Instinctively, she glanced at the clock over the mantel. It had, indeed, passed midnight. She closed her eyes as she spoke.
“Yes. I was on the phone with him. He said that all the trains were delayed. He was going to look for a rental. Or maybe . . .” Her voice cracked. “Get a hotel room.”
“Have you heard anything from him since that phone call?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Swann. As of now, your husband is included on the list of missing people following the incident at Penn Station. I’m going to give you a number to call if you hear from him in the next few hours.”
Her eyes shot open. “Is that possible? Were there survivors?”
“Right now, ma’am, there are hundreds of survivors either receiving emergency treatment or en route to the hospital. And not all survivors that have already been taken to a hospital have been conscious, so some identifications may take some time. The hospitals are having trouble getting calls out from the city, too. People, some likely survivors, are taking boats out of the city. Ferry service between Manhattan and Port Imperial is planning to run throughout the night.
“I can’t say what happened to your husband. But I will say that we are working as hard as possible to help everyone we can, and to notify the loved ones of those affected by what happened this evening.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
As the man gave Julia the number, she heard a soft knock on the door to the garage. She turned as it opened, slowly. Her mother, Kate Fine, stepped carefully through the threshold. Her eyes seemed to find her grandson first. Julia watched her face. She saw the sorrow there. But her mother hid it quickly when she caught sight of her daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Julia said, looking at her mother. “Can you repeat that?”
She felt so drained. For some reason, seeing her mother made that worse. Or possibly, it simply didn’t make it better. That fact felt heavy, almost unbearable. Julia jotted the number on an envelope beside the television as her mother stood with her arms at her side, watching and waiting.
“Okay,” Julia said. “Thank you again.”
She ended the call. Her mother took a step toward her and stopped. Julia saw the helplessness then. Her mother, like Julia herself, had no idea what to do.
* * *
—
Two hours later, they sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and listening to Evan shift around on the couch. They remained still until he quieted.
“I can’t just sit here,” Julia said. “I know I should. The kids need me. But I can’t get what that man said out of my head. They might have already found Michael. Maybe he’s in the hospital . . . or something. I mean, I tried to call, but they’re saying phone service is a mess . . . Did you see the videos?”
“Some,” her mother said.
At just under sixty, Kate looked a perfect cross between a favorite schoolteacher and an actress playing a favorite schoolteacher in some edgy drama. Her white hair was cut short and tight, and she favored crisp black outfits and sensible shoes. When she spoke, people tended to listen. When she smiled, it felt like you had earned it. She had been Julia’s rock for most of her life. Since the kids, though, their relationship had changed. Julia had begun to feel a nagging yet insensible dichotomy. She wanted more help from her mother, yet at the same time wasn’t a huge fan when she showed up unannounced. For this night, however, all that was forgotten. They were two women feeling the first clawing fingers of loss, and neither was able to sit still and let that hand pull them down without a fight.
“They said ferry service is running again. The roads might be open now, too. Do you think they’d be okay if . . . ?”
“I know they will be,” her mother said. “I’m here until you kick me out.” She laughed softly. “Maybe longer.”
Julia leaned forward and hugged her mother over the table.
“Go,” her mom said. “Find him.”
* * *
—
Just past 2:00 A.M., Julia crouched in the bedroom they used as an office. She moved quickly but silently, stopping at times to be sure that Thomas didn’t stir. Then she continued to shuffle through a stack of photos, looking for one she could use.
Her frustration grew. She dropped one handful back in the box and grabbed another. So many pictures, yet so few with Michael in them. From pictures of the kids as babies, to candid shots of them riding on a miniature roller coaster or playing in the ocean during one of their many day-trips to the beach. A pattern arose. Neither Julia nor Michael showed up in a single one.
She watched her life unfold like one of those old-fashioned penny arcade Mutoscopes. The stop-motion story played out as if Evan and Thomas were orphans, making their way from one adventure to another without a parent in sight. For Julia was behind the camera for almost every shot. And Michael was at work.
She had to dig deeper and deeper into the box of photos. Finally, she came across the first with both her and her husband. They stood under a streetlamp outside a minor-league baseball stadium, the light surrounding them like a halo that pushed back the darkness. She cried, looking at that picture. She remembered the moment like it was yesterday. But so much had changed since. Life had piled up like a game of Jenga. She and Michael had done their best to ease through each step—parenting, work, money. Regardless, the years had taken a toll. Their tower had started to sway and had threatened to topple, making the sweetness and perfection of the beginning that much harder to remember.
ENGAGED
Photographs. We pause the moments of our lives. We see them through artificial lenses. As the cameras click away, we feel so sure of the utter rightness that we never question. Instead, we pride ourselves on encapsulating our happiness, storing it away for some moment far in the future when we can pop the cork and drink of its beauty once again, as if joy moves in a perpetual loop.
