Lee nods slowly, tired. Sure, that sounds plausible. He could suggest taking a rocket to the moon right now and she'd just be like, well, okay, sure.
She finishes off her cigarette and carefully drops it in a damp patch so it extinguishes itself, and then has to lean heavily against the wall to stand upright. She does feel better than she did on Friday, or, she supposes, technically Saturday morning. It's about all she can do to follow him down the street to the Christopher St PATH stop, which is eerily empty tonight. Her head droops onto his.
After getting off they have to wait for a cab to hail, Lee is not up to walk all the way to Michael's apartment from here. Her mind is still wrestling with that phrase, Michael's apartment, how she always describes it to other people. I'm going to Michael's, I'll be at Michael's, if you need me call Michael's.
“Michael. Neshama.” Her hand tightens around his. “You remember when we met? I think about it a lot.” How she'd gotten off at a random stop on the subway, not sure where she was or how to get back to Chelsea; how she'd stumbled into a deli because she was hungry and all the food she'd seen through the window reminded her of home, and how he'd seen her digging in her pockets, trying to scrounge enough change to buy a sandwich, coming up fifty cents short.
“What if I took another stop?”
The thought is overwhelming and makes her feel panicked and jittery. All she had to do was get off one stop earlier, or one stop later. They would have been in the same city and never known the other existed. She doesn't understand how that can be possible when all she could think about when she was in danger is what she would do if she never saw him again, if he never knew what happened to her.