What Changes Everything (12 page)

       She arrived early. She wore sunglasses, the classic incognito look, and walked directly to the side of the office, out of sight of the windows. In the days before Todd, and even afterwards, with him gone so much, she‟d become surprisingly connected to the staff at Green-Wood—even more than to her colleagues at Columbia, in some ways. Glasses of wine, evening events, all that. But this crisis had left her lurking at the edges of her own life, hiding from the people she normally embraced. She stood waiting, trying to let herself be soothed by the high wind in the trees and the chatter of the monk parakeets that nested in the Gothic Revival front gates.

       She only had a moment before Penny came out of the office. "Can you believe this weather? Wonderful day for grave rubbings, isn‟t it?"

       Clarissa‟s stomach spasmed as she summoned a smile. They had no idea what was happening, not Penny nor anyone else here, which was fine in the sense that it hadn‟t—not yet, at least—impacted her occasional work at Green-Wood. Still, it felt like lying.

       She put in ten hours a month for a minimal salary making tracings of the gravestones and writing reports on how they should be preserved. Grants were applied for, and sometimes the restorations were made. She loved the work, a nice companion job to teaching, research and writing. It seemed to her natural to love both the urban environments that daily rubbed history away and the fragments within the city that held some permanence, hints of old stories. She‟d been working at Green-Wood so long, and so successfully, that they pretty much let her set her own hours. No one felt surprised to see her show up at any moment. Normally, she set aside time for a cup of coffee with whoever was in the office. But she couldn‟t bear small talk these days. She couldn‟t bear to hear someone ask "What‟s new?" and to try to offer some banal answer.

       "No work today," she said. "I‟m going for a pleasure walk."

       "Even better. This place is so lively in the fall, isn‟t it?" Penny said. "There‟s a wedding in the chapel today—the third this month. Once the chic place to be buried, now the chic place to be married. Doesn‟t that sound like good PR?"

       "Put it on Twitter." Clarissa managed a small smile.

       "Exactly. Oh, and there‟s a memorial service not too far from Lola Montez. You might want to head in the Bernstein direction to avoid the crowds."

       The roads and walkways of the cemetery all had names like Dawn Path or Arbor Avenue. But Green-Wood employees and regulars gave each other directions using the grave sites of favorite or betterknown "permanent residents."

       "Thanks for the tip," Clarissa said. "And here‟s Ruby," she added, hoping her relief was not too apparent. She gave Ruby a short embrace, introduced her to Penny—"meet my stepdaughter Ruby,"—and then waved goodbye. Clarissa and Ruby headed up the steps on the other side of the entrance road, and along the path that passed "Our Little Emily." Emily‟s spot on a rolling lot was marked by a tiny stone and circled by larger headstones, as though she were being watched over by the grownups. Made of marble, Emily‟s small stone, from 1874, was deteriorating badly; though most of the restoration funds were earmarked for well-known residents or Civil War gravesites, Clarissa had developed a fondness for "our little Emily" and the family who surrounded her. For a couple of years, she‟d been playing with the idea of paying

personally to restore Emily‟s tiny monument.

       Ruby wore jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Her hair was pulled back. The weather was fine but Clarissa, in a light jacket and scarf, had been running cold for days. Once they got away from the office, they had privacy, as she knew they would—even more than in Prospect Park. In the cemetery, passersby avoided one another, walking out of their way to sidestep someone sitting near a grave or strolling along a shadowed path. She and Todd had their most critical talks in Green-Wood. This was the first time she‟d been here with Ruby—in fact, she realized, the first time she and Ruby had gone anywhere alone together. Clarissa wondered why she hadn‟t suggested something before, a play or lunch.

       "Sorry I didn‟t want to talk at the house," Clarissa said. "The house has begun to feel … hard. You know?"

       Ruby nodded without conviction, her lips a compressed and colorless line above her chin. She leaned toward Clarissa in a confiding way. "Clarissa?"

       Clarissa took Ruby‟s arm. "Yes?"

       "I hope you don‟t mind me mentioning something."

       "You can say anything."

