The lobby guard nodded at him and went back to his National Enquirer. Hawkins crossed the street to the promenade and stood alone in the dark looking at the river. He thought of Adam in the drawer at Kings County and of Rachel getting through her first night alone in the hot apartment with Levy unconscious in the next room. He looked back up at Alma’s windows. If he saw a light he’d go back up there. They’d have a drink and maybe get really drunk together. She was lively and funny when she was drunk. Maybe they’d go dancing. There was an after-­hours nightclub on Atlantic and they’d go there and dance until four. She loved to dance, her behind was full and tight, and she swung it subtly, barely moving her legs; the other men would stare at her, the way they always did, envying him. Then he’d take her home and make love to her again. Gently this time, taking a long time. The rest of the night. But the windows stayed dark and he walked back into the streets to his car. Shadows seemed to follow him, but when he looked back all he saw was full garbage bags lying at the curb. He walked a ways and looked again. There was nothing there.

He didn’t get home until almost four and he undressed, hung up the rumpled tux, and got into bed. But when he closed his eyes, he saw Adam in the morgue, his face covered with slashes. That wasn’t how Hawkins wanted to remember him and he made himself think of the first time he’d seen Adam twelve years ago.

They were in the International Arrivals building and the El Al flight had just landed. Levy was leaning against the rail of the visitors’ balcony, his hands pressed against the glass as the people poured through the gate into the customs hall. Then Levy cried, “There, Roger. There he is,” and Hawkins saw a short, slight young man who looked like Levy. He was tanned and handsome and he wore a yarmulke like Levy did. He looked up and saw his father; he waved so wildly the cap fell off. They went downstairs to wait; people came through the doors and ran into the arms of waiting relatives; the lobby was full of people hugging each other and crying, and Hawkins stood next to Levy, feeling alien, and alone. Then Adam came through the automatic doors holding his cap and carrying a huge valise. He dropped the case and he and Levy ran to each other. Levy kissed the man’s cheeks and eyelids. He held his son’s head in his hands and started kissing him all over again while Hawkins stood apart. Then Adam had turned to Hawkins. He was laughing and crying at the same time, and he said, “You’re black, so you must be Roger.”