Fare Forward Page 20

  "A wild weekend I see." He gently strokes the sling that holds my injured arm immobile next to my body. "Are you keeping someone a secret from us, love? That might explain your unwillingness to socialize with your close friends?"

  If he only knew the secrets I had.

  "No. Just visiting my grandfather."

  I thought I would leave out the other information such as the almost drowning part, that my family were mystics, and my grandfather was on the verge of proving Einstein's theory that tunnels existed, connecting our universe to other worlds. Oh, and that I thought I had met my soul mate from another world who lived in the most mind-blowing loft in the middle of New York City.

  "How is my good friend, the mad, lovable scientist Dokteurrr Vogel?" He says the word doctor with a German accent as he raises his fingers in front of his face. "Let me see if I remember what Ms. Mary Shelley wrote in Frankenstein. 'The world was to him a secret which he desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture. . .' Gabriella?"

  "Something like that." I laugh at the absurdity of the inference, yet realize that I have always loved those words from the novel. "Well, you got something out of that fancy boarding school you went to. A few memorized lines from classic British literature."

  "Quite right, darling."

  I turn away and look out the windows.

  "Helloooo?" He waves his hand up and down in front of my face. "Anyone home? What's up with you?"

  I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything. I need someone to assure me that I am not insane, that my world still has pieces in it that are real, predictable, normal.

  "Hey, kid." He puts his hand on my shoulder as he looks down at everything on my desk. "How is your project coming?"

  I stare at the papers and wood models, layers of computer generated drawings, charcoal sketches, and other works in progress that cover the surface of my desk completely. I see the books and papers that are piled high and squint my eyes to focus on the calendar pinned to the back of my bulletin board. Checking again how many days we have left to complete the semester, numbering the hours before the final critique.

  "Fair actually, I'm not sure how I'm going to pull the whole thing together before the end of the semester. I have so much to do."

  "You'll be fine. You always are."

  "I don't know, Philip. It's been hard for me to concentrate."

  He tilts his head. "Maybe what you need is a home-cooked meal. Why don't you come over later. I'll take care of you." He winks. "Given your injury?"

  "No, I—"

  "Wait, don't tell me." He puts his hand up in front of me in the stop position. "You can't, you have something to do. Let's see, meeting with someone who is about to change the world." He folds his arms in playful resignation.

  "Now that's not fair, Philip, eating is low priority," I lie. I can't believe I'm rejecting his tempting offer of a home-cooked meal. "I'll probably just stay here at my desk. There's so much to do to get ready for the final critique."

  "Right the critttttt, how could I forget?" He nods his head and looks up at the ceiling, tapping his finger on his temple. Remembering back to that day a few weeks before. His ever present sarcasm as he emphasizes and draws out the word crit.

  He isn't finished. I wait and cross my legs in mock impatience as I tap my foot in the air.

  "Go on." I brace myself for more teasing.

  "Well, Miss Vogel, the pursuant of the joint degree in painting and architecture person. What was it that mystery critic said about you? The physicist I believe it was."

  I feel every muscle in my body tighten and my teeth clench together as I try to look at him with nonchalance. I don't want to reveal any reaction at all. What I am really feeling at the mere mention of Benjamin. But he isn't finished.

  "Oh, yes, something about your inner creativity. Looking for a new way of saying things—or something along those lines." He waves his hand in the air. "Quite the compliment, Gabriella."

  The memory of that day washes over me as if it had just happened.

  "Philip—"

  "Yeah, man, he really thought your project was—"

  "STOP it!" I yell and hunch over the desk as I try to retreat into myself.

  "Gabriella." His voice is soft with concern. "It's him isn't it? There's something about him and you? Your grandfather?"

  I turn to face him. "Yes."

  "What is it?"

  "They've been working together."

  "And? I know you, there's something else. You can talk to me, Gabriella, please, you can trust me."

  "He's found it, Philip." I say it with no emotion. I am numb. "He's going to reveal his proof at the World Conference in a few weeks."

  He stares at me dumbfounded, then says, "This is it. Everything is going to change."

  "For all of us, for our world."

  "I'm calling Emily." Philip picks up his phone. "You need us now. It's time for you to tell us. Everything."

  * * *

  We sit together in a corner booth at our favorite diner on Broadway. It's the first time that I can remember Emily not saying a word. She just sits and listens to what I am saying, shaking her head, tears in her eyes. They are both shocked by everything I am telling them. The truth about who Benjamin is, my grandfather's stunning proof, and what really happened to my grandmother in Switzerland.