That’s not how it works. When our fingers pinch the corner of some captured memory, we hold it before our eyes as a tingle starts in the chest. It rises, pushing moisture into the corner of our eyes. We see what once was. It dangles before us like unreachable perfection, made all the worse because we are convinced we held that moment, that most perfect experience, in our hand once, too. But it’s gone, reduced to a two-dimensional image that does nothing but fade more and more each day.
See, photographs are not what they appear. They are not little gifts from the past, bringing with them the glow of Christmas morning. Instead, they are paper-thin slices of loss that we insist on reliving in the guise of romantic nostalgia.
* * *
—
Just over one year after starting at the Delaware State Housing Authority not long after her call with Geri, Julia was promoted to assistant director. At only twenty-four, she already supervised career employees over twice her age. Now she was responsible for most of the daily operation of the agency while her boss wielded gilded shovels and oversized shears at groundbreakings and ribbon cuttings. By her third year in the job, the rumbles had grown deafening. The governor’s policy adviser for social issues had announced that he would be stepping down. The job had, in all intents and purposes, been placed in Julia’s lap. She felt overwhelmed but excited about the entire thing, but it wasn’t the best news that the young couple would receive. One Thursday, Julia’s secretary leaned back and called into her office.
“It’s Michael,” she said.
“I’ll pick it up. Thanks.”
She lifted the cradle and hit the blinking light. “Hey.”
“Guess what,” he said.
She could hear the pure joy in his voice. “You got the job? Are you serious?”
“Yup.”
Not long after they met, Michael became disillusioned with politics. It started slow, but his passion waned and the weight he felt could be seen when his everlasting smile faded. When the state made a play to attract a minor-le
ague baseball team, he was asked to lead the task force. His job satisfaction waxed, but a new seed was planted.
They succeeded and the team came to town. Michael, having rubbed elbows with management throughout the process, was courted within weeks. They called him in for an interview, and he’d been like his old self since.
“That is awesome!”
He started to laugh. “They want me to start on Monday.”
“What about giving notice?”
“No problem. I already told Kent all about it. He knows. In fact, he’s going crazy outside my door right now. Let’s celebrate tonight.”
“Definitely. I’ll meet you at home.”
For the rest of the day, Julia alternated between a giant smile and checking the clock. He was waiting for her when she finally got home. They jumped into his Mazda, and he drove to a new seafood restaurant on the riverfront. The food was amazing, but just listening to how happy he sounded made it even better.
With faux thoughtfulness, she said, “So, did they ask you about playing in college?”
He laughed. “Somehow, they already knew.”
“It’s not like every applicant can say they played Division I baseball.”
He smirked in fun. “I think I was the only applicant.”
“I am so happy for you.”
They sat together at a small two-top. The music played softly in the background, and they spoke louder than they meant to, lost in the excitement. She found herself staring at his smile. His face always seemed to look happy, even when she watched him sleep some mornings as she got ready for work. That night, it was different, though. Julia would swear that his mood radiated out, embracing the entire restaurant. The place buzzed from the minute they got there until the minute they walked out, hand in hand.
“Come on,” he said.
She had an idea where they were heading. But when they reached the minor-league stadium a couple miles west of the restaurant, he surprised her. The fence on the first base side along the outfield was low. With a quick look around, he vaulted it. Beaming, he turned to help her across. Caught in the moment, she shook off his assistance and slipped gracefully over the fence. She felt alive, emboldened by their transgression, and she kissed him deeply under the darkened lights of the ballfield.
He took her hand again and led her out toward the field.
“What if someone’s here?”
“So what.”
Her cheeks reddened. “But they just hired you. If they catch you breaking in, they’ll—”
“They’ll know how excited I am.”
She shook her head but let the moment take her. Julia’s whole life had been planned out. She attended the best private schools in the state. She sat on student government and played field hockey and basketball, all perfect additions to her college application. She graduated with a 3.9 average and landed a job within days. He was her one spark, her one chance-taker. She loved when he pushed her, albeit gently, out of her comfort zone. Over the years, she’d learned to go with it. Knowing she could trust him.
He strode right up to the pitcher’s mound. There he stopped and looked around.
“You miss it?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. Honestly, when I graduated, I felt this hole inside me. I had played baseball all my life, since I was six. Sometimes it felt like that was all I ever did. I practiced all the time. And we played hard, man. Intense. All the time. And, I guess, I liked the attention, too. My parents bragged all the time. All the students knew me. The way the graduate assistants took care of everything. I guess I got a little caught up in it.
“When school ended and I stopped playing, all that just disappeared. That first year was tough. I kept trying to find something to fill it up. I felt like I couldn’t sit still. I got angry all the time. In a way, I felt like an addict going cold turkey.” He turned and looked her in the eyes. “If it wasn’t for you, I might have stayed that way. Once I met you, though, things changed. I felt like I had a purpose. Sure, getting hired to work here, even if it’s just marketing and ticket sales, it feels like I’m home. But you know it’s less money.”
