‘Maybe he’s learned that the things he used to throw tantrums over were not as big as he thought.’
‘Maybe. I was even thinking maybe he threw tantrums because they worked on Mom. And they worked on me. But maybe when you’re in with a bunch of insane criminals it takes more than just pacing and crying to get attention. Maybe he figured out he’s not the center of the universe.’
‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re overthinking it. Be grateful. Hope it lasts. I really hate to say this. I would talk to you all night. But I need to save some minutes on my calling card. I’ll need to let you know …’
I wanted to ask, Are you really coming? But I knew better. She couldn’t promise such a thing. She would if she could. It was better than what I’d thought I had before she called.
After we said our goodbyes, I drove for several more hours. To stay warm. And because I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep anyway.
21 December 2001
IT WAS NEARLY dark again by the time we neared home.
Ben powered down the window and stuck his head out, craning his neck to see the tall buildings towering above the car.
‘I never saw buildings that tall,’ he said, with a slight push of volume to be heard over the wind.
I was thinking, Wait till you see Manhattan. But I wanted to spring it on him a little at a time.
‘What do you think of them?’
‘They’re fine. Why ask them to be shorter?’
I opened the three locks on my door, and we stepped into the apartment.
‘This is home now. What do you think?’
Ben was already headed for the Christmas village.
He stood in front of it with his mouth open. I locked the door. Walked around him and plugged in the power cord. I heard him suck in his breath when the lights came on in the windows of the little houses.
‘Makes me think of Mom,’ he said.
‘Yeah. Me, too.’
‘I’m sleepy. Where do I sleep?’
‘I’ll show you your room. I cleaned out my office for you. I hope it’s OK.’
‘Do I have to share it with anybody?’
‘No. It’s all yours.’
‘Then it’s fine.’
‘I really have to apologize for the fact that I don’t have any of your stuff. We’ll just have to start buying stuff. We’ll buy clothes and whatever else you need. But, here. Let me show you what you’ve got to work with for now.’
I led him into his new bedroom, the second bedroom that used to be my tiny home office. My office was now even tinier, shoved in the corner of my bedroom.
‘Right now it’s just an air mattress on the floor, but we’ll get you a proper bed.’
He reached a hand down to it. Pushed it, then let it spring back.
‘It’s fine,’ he said.
‘You have this little half-bathroom of your own, and I got you soap and a toothbrush. And I put a washcloth and a hand towel in there for you. When you want to take a shower you’ll have to use the big bathroom off the hall.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said.
He pulled off his jeans and shirt and climbed into the little bed I’d made him. In his jockey shorts and undershirt. His feet hung off the end.
‘Goodnight, Buddy,’ he said.
‘Hope you sleep well.’
‘It’s really quiet. I like quiet.’
Actually, it’s no more quiet in Jersey City than it is in Manhattan. You can hear the voices of people on the street all night long. You can hear the bass of car radios as they low-ride by. Car doors slamming. Car alarms going off.
But Ben was snoring a few seconds after I flipped off the lights. Before I even stopped staring and let myself out of his room.
22 December 2001
IT WAS THE following day. I woke up to find Ben sitting at my kitchen table eating breakfast cereal. As if he’d lived here all his life.
‘Morning, Buddy,’ he said.
I decided it was time to have a little talk. I’d put it off way too long.
‘I want us to think about a memorial for Mom.’
‘Memorial?’
‘How do I explain a memorial? It’s like a celebration. But a sad celebration. For somebody who died.’
‘Is it like a funeral? Because I don’t like the guns.’
‘No. Nothing like that. We have a box of ashes for Mom. And we have to think about where to put them.’
‘Ashes.’
‘It’s what’s left of somebody after they die.’
‘Where do you want to put them?’
‘Well. Sometimes people sprinkle them on a place they think the person who died would like. Or did like. Sometimes people take a boat a couple miles out to sea and sprinkle them on the ocean.’
‘Oh, no. I don’t want Mom out there. It’s too cold and wet.’
‘Where do you think she should be?’
‘My room.’
‘Really? You want to keep Mom’s ashes in your room?’
