Brooklyn Graves

by Triss Stein

  I could go for a walk. I thought of Joe, who believed exercise was the cure for most ills. It was late afternoon on a crystal clear fall day. Maybe the sun and crisp air and moving my chair-anchored body would provide—what? I didn’t even know what I needed. Energy? Clarity? Cheer? Probably none of the above.

  I seemed to have conjured up the devil because there was Joe headed my way.

  “Playing hooky? I am. It’s such a great day, I couldn’t resist stealing some time to get out.”

  “Leaving frantic customers having breakdowns?”

  “Who knows? Who cares? Isn’t that what playing hooky is all about? I was checking on some work and have a little time now. Going to the park? Care for some company?”

  I was going to the park. Where we live, that means Prospect Park, the great Olmstead and Vaux masterpiece, a refuge for all seasons. There was a while, after Jeff, that I couldn’t bear to even walk through the gates, but then I came to feel the opposite. I liked it because it was the last place he was on this Earth. However, I know the exact spot where the car hit him, and I never go near it.

  I didn’t exactly say yes to Joe. I wasn’t so sure I wanted company, wasn’t at all sure I wanted cheerful company, and was very sure I would not be pleasant company myself, but I did not say no, either. Then we were there, walking through the panther-topped stone gates.

  “How are you? You don’t seem your usual chipper self.“

  “How long do you have? Because my life seems to be falling apart in all directions.”

  “Not in love with another upper-class sociopath, are you?” I didn’t care for his tone and I did not want to be reminded of that recent misadventure.

  “Oh, give it a rest! That wasn’t love—infatuation, maybe—and he wasn’t a sociopath, just a…”

  “Whatever. So that’s one problem that isn’t happening. What else?”

  “Oh, work is…. I don’t even…”

  “Uh-uh. Work doesn’t do this to you. “

  “You have no idea.”

  “About your work? True. I’m just an ignorant blue-collar guy.” He was laughing at me. He isn’t, and I know it. And he knows I know it.

  “I’m in no mood for teasing. “

  “So what has Chris done?”

  I just stared at him for a moment. “Ouch. You put your finger right on the sore spot. She ran away.”

  He didn’t express appropriate shock. He just waited.

  “She went to my dad and left me a note.”

  “You call that running away?”

  “It feels like it to me.” I sighed. “I don’t know what to do. She is angry at me all the time. You know? She’s stuck in a teenage…some kind of vortex. The real Chris has disappeared.”

  “An Invasion of the Body Snatchers situation?”

  “That’s it exactly. That writer must have had teenagers.”

  By then, with Joe leading the way, we had reached a playground. The park has many of them, but this was the adventure playground I used to frequent with Chris when she was little. She loved the climbing structures shaped like animals and a fort with ladders and doors and ropes and slides.

  We took a bench. “You know the real Chris has not disappeared, don’t you?”

  “No, I most definitely do not.”

  He smiled at me. Or he was laughing at me.

  “Oh, okay, I know it, but I just don’t actually believe it. She sure doesn’t seem to be around, my old daughter. Even when she is not moving somewhere that is not home.”

  “What were you like at fifteen?”

  “Made my bed. Did my homework. Babysat. I was…I was a good kid.”

  “Oh, sure you were. Sure.”

  “Yes, I was.” I thought back. “Well, okay, not exactly. I thought my parents were idiots. My mom’s clothes embarrassed me. My dad’s jokes embarrassed me. I wanted…what did I want? Everything to be different, I guess, especially me. And of course just the same, too.”

  “Is there an echo going on here?”

  “Damn it, Joe. Don’t play that wise older brother with me.”

  He laughed.

  “We didn’t end up here by accident. Look around you.”

