Devon ascended the stairs to the door of the townhouse on Bank Street in West Village that Shay insisted he call his home—hot hers. He occupied the third floor, using one of its bedrooms and bathrooms and occasionally a small sitting area.
He shared the first floor with Shay and Liza—who had stayed at the office long a little longer than Devon.
When he entered the living room, Shay was there. She seemed a little surprised to see him.
“Oh… I was… You can see…”
Shay was wearing a long, plain white t-shirt under a longer luxurious red lace bathrobe. She had a bottle of water in her hand, and Devon figured she’d made a fridge run in the middle of changing clothes—it was her habit to swap out of whatever she had worn during the day when she was on a renovation site.
Devon smiled. “Were you out in Queens again?”
Shay nodded. “Demolition is so dirty. I already showered and dried my hair. How was Columbia? Your first day…”
“Amazing…”
Shay put down the water bottle and walked on her bare feet to where Devon stood, smiling and leaning in. “Dance with me…”
Devon smiled as she wrapped her hand around one of his thumbs letting him wrap her fingers in his hand.
“We have no music,” Devon said as he pulled her close.
“Use your phone… Find an old waltz…”
Devon did, and they began to move in time with the music. He could feel her relax into his embrace.
Shay whispered, her words barely audible. “We’re lucky we’re not the other Shay and Devon…”
Devon pulled her close. “More memories?”
Shay nodded and Devon replied. “Me, too. Our merged memories… they feel for each other—same as you and me…”
Shay nodded. “Black man and white woman in 1881… In love… because of us…”
“I hardly know where I end and he begins… or is it just another me? Another us?”
Shay nodded again. “Black men can’t be romantic with white women in 1881. Not even in New York.”
“Merritt, Kent, Emma, and Hannah won’t mind…”
Shay looked at him. “Maybe they can close the curtains and dance like us.”
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