  Philip slams his hand on the table and everyone in the diner turns to look at us. "I knew it, I knew he could do it. This is amazing, historic, it's going to change everything."

  Emily reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Gabriella." She has finally found her voice. "You need to go find him."

  "Oh, Emily, I think he's away. But I don't know."

  "This is the most amazing, crazy, romantic thing I've ever heard. It's like a fairy tale."

  "Emily is right. You've got to go. Now!"

  And in their eyes I recognize for the very first time what these two people are to me. That they have really always been there, to support and love me.

  "You're right." I feel my heart accelerating at the thought of what I am about to do. "Thank you, both."

  I get up from the table and—I run.

  * * *

  45

  * * *

  I WILL GO DOWN to Benjamin's loft. To find him, to tell him, to thank him for saving my life. For saving me. The last few days, everything I did, everywhere I went, conjured up images of him and everything I loved about him: the cathedral, the architecture critique, and the way his face had looked at my drawings pinned up on the wall. Then, the night he saved me on the beach, the amazing things I had seen before the pull of the water and everything he had said. This was new territory that I found myself in.

  I couldn't believe the absurd, crazy changes that had come over me in the last few months. Within minutes, I am on the subway hurtling through the depths of the city. My preferred means of transportation, I need speed to get to him. I cannot be delayed by traffic or other impediments. I feel that I am holding on for dear life, to the safety bar on the rocking subway and to my resolve—that I would never permit myself to feel this way about anyone. To open my heart completely to another.

  It is all being discarded.

  I can't wait to see him, touch him, and wrap my arms around him. I need to prove to myself that he is real, that I haven't simply imagined it all. So much of my life has been lived in the safety of my imagination. Now I question whether I can trust even that.

  The screeching wheels of the train brake as we arrive in the mid-town station where I will emerge, closer to him. I stand close to the doors and wait for them to open so that I can rush out. My foot touches the platform and I break into a run, bounding up the steps two at a time while I sidestep other passengers.

  "Excuse me, sorry."

  I force my way through the crowd and out into the night air. Rain hits my face and again I realize how unprepared I am for everything. I have no umbrella to protect myself, not even one
of the many Red Sox caps I was known to wear, inviting comment in this city of Yankees. The long avenue seems endless, and I run as fast as I can and turn down his street. I arrive at the door, its simplicity belying the world that I know exists beyond. The last time I was here had been burned permanently into my memory.

  Changing my life.

  I ring the bell once and then again as I feel myself being pulled forward by exhilaration and hope. I knock, praying he will open the door. Finally, I hear a clicking noise and a buzz. The small camera positioned above the door frame turns slowly and focuses on my face. The lens opens and snaps shut, and I hear the loud release of the door as it disengages from its lock. It swings open slowly, and I walk into the elegant vestibule and stand alone in its silent emptiness.

  "Benjamin?" My voice is urgent, I don't understand why he hasn't answered himself. "Are you here?"

  Everything seems different, empty and dark. It is all so quiet, so still. The warmth and magic that had pervaded the space the last time I was here with him is gone. I feel a panic that I try to suppress.

  "Miss Vogel."

  It's a soft male voice. He says my name as if he has known me my whole life. I spin around as I try to regain the sense of balance I seem to be without when I am here. Standing in front of me is a slight, middle-aged man, dressed in black. Some sort of a uniform. I had definitely not seen him the last time I was here. I know this because I had replayed every detail of that night in my mind hundreds of times.

  "It is wonderful to have you here, again," he says the words as if delivering a well-rehearsed message. "I work for Dr. Landsman, my name is Max."

  "Nice to meet you, but—" I try to stay calm, polite. "Where is he?"

  "Unfortunately, he is unavailable, he's on his way to Geneva."

  "What? He's not here? I thought he was still in New York." I need to hold myself together. "Please, tell me how I can find him."

  "He left here about an hour ago for the airport. He flies out later this evening."

  I don't want to acknowledge what he has said. I need to push it away. "No, this can't be. I thought he wasn't leaving for a few more days, I thought—"

  "He did leave a message to give to you. He said that there was a possibility you might come here tonight."

  I listen carefully, silently questioning why he had not called me himself.

  As if my mind is being read he continues, "Miss Vogel, I know that he was planning on calling you from the airport. Dr. Landsman received an important message from CERN and left immediately."