  I watched the very small children as they ran and laughed and hollered under the watchful eyes of sitters and parents. Snacks and sippy cups were distributed, scraped knees band-aided, a hair-pulling incident resolved. A barely walking boy was forcibly removed from the highest level of the fort before he took a tumble. A little girl with bows in her hair insisted she could go on a slide “all by myself” and giggled maniacally all the way down. A little boy in a baseball jacket sobbed as if his heart was breaking, saying, “No, no, no” as his mother tried to console him.

  “All right,” I said at last. “I get it.”

  “Ah, you’re a smart girl. I figured you would.”

  “Calling me a girl is very annoying.” I said it without rancor. “This is a devious plan to remind me of the good times with my kid, right?”

  “And?”

  “And even though her brain might have been taken over by aliens, it’s not more permanent than—well, that.” I pointed to the tiny sobbing boy, now fast asleep on his mother’s shoulder.

  “Mmm.”

  “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I’ll take that for a thank you.”

  “I suppose this means I have to make up with her? If she’ll talk to me?”

  “One of you has to be the grown-up here. You seem most qualified.”

  “I’m scared. You know? I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Make up?”

  “No. Be a mom now. I used to be able to muddle through and it seemed to work out. Now…” I shook my head and looked away, just in case the wetness in my eyes might be visible.

  “Try not to be stupid. You’re doing fine. She’s a great kid. You think that’s an accident? You turned out okay, so your folks must have muddled through, right?”

  He had a point. And it was true that I gave them some shaky moments. I didn’t see it then—not any more than Chris would—but I could see it now.

  “Okay,” I muttered, then said it again with a little conviction. “Okay. I’ll deal with it, doing my best impersonation of a grown-up.” I stood up quickly. It was time to end this discussion.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I have to get going now, too. “

  “Another appointment?”

  “I have a date tonight. I’ve got to get home and clean up.”

  “Anyone I know? That cute redhead from the glass studio?”

  “That’s her.” He didn’t seem to want to say any more, which was not like him, and I wasn’t up to thinking about what that might mean. If it meant anything. Probably it didn’t.

  I changed the subject.

  “You knew, didn’t you? About Chris? You knew! You came to find me on purpose? Wait.” I grabbed his arm. “Did you know before she left, and didn’t tell me?”

  “Of course not. If I knew, I would have talked her out of it. No, she called me from your dad’s.”

  “She called you?”

  “We do talk sometimes. Come on, you knew that. We kind of bonded when she worked for me last summer.”

  “She talks to everyone but me!”

  He said, very slowly, “It sounds to me like she needs something at the moment, and maybe it isn’t her mom. It’s always been the two of you and she’s reaching for something to—not to replace you—but to fill in a space in her life. You’re smart. You can probably figure out what it is.”

  I could, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not then, not there, not with him.

  “How’d you get so smart about other people’s kids?”

  “You know how many nieces and nephews I have? Thirteen. They come to me when their parents are driving them crazy and vice ve
rsa. They let off steam and then I send ’em home.”

  We had walked all the way back. Joe gave me a quick, friendly hug. “Relax! I can feel the knots through your clothes. It will be all right.”

  “Thanks for listening, Uncle Joe.”

  I managed to say it jokingly, in spite of my own mood, and I didn’t realize until later that he didn’t laugh.

  I planned an evening of eating all the random leftovers in the refrigerator, and going to bed. I wondered where Joe was going tonight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I snapped awake. Was it morning? I squinted at my clock. 6:30? How could that be? I closed my eyes again, but had to squeeze them tight to keep them shut. Chris used to call it “squinching.” I had to face it. I was up for the day.

  And so I resolved that I could and would make good use of this unwanted early morning. Somehow, during my day of worrying and my night of restless, anxiety-dream-filled sleep, I had made a decision. I wanted to see her face-to-face. A confrontation? Oh, I didn’t know. Maybe. Maybe just a talk.

  If I scrambled, I could be waiting in front of her school before she arrived for her first class.