       "We never talked about this before but…" Ruby looked out at the horizon for a beat, "well, you know, I don‟t think of you as my
mother, of co
urse. And not even really my stepmother. I mean, I was already fully an adult by the time you met my dad, so I think of you as my dad‟s wife. And he‟s happy and I think it‟s great, really. It‟s just that it doesn‟t have much to do with me, if you know what I mean."

       "Oh," Clarissa said. "Well. Of course."

       "Our age difference, what is it? A dozen years? It just feels jarring to me when you

introduce me that way."

       "But of course that‟s not—" Clarissa broke off, releasing Ruby‟s arm. This hadn‟t been what she‟d been expecting Ruby to say. But at least it was honest, she told herself, knowing that she was looking for the silver lining.

       "I‟m sorry," Ruby said. "Everything is just so intense …."

       "I understand. I‟m glad you told me," Clarissa said, recovering her composure. "Frankly, „step-daughter‟ never felt quite right to me either. But „Todd‟s daughter‟ seems wrong too."

       "Then just Ruby is fine."

       They walked in silence for a moment. "You feel like walking, or sitting?" Clarissa asked.

       "Sitting, I guess," Ruby said. "I‟ve never taken a meeting in a cemetery."

       Clarissa smiled. "Let‟s go over here." She led the way to the John Anderson family mausoleum, 1864. The steps were a pleasant resting place on nice days. The East River stretched in front of them; New Jersey could be glimpsed to the right through the trees. She inhaled the air, and pulled a thermos and two Styrofoam cups out of her bag. "Warm tea," she said, pouring for both of them.

       Ruby took hers without meeting Clarissa‟s eyes.

       "I like cemeteries. It‟s probably weird. But I spent some quality time in them when I was younger."

       Ruby nodded. "Your parents. The car accident."

       "Yeah. I kind of fell apart and it lasted for a few years. I used to go talk to them whenever things got rough. Sometimes I‟d leave them notes. Anyway." She took a sip of tea. "How‟s Angie?"

       "Fine."

"You‟re still going to work?"

Ruby nodded.

"Good. Are you sleeping okay?"

       "Clarissa," Ruby said. "I think I should go see my grandmother and tell her what‟s happening."

       Todd‟s mother lived in a home for the elderly and recently had been diagnosed with Alzheimer‟s. She spent hours playing cat‟s cradle with a string, her fingers‟ flawless muscle memory of a childhood pastime surviving the loss of short-term recall. Watching her fingers move beneath her calm face, Clarissa found her beautiful. Even with the fading of her mind, she seemed to remember who Clarissa was, at least in general terms, although sometimes she called her "Mariana," the name of Todd‟s first wife.

       "I telephoned the home yesterday," Clarissa said. "I wanted to check in on her."

       Ruby looked surprised, then caught herself. "I think Grandma would want to know what‟s going on," she said.

       "I talked to Maggie, her primary caretaker," Clarissa said. "I told her about Todd; I felt I had to be honest with her. Maggie believes we have to weigh telling your grandmother against the anguish it‟s going to cause, even if she forgets a few hours later."

       "I don‟t know about that," Ruby said firmly.

       "Everything is so uncertain," Clarissa said, "Maggie thinks we should wait. I think it‟s what Todd would want, too."

       "Well." Ruby took a sip of tea as if to gather herself. "Let me think about that," she said.

       "Okay."

       "And then, something else," Ruby said then. "If there‟s a chance to get him out, we need

to do it."

"Of course."

       "There are three ways, as far as I can tell. He escapes, he‟s released, or he‟s rescued. So I need to understand your reasoning on refusing the rescue."

       Clarissa took a sip of tea, hoping to slow down, defuse, the conversation. "The permission they want is so open-ended, Ruby. Soldiers with guns going in somewhere in the middle of the night would put Todd‟s life in danger, and maybe unnecessarily."

       "Most of the time, aren‟t they pretty accurate?"

       "Bill says innocents are killed all the time—usually Afghans. I don‟t want to risk it, not yet while we still have a chance for negotiations to succeed."