‘I think so. Can I see what they’re like?’
‘Sure.’
I brought the box in from my room. I’d received her ashes in a heavy wooden box, vertical, about the size of a gift box for a big bottle of whiskey. Despite my not liking that analogy. It had a top that lifted off. I hadn’t lifted it.
I set it on the table in front of Ben.
‘Can I open it?’
‘I guess.’
He worked for a moment or two on the snug-fitting lid while I wondered if this would prove to be a mistake. Then it popped off. Inside was a heavy plastic bag with a twist tie at the top. You could see the ashes clearly through the plastic. Ben looked in for a moment or two.
‘That’s all that’s left when somebody dies?’
‘Um. No. Not really. She left us the Christmas village. You said yourself it makes you think of her.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. Actually. You want to come see?’
He left his breakfast cereal to get soggy and followed me to the hall closet, where we took down the boxes marked BEN and RUSTY and carried them into his room.
I told him these were all the parts of us she’d saved, all our lives, and that by saving them and collecting them like this, it was almost like her love for us was all in one place, where we could still see it.
Right, I know. Sounds like a bad greeting card. But it seemed like a good way to present it to Ben.
‘Can I open mine?’
‘Sure.’
So we both started digging around in all that stuff.
It took me about an hour to realize that this was our memorial. Plowing through the ridiculous minutiae she’d treasured, observing, each at our own level, how much she must have loved us to have hung on to all that worthless crap.
23 December 2001
ANAT CALLED ME at about ten in the evening, New York time.
‘I almost missed my plane,’ she said. ‘Waiting for him to go. But I didn’t. I’m on it now. But I have to talk fast. They’re about to close the door, and then I’ll have to hang up. 10.44 a.m. Egypt Air. LaGuardia. I’m sorry. I know Newark is better, but I couldn’t get Newark. Not at the right time. Is it OK? Is it a problem?’
‘It’s fine. LaGuardia is fine.’ I sounded like Ben. Everything is fine.
‘So you’ll be there. What would I do if you weren’t there?’
‘You sound really scared.’
‘I have to go. They’re closing the door.’
Then she hung up.
I sat up all night. I didn’t even try to sleep. I didn’t even bother to lie down. I never even closed my eyes.
24 December 2001
‘THIS IS A long … thing,’ Ben said. ‘What is this?’
‘This is the Holland Tunnel.’
‘Tunnel,’ he said. ‘Like underground?’
‘Actually, it’s underwater.’
Silence.
He rolled down his window and looked straight up. At the roof of the Holland Tunnel. T
hen he pulled his head back in again.
He said, ‘I don’t see any water up there.’
I said, ‘Here’s hoping you never do, Buddy.’
He rolled up the window, and turned to me, leveling me with a spontaneous grin. ‘I can’t wait to see Anat,’ he said.
And something broke through in me. For days I had been watching Ben as if he were about to shatter like a china cup. Listening to him say he was fine, but unable to fathom how he could be. And so assuming he was not.
But I looked into his grinning face, and he was. I could tell.
‘So you’re really fine?’ I asked.
‘I’ve told you that like a million times.’
‘I guess I didn’t believe it.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I guess because nothing’s been fine for so long.’
‘I know!’ Ben said. ‘Everything was so not fine in the hospital. So that’s why when I got out it really was. And now with Anat coming, I’m really happy.’
‘Happy,’ I said. ‘That’s even better than fine.’
‘OK. Then I won’t say I’m fine any more. I’ll say I’m happy.’
Which, according to my career goals, is all anybody ever really needs to be.
We were six or seven miles outside the airport. Snared up in the inevitable traffic. But it didn’t matter. Because we were so early it was ridiculous.
My cell phone rang.
My heart jumped into my throat. Not literally, of course, but there’s a reason behind that expression. I just hadn’t known it until now.
I thought, She changed her mind. I thought, Part of me knew she would.
I looked at the incoming number. It wasn’t Anat. It was someone who had never called me before. I swallowed my heart and answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Russell?’ A man.
‘Yeah. This is Russell.’