  So I scrambled. I stood there in the early morning chill, wrapped in the too-light jacket I had grabbed on my way out. The block was crowded with high school students, arriving on their own, mostly, and milling about, socializing. There were parents’ cars, parked every which way, creating traffic nightmares, dropping off the ones who lived furthest, or arriving early for middle-school, which would start a little later. And there it was, my dad’s car, stopping up at the corner, wisely avoiding the scrum. Chris was just getting out and walking briskly toward her pack of friends.

  My baby. My big girl who was so angry at me. I took a deep breath and moved to waylay her before she went too far. Making a scene right in front of her school, in front of her friends, would be a good way to make sure I was not heard. When she spotted me, she turned pale and faltered. I had caught her off-guard. Perfect.

  I was shaking inside, but I had given myself a pep talk all the way. I was determined to impersonate a calm, rational adult. As Joe had said, one of us had to.

  I took her arm, gently, but firmly, I hoped, and said, “Come off the street. We are going to talk and you don’t want to do it right here.” She looked panicked, tried to pull away, then stopped and went with me. She saw she would not be able to avoid it without making a scene. Smart girl, my daughter.

  We turned into a quiet side street. I said, as calmly as possible but still holding her arm, “Now tell me what is going on! You can’t just stop speaking to me. You cannot.”

  Her chin jutted out in the same stubborn expression she had as a two-year-old. I shook her arm, gently, and I said, “C’mon, Chris! You aren’t a two-year-old.”

  She pulled her arm out of my hand, but didn’t run away. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest. Protecting herself? That thought hurt.

  Finally, she said, through gritted teeth, “I needed at least one parent. You don’t have time to be mine, and Grandpa does.”

  No, I would not lose my temper. Not happening. I said, ever so calmly, “That is ridiculous.”

  She turned and glared at me. “It. Is. Not. You are running here and there and all over. You work, you study, you run around for your job. You work in a museum, for crying out loud! It’s supposed to be boring! Instead, I never know what you’re doing. You come home late and don’t tell me and you forget that I might worry. Bad things happen. And you’re never around when I need you anymore. You are busy everywhere but with me.”

  “But, Chris, you know why I do all of this.”

  “Do you think I don’t need a parent anymore?” She charged right ahead with her argument. “I’ve always had to make do with only one, but lately I feel like I only have maybe half. Or even none. Grandpa is really there for me, whenever I need him.”

  My calm snapped and shattered. “Oh, yeah? Wait until he’s there all the time, when you don’t want him at all. Cause believe you me, he hovers.”

  “That would make a nice change! I wouldn’t have to get arrested or be in an accident—or die—to get some attention. My own dad has always been gone. Now my substitute, my good friend’s dad is gone, too. And his mother is all over him, but mine? Mine is nowhere to be found.”

  She turned and walked way before I could even form a reply, let alone get it out of my mouth. She was gone, just like that.

  My heart was beating fast and I had to blink a lot of times to get my eyes to focus. It’s not that we had never had a fight. Two strong-willed women in the same house? Of course we had. But she had never been this angry, this resentful. I had never felt she was going for the kill.

  I fought down the panic that this was our whole future together, that it would just get worse and worse.

  I walked away from where I stood, directionless. I could move my body, but my mind seemed paralyzed. When I turned the corner, I saw a familiar old car standing next to a hydrant, flashers on. My dad was leaning over to open the passenger door.

  He said, “Get in. For God’s sake, just once don’t argue with me.”

  I walked past the car, not even turning my head, but then I turned back. Why not? Nothing he said could possibly make this day worse than it already was. Maybe having a full-on fight with him would actually cheer me up. I was ready for a fight with someone.

  “Are you following me? How dare you! You…” I started while I was still sliding into the seat.

  “Chris did a number on you? Oh, yeah, I saw her stalking away. Can’t imagine where she got that mouth.” He reached over to help with the seat belt and left his hand on my shoulder. He was looking at me and was a lot calmer than I was.