       "Negotiations with whom? We aren‟t sure even who‟s got him or how sincere they are about wanting to talk. What bargaining chips do we have in our pockets anyway? We have no serious money to offer."

       "Ruby, your father has always trusted Amin, and Amin says he thinks he can pull this off, get Todd out. He says we should wait."

       "So let Amin talk. But we have to let them rescue Dad if they think they can."

       Clarissa reached to touch Ruby‟s fingers, which were wrapped around her cup. She felt Ruby tighten, so she withdrew. "I keep asking myself, what would Todd want? I believe he would want this resolved without the military involved."

       "What Dad would want," Ruby was almost yelling, "is to be safe. To be home."

       "Of course. But what‟s going to get him home? What‟s going to keep him safer?

Negotiations, or guns?"

"That‟s a major over-simplification." Ruby put her cup down on the cement step.

       "Ruby. Your viewpoint is critical here. Whatever we call each other, we‟re the family. Together. You and I."

       "Okay. Well, okay." Ruby took a deep breath. "I‟m glad to hear you say that. So: I want to allow them to attempt a rescue whenever they feel they should. I want to give them that trust."

       Clarissa looked to the left, away from the water, further into the cemetery. Someone had attached yellow and orange helium-filled balloons to a bush near several tombstones, and they bobbed cheerfully in the breeze. "I‟m afraid of the kind of action they‟re talking about, Ruby. Can you understand that?"

       "That‟s just baseless, Clarissa. What do
we
know?" Ruby moved her arms in a circular gesture. "Look at us. We‟re sitting in a Brooklyn cemetery, theorizing."

        "I think Todd would want me to trust his colleagues. Both Amin, and Bill Snyder, who also trusts Amin."

"What about the people who are trained to look out for Americans in Afghanistan?"

"Looking out for American interests isn‟t the same thing as looking out for Todd."

Ruby was quiet for a moment. "Angie thinks we should give them the okay," she said.

Clarissa stood. "You can see the water from here. Look."

       Ruby watched Clarissa, but did not stand to look at the view. "You said my voice was equal to yours."

       "It is."

       "But you aren‟t actually listening."

       "I
am liste
ning. I just want to give Amin a few more days. Can you go with that?"

       "Jack says everyone agrees to this. It‟s pro-forma. The government doesn‟t even ask when the kidnap victims are soldiers, but they have to if civilians are involved. Even so,

everyone says okay."

"When did he say all that?"

"He called me."

       "Doesn‟t it seem to you that he‟s spending an inordinate amount of energy trying to get an okay for a possible rescue attempt?"

       "Clarissa, he must know something that makes it important."

       "Then he needs to tell us."

       "But it‟s probably not definite, so he feels he can‟t. „Purposely murky.‟ That‟s the phrase he used with me."

       "Well, I need a little more transparency here. That‟s the phrase I‟d use with him."

       "And that‟s it?"

       Clarissa sighed. "For now. For now, that‟s it."

       Ruby stood up. "I‟ve got to get to work."

       "I was hoping we could… we could walk a little. Talk a little about something else."

       "There is nothing else right now, Clarissa. And I‟m running late."

       Ruby left without looking back. Though they weren‟t far from the entrance, it was easy to get lost in Green-Wood. Even Clarissa sometimes still did. "Stick to the right," Clarissa called after her.

       Clarissa rose and headed deeper into the cemetery. Ruby seemed so certain—more certain, actually, than Clarissa—about the way forward. So why was Clarissa holding her ground so stubbornly? And what if her gut was wrong? What if Todd was killed while American troops were waiting for an okay from some clueless wife back in Brooklyn?

       
humans are delicate so keep it safe humans are impermanent so take the risks humans

       She had wandered into a part of the cemetery she didn‟t know well. She ran her fingers along the rough top of an old tombstone and then knelt before it to read the lines engraved. They were still barely legible. "But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, As for an hour, carrying us diverse—yet cannot carry us diverse forever." She recognized the lines. Walt Whitman, claimed by Brooklyn, still memorized in its classrooms. "Yet cannot carry us diverse forever." She repeated the lines aloud. And marveled, again, at the perverse power of a cemetery to bring her comfort.