Heeding Kenzie’s advice, she used Wikipedia to get up to speed on key events of the past decades, following many rabbit holes when a particular person or event sparked her curiosity. She became proficient at online research, though she resisted the urge to look up her old friends again. Instead, she distracted herself with decades of scientific and technological advancement, historical conflict, and popular culture. The loss of time was less painful when it was less personal, though the deaths of musicians she admired saddened her: Freddie Mercury, Joe Strummer, all four original Ramones … Lou Reed’s passing especially stung.
While she took walks with Kenzie in the park every other day, she stayed in the rest of the time, glued to her laptop or tablet, picking a different room of the house each day to settle in. Kenzie joined her when he didn’t have calls or errands, and she picked his brain about the modern world. She brimmed with endless questions like a hyper-curious child, only instead of asking why the sky was blue or where babies came from, she asked why 9/11 happened and where society’s progressive attitude came from, still in awe that a black man was president and gay marriage was legal.
“There’s been a shit-ton of progress, but don’t go thinking we’re in some kind of liberal wonderland,” he said. “There are still parts of America where I’d be scared to flaunt my … fabulosity.”
They were in her study that day, Kenzie at the desk and Oona nestled into the bay window, three floors up, high enough to spy the tops of the park’s snow-covered trees across the way.
“Is it rude or weird if I ask…?” Awkward hand motions.
“How long I’ve known I’m gay? When I came out?” He nodded like he’d been expecting this.
“Yeah.”
“Known as long as I could remember. Didn’t really come out as much as coaxed out by my lesbian mothers when I was ten. There was this popular show on at the time, Blossom, and I practically wallpapered my room with posters of Joey Lawrence, one of the stars. So it was pretty obvious.”
Oona smiled along with him, as if tapping into his memory.
“Did you get picked on at school?”
“Not that much, surprisingly. Sometimes when you’re sure of who you are, it kind of … I don’t know, protects you in some way. And I hung with a more alternative crowd, so that helped. Plus, nobody messed with me because of my moms. They were fierce women.”
“Were?”
“Yeah.” He plucked at his sweater, collected invisible lint. “They both died a while back. Drunk driver. No real extended family, so I’ve been on my own since then.”
“Oh, Kenzie.”
No wonder he’d formed such an attachment to her and her mother. No wonder he was so attuned to her loneliness. His mellow presence was a balm, even when they sat staring into their respective laptops for hours, taking turns picking what music to play.
“My turn for a question.” Kenzie cocked his head. “Why haven’t you asked me about your money? Aren’t you curious about how you made all these millions and how you spend them? Don’t you wanna know what I do day to day when I’m not going out for bagels and explaining stuff like apps and podcasts? Just yesterday you asked a bunch of questions about the Mars rover and reality TV and The Da Vinci Code—nice to see you’re making your way through the 2000s, by the way—and we talk about more serious things, too, like AIDS and climate change. But you’ve never asked about the market crash of ’87 or the subprime mortgage crisis or anything related to economics or your investments. How come?”
“I don’t know.” Her shrug was noncommittal.
“Come on, you went to school for this. Even when you were a kid, didn’t your dad teach you and your Dorothy Hamill hair—”
“Pam,” she snapped. “Her name is Pam and that haircut looked cute on her.”
“Sorry. Pam.” His tone softened. “Didn’t he teach you and Pam about interest rates playing some board game?”
“Pay Day. He got it the summer I was eleven. Pam and I would play for hours, and when we got tired of it, we’d make up our own games pretending to be bankers.” A bitter smile curled her lips. “That was a couple of months before Dad died. I still remember what the box looked liked. The cover said, ‘Where does all the money go?’” She looked at Kenzie with weary eyes. “I used to care where the money went. What does it matter now? Game over.”
“You need to care or you won’t have all this.” He swept an arm around the room. “Didn’t your letter mention the binder?”
“Yeah, but with everything else going on … I couldn’t handle the thought of doing homework.”
“Don’t all of a sudden hide your geek roots and act like you hate doing homework.” His voice dropped to a dramatic hush. “I think you’re ready. Come with me.” Kenzie led her to one of the bookshelves and removed an armful of hardbacks, revealing a small safe built into the wall. “The combination is six left, twenty-eight right, sixty-three left. I keep telling you using Dale’s birthday for all your security needs isn’t the best idea, but whatever.” There was a metallic click and the safe opened. Kenzie pulled out a black three-ring binder.
“What else is in there?” Oona asked.
“Nothing. And to be honest, this thing would be useless to any thieves without a time machine, but you’re allowed your foibles.”
Back at the desk, Kenzie opened the binder, which was filled with sheet protectors. Each plastic sleeve contained a single piece of paper and had a tab with a year on it. “You know how you don’t keep diaries? Well, this is kind of a money diary. Each year shows the stocks you bought and sold, winners of big sporting events, and any relevant sociopolitical events affecting the economy. This is your homework. There’s no telling which year you’ll leap into next, so you need to be prepared for any of them.”
“Assuming this leaping business is real.”
“It’s real. Trust me. Trust you.”
Trust me, it’s me.
“If nothing else, memorize everything about Apple, Microsoft, and M&T Bank.”
She glanced at the first page, following Apple through the years:
1983–Oct: Apple (AAPL) buy limit order at $21, wait for stock to split in 1987.
1987–July: Apple (AAPL) stop-loss order at $60 (will take effect in 1991).
1991–April: Apple (AAPL) buy limit order at $17, wait for stock to split in 2000.
2000–July: Apple (AAPL) stop-loss order at $60 (will take effect in August).
2000–August: buy limit order at $15 (will take effect in December), wait for stock to split in 2005.
“Jesus, how many times did this stock split?” she asked.
“Four. And just last year, it split seven to one.”
“Holy shit.” Her eyebrows shot up.
“Holy shit is right. If you invested a thousand dollars in Apple in 1995, you’d have something like ninety-five thousand today. You invested way before that, and more than a thousand.”
“There’s something I don’t get,” she said. “If I use limit orders and stop-losses, the stocks are bought and sold automatically, so where do you come in?”