  “What do you mean by that? I never talk to her like that. She has never—ever—heard me talk to anyone…”

  “Going out on a limb here, but you think it might be in the genes?”

  I sulked as long as I could stand it, then found myself saying, in a voice so small I almost couldn’t hear myself, “Dad, what am I going to do?”

  “Don’t do anything for a few days, is my advice.”

  I sat up in instant protest, but he said softly, “Take it easy and listen, would you? I think she just needs a break and a chance to figure some things out. Give her the space to miss you. “

  “No. Okay, yes, maybe. I sort of get it, as a—as a strategy. But I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes! I’m sure. She has lost her mind.…”

  I saw him shaking his head, and I stopped then and thought about her actual words. I had a glimmer.

  “Is it because her friend’s father died? She’s feeling…”

  “Could be.”

  “She feels scared? Dad, that makes no sense at all. Has she gone crazy? Dima was a tragedy but it’s completely, totally unrelated to her life.”

  “She’s fifteen, kiddo. Everything is related to her life.”

  “Then in the name of all…why hasn’t she said that was it? She’s just dramatizing instead of really talking. We used to be able to talk about everything.”

  “I repeat. She’s fifteen. My guess is that she doesn’t know how to say it.”

  “She ran away from home, Dad. How can that be? I can’t lose her. Nothing else would matter in my life…”

  “Uh, yeah, and who’s over-dramatizing now?” He was patting my shoulder. “She sure didn’t run very far. She just needs a little breathing room. I do know how you feel.” He cupped my chin and that forced me to look right at him. “I do. Guess how? And she will be fine. She’s smart. She knows you love her. Let her work it out. She’s safe with me.”

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at him anymore. “But I can’t just sit back and not do anything!”

  “Not your style, is it? Well, yeah! It is hard. You thought it�
�s all a walk in the park, raising kids?”

  I did look at him then. “You never used to be this calm. Never. You were the one who did all the yelling. Did you get smarter behind my back?’

  “Ya think?” He started the car. “Traffic cop is coming down the block. I’ve got to move. Where can I drop you?”

  “I’ll walk.” I opened the door but after I slid out I popped my head back in to say, “Dad? Take care of my baby?”

  “Goes without saying.”

  Talking to my father had actually helped clear my head. That was a surprise. I was just a little less disturbed about Chris. It was a phase, right? And she would get over it, right? I could stop panicking.

  In any case, I had to stop, because it was time to meet Natalya at the precinct, and now I’d have to hustle to get there on time.

  I spotted her from a long block away, apparently in heated discussion with someone I could not quite see. She gestured dramatically, walked away in apparent anger, then turned back and held out her hands.

  As I got closer, I was surprised to see that it was Alex. He stood hunched over, head turned away, not responding to his mother, but finally, as I reached their end of the block, I saw him step up and wrap his arms around her. He let go suddenly when I called out, and Natalya turned to me with a social, completely unconvincing smile.

  “My dear, I thank you for coming. As you see, I have Alex out of school today, he will look at police photos, too.”

  Alex looked grim and gave the briefest possible nod to acknowledge my presence.

  “Come. It is time.” She tapped her watch and looked meaningfully at her son.

  We were whisked in to a bare room with a table. Henderson came in.

  “I have brought my friend, Erica Donato, she will help with English. And my son, to look at the faces you have for me. Erica, this is Detective Henderson, in charge of finding out truth of what happened to my Dima.”

  “Yes, we met before, at your house.”

  He nodded and smiled at me from behind her back. “I remember. Do you have anything to add? I would love to move this case along faster, and I know the family would appreciate that, too.”

  I told him I could not help him, much as I’d like to, and he went on, explaining the process. “Miss Donato, I gather you are here for moral support, so you won’t have anything to do, really. I want Mrs. Ostrov and her son to examine these photos to see if they recognize anyone, in any context, and particularly as relating to Dmitri Ostrov.”