there.”

  “Call me as soon as you get ahold of them.”

  He hung up and reentered the room. He studied Alfie, who was looking down and smiling at the page he had just read aloud. LaPorta admonished himself. He had actually started to root for this guy, hoping there was an innocent explanation for the whole roulette thing. But innocent people didn’t wire money to foreign bank accounts and buy international plane tickets.

  “Everything all right, Detective?” Alfie said.

  “Just peachy.”

  “I know we’re running short on time. So I’m going to skip ahead in the story, OK?”

  LaPorta raised an eyebrow.

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “Well. Aren’t you anxious about Zimbabwe? The money I sent there?”

  La Porta blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your phone call just now?”

  “You heard that?”

  “How could I hear it? You went out into the hall.”

  “Then how—­”

  “I figured you were going to find out sooner or later. Anyhow, doesn’t matter, does it? We’re on the same page here, Detective.”

  LaPorta dropped into his chair.

  “Yeah? What frickin’ page is that?”

  Alfie flipped ahead in the notebook, then put both palms down on its corners.

  “This one.”

  The Composition Book

  Not long after we got engaged, Gianna and I called my grandmother. We wanted her at our wedding. But the woman who answered the phone at the nursing home said Yaya wasn’t doing well, so we—­

  Nassau

  “Wait a minute!”

  Alfie looked up.

  “You got engaged?” LaPorta said.

  “Yes.”

  “You married this woman?”

  “Eventually, yes.”

  “So she’s your wife? Gianna Rule is your wife?”

  “No,” Alfie said. He looked down. “Not anymore.”

  “Whoa. You dumped her, and you’re sending her two million dollars?”

  “I didn’t dump her.”

  “She dumped you, and you’re sending her two million dollars? That’s even worse!”

  Alfie looked away.

  “OK, now I gotta know,” LaPorta said. “Go back.”

  “Go back?”

  “I want to hear how you got her to marry you.”

  “You mean when I proposed?”

  “Yeah. Read that.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “I’ll be the judge.”

  “You sure?”

  “Hurry up.”

  Alfie raised an eyebrow but, complying with the detective’s request, flipped back a few pages, found a spot, and read from there.

  The Composition Book

  After graduating from college, Gianna and I decided to move in together. The only question was where. Gianna was hoping to go to South America and pursue her dreams of photographing wildlife. But my passion was music. I wanted to try to make it in that business, which meant one place: New York City.

  “We’ll only stay a couple years,” I said. “We can earn some money, and if things go right and I make good connections, then we can live wherever we want.”

  “Promise?” she said.

  “Promise.”

  We pooled our funds, rented a studio apartment on the Upper West Side in Manhattan, and began a life of circling our dreams without ever realizing them. We took odd jobs to pay the rent. Gianna worked in a camera store. I got hired by a music public relations firm to write press releases, a skill I didn’t even know I had. On weekends I gave piano lessons at a Brooklyn shop, and they let me rent an upright piano for cheap. Because our apartment was so small, we had to jam that piano between the kitchen door and our futon bed. We stacked record albums on top of it, and books on top of those. We kept our clothes in a trunk. We grew plants in the bathroom. The windows leaked in cold air during the winter, and because we lived in a single room, if one of us got sick, we both did.