‘Russell. Greg Wasserman. So, listen, Russ … I called to offer you that position. Unless you’ve already accepted something else.’
‘I haven’t. I accept. Happily.’
‘Good. Welcome to Wasserman & Tate. I won’t lie. You got a lot of points for being Hatcher, Swift & Dallaire. Not to say you weren’t a good applicant. But we all talked it over and we felt like, since God knows we can’t do anything for the rest of your people …’
‘I’ll try to make it seem like a good decision.’
‘We’re not worried. Stan Harbaugh speaks highly of you. I’m sure you’ll work out fine. I put a stack of paperwork in the mail to you. Any questions, let me know. Otherwise first business day of the new year. Nine a.m. sharp.’
‘I’ll be there. Thanks.’
And we clicked off the call.
‘Who was that?’ Ben asked.
‘My new boss.’
‘You didn’t tell me you had a new boss.’
‘I didn’t know. Until just now. Until he called.’
‘Is that good?’
‘That’s very good. We’re about to have a lot more money. Maybe we could move into Manhattan. Maybe we could hire a full-time housekeeper to be your new buddy. What would you think about that?’
‘That would be fine,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, I’d be happy if we did that.’
It was the first time I’d met anybody at the airport post-9/11.
You didn’t get to meet them at the gate any more. And probably we’d never get that back again. Life just rolls on, adjusting to whatever was subtracted.
Ben and I staked out a spot at the edge of the baggage claim area, right on the front lines, where limo drivers held up their signs, flagging people by their printed names.
I paced. Ben held still.
‘Why are you so nervous?’ he asked. ‘A minute ago you were happy.’
I opened my mouth to explain. And saw her. I saw her moving with the crowd. Scanning with her eyes. Until she locked on to me.
She was dressed more traditionally than I’d ever seen her, in a long skirt and something that looked like several wrapped layers on top. Her hands were too white, and too thick. I couldn’t tell if they were bandaged, or if she was wearing protective gloves. Or if they just looked like that. She was still too far away.
I knew a lot of things at once. Too many things, really. They stretched the inside of my chest until it hurt.
I knew it might be a shock when I saw the extent of her burns. I also knew it would ultimately change nothing. However she was now would be however she was, and we would deal with it. I knew she might not get along with Ben at close range. Or they might be instant family. I knew she might not get along with me at close range. Or we might get married, have two children and live happily ever after. I knew Nazir might come around and come for a visit, or he might never speak to us again. He might even reject his own grandchildren in his rage.
And I knew that my only way through this mass of simultaneous future outcomes was to hold tight to the idea that it was possible to get to OK from where we were now. Not assured. Just possible.
She walked up to me – us – and stood face to face with me, our noses about six inches apart. We looked into each other’s eyes, unsure half-smiles on both of our faces.
‘There he is,’ she said.
THE END
About the Author
Catherine Ryan Hyde is the author of several highly acclaimed novels including the award-winning Pay It Forward (which was made into a feature film starring Kevin Spacey and Helen Hunt), Love in the Present Tense (a Richard & Judy Book Club bestseller), Chasing Windmills, When I Found You, Second Hand Heart and Don’t Let Me Go.
Also by Catherine Ryan Hyde
DON’T LET ME GO
THE HARDEST PART OF LOVE
(previously published as Electric God)
SECOND HAND HEART
WHEN I FOUND YOU
CHASING WINDMILLS
PAY IT FORWARD
LOVE IN THE PRESENT TENSE
Other books by Catherine Ryan Hyde
JUMPSTART THE WORLD
DIARY OF A WITNESS
THE DAY I KILLED JAMES
THE YEAR OF MY MIRACULOUS REAPPEARANCE
BECOMING CHLOE
WALTER’S PURPLE HEART
EARTHQUAKE WEATHER
FUNERALS FOR HORSES
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WHEN YOU WERE OLDER
A BLACK SWAN BOOK: 9780552776684
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781407081694
First publication in Great Britain
Black Swan edition published 2012
Copyright © Catherine Ryan Hyde 2012
Catherine Ryan Hyde has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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