“Who cares,” Julia said.
Michael smiled. He leaned down and took her face in his hands. They were strong and dry, and his thumb cupped her chin softly. They kissed.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He tilted her head and their eyes locked. She saw something come over him. He looked suddenly even more alive, even more impulsive. He let go and dropped to a knee.
“Will you marry me, Julia Fine?”
She took his hands. A tear rolled out of her eye and met the corner of her smile.
“Are you serious?” she whispered.
“One hundred percent.”
“Then yes.”
He popped up to his feet and lifted her into the air. Squealing, she put her head back and closed her eyes. When he brought her down, and they kissed, he pulled back.
“I don’t have the ring yet. I . . . I didn’t plan this or anything.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s why I love you, Michael Swann.”
Giddy, and lost in the moment still, neither noticed the night guard as they climbed back over the fence. When he stopped them, they both burst out laughing.
“We just got engaged,” Julia said.
The man smiled, and Michael shook his hand and asked him to take their picture. The guy was a total sport. He took his time, an intense look on his face. When he finally snapped the photo, he nodded to himself.
“Now you’ll have it always,” he said.
No single statement could have been more, and less, true.
21
I have no idea how long I stared at the sticker. Like the ticking of some old clock, I just kept flipping it from one side to the other.
GUE
MICHAE
Flip.
ST
L SWANN
Flip.
GUE
MICHAE
Flip.
ST
L SWANN
Guest—Michael Swann. Michael Swann. Michael Swann.
It was like I tried to force those words back into my head. Like I could actually manipulate the neural pathways, tie off the synapses, make them connect this name to something inside me. I needed some kind of miraculous conception, for those letters to merge together, then find some purchase among my failing thoughts where they could divide and grow and thrive. Instead, to be honest, they meant nothing at all.
My hand began to shake. My entire body shook. I couldn’t sit still. My foot pounded against the wall under the mailboxes, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. I kept hitting it over and over again. Then my hands pulled at my hair, causing fresh blood to inch down my temple, into my ear. I wiped it off and left a new stain on the old carpet.
“Michael Swann,” I said out loud. And repeated it over and over again.
I heard the footsteps, but I didn’t care. I heard the elevator door open. I saw the people. And it all meant nothing to me. My foot kept pounding and pounding.
“Hey, stop,” a man said. Then he paused, his head tilted. “You okay, man? Holy shit, were you in the explosion?”
Explosion, explosion, explosion. I kicked the wall every time that word flashed in my head. I didn’t look at the guy. I couldn’t, for some reason. Instead, my heart just beat faster and faster, harder and harder. I wanted to scream.
“You don’t look good,” the man said.
He took a step toward me. He reached out. I am sure he meant to help me. But something snapped inside me. Out of nowhere, I was sure this man was going to try to take my case.
I don’t even know what happened next. I know I suddenly felt very unsafe. I felt like I was in danger. Like I was being attacked. Like the world was pressing in on me. The sound of thi
s man’s voice became like the shriek of some awful demon. I swear I smelled him, the smell of blood and death and sulfur.
In a way, it was like I blacked out. Yet I saw it all as if it were happening on the television or something. I sprang to my feet and lurched at the man. My hands struck his chest and I sent him stumbling backwards. He hit the closing elevator door and fell to the ground. I stood over him. I even saw the blood on his chest. I thought nothing about that, really. I wasn’t really worried that I had hurt him. Nor did I realize that it was my blood, not his, placed there when I struck this stranger. I thought nothing. In a way, I felt like an animal.
“Stop,” the man cried out. “No!”
I stood over him. Maybe it was his tone, halfway between a whine and a call for help. Maybe I just came to my senses. Because all I wanted to do at that point was get the hell out of there. I turned and bolted, grabbing the case just before slamming into the door. It swung open and people passing by stared as I staggered out. They shied away from me as I took two awkward steps and then ran off into the shell-shocked city.
22
As Julia stood before her mother, the photo from the night of their engagement hung from her long fingers.
“Thanks for knowing,” Julia whispered.
As if in answer, someone softly knocked on the front door. Startled, Julia swung around and answered it. Evelyn, Tara, and two other women from the neighborhood stood on her front porch. Evelyn smiled, yet she had clearly been crying. Tara did not make eye contact. The others were the first to step into the Swanns’ home. They wrapped themselves around Julia like a protective blanket. It was well after 2:00 A.M.
“How’d you know?” Julia asked, fresh tears following well-worn tracks down her cheeks.
Evelyn stepped into the house next. The others parted, and it was her turn to hug Julia. They held each other for a time, while everyone else in the foyer stood awkwardly watching. Evelyn let out a choked laugh.
“I told them,” she said. “I had to. What can we do to help?”
The Real Michael Swann Page 9