  Right away I understood where he was going. It was where my grandfather had been spending so much of his time over the last few years. The European Organization for Nuclear Research, CERN.

  "I need to see him and speak to him," I plead. "Please, tell me where he is, I will go to Kennedy Airport now. You must have his flight information?"

  He looks at me, and I think I detect sympathy in his warm smile. I realize how ridiculous I look, dripping wet from running through the rain. Completely incongruous in the clean elegance of Benjamin's vestibule. I don't care. I have already crossed the line, broken all my rules and I know there is no turning back now. The momentary stillness between us is broken by a subtle buzzing. Max reaches into a small pocket in his shirt and pulls out a phone. With the subtlest of smiles he recognizes the phone number and holds the device to his ear. I turn around quickly to stare at the wall as I attempt to release some of the incredible frustration I feel. I need to stay calm, take advantage of the timely interruption to think, while I consider the few limited options I have.

  Silence.

  "I see," I finally hear him say.

  "Yes, certainly, I will take care of it. Of course, Dr. Landsman. I will tell her."

  I stop moving. "Was that him?" I know the answer.

  "Miss Vogel, the car will take you to where he is."

  "No! No, thank you, Max. I can take a cab, a taxi. To Kennedy."

  He walks over to me. "Gabriella, he is at a private airfield outside of the city. You would not be admitted if you attempted to enter yourself. We will take you there."

  It is not a request but, rather, a statement of fact. I realize what is happening. He puts his hand out to take mine and turns me back toward the entryway. I hear the now familiar click of the front door as it unlocks and swings open, and see a black Range Rover pull up in front of the building. With relief and gratitude I turn to Max and throw my arms around him and hug his thin frame. I feel him stiffen slightly and realize he must be unaccustomed to this sort of display. More than anything else I could have possibly hoped for him to say, he looks at me and points toward the car.

  "Gabriella, he will be waiting for you."

  * * *

  46

  * * *

  WE ARE TRAVELING quickly through the night, speeding along the West Side Highway and into the tunnel toward New Jersey.

  I have never been to Teterboro Airport but know that my grandfather has often traveled from there on private jets by invitation from corporations, foreign governments, or other wealthy sponsors of his research. I recognize fully that he has become an international figure, and we are all trying to adjust to the overwhelming international media attention. At the same time as certain of his theories are ready to go public, I know he still has many secrets. He never went anywhere without his bodyguards and always seemed to be traveling to an undisclosed location, attending mysterious meetings in foreign countries. There were so many unexplained absences.

  It was rare that I would allow myself to think about the terrible, dark ending in what was supposed to have been a beginning. When we all met in Paris. The celebration that never happened—to honor my grandfather's achievements. We had been detained by the French government and flown back to Israel for the funeral. There was endless questioning and a secret investigation. Philip had been with me through all of it, the bond we shared was wrapped inextricably in his accompanying me through those difficult years. I remember the morning he came silently into my dorm room at Oxford. He turned on the European news station to the account of the NATO forces bombings of several international nuclear reactors and accelerators. He wanted me to believe that this was part of the plan to put an end to the terrorist cell who had targeted my family.

  "It's over, Gabriella," he had assured me, "just like they said it would be. You need to move forward now."

  But I didn't believe it; I knew it wasn't over.

  Everything was changing and there were so many things I could no longer count on. So much about my grandfather that I did not know and the many things about myself that I was discovering. There were very few things that I felt sure of at this moment. Except for one.

  My world, my life without Benjamin in it, was no longer an option.

  The car accelerates as we burst out of the dark tunnel, and I can see by the lit-up odometer that we are well over the speed limit.

  "Are we almost there?" I don't know how long this is supposed to take.

  "Yes, Miss Vogel." The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror.

  "Please, please, hurry."

  I try to compose myself, plan what I will say. I want to return to where we had left off on the dark beach and the unforgettable night when he pulled me out of the water. I see the flashing red lights of the airport in the distance and put my face close to the window. The car slows as the guard waves us in.

  "Where are we going?"

  The driver points toward a hangar, and we enter the structure through the giant doors. As the car pulls in and makes a large arc, I see the most magnificent Gulfstream jet shining in the bright overhead lights, a low roar coming from the engines. Our car comes to a complete stop in front of the plane. The jet's staircase lowers silently down to the ground, I push the handle on the door and practically fall out of the car.

  I see him standing at the top of the stairs.

  I start to walk and then break into a run until I reach the bottom of the steps and look up. He descends toward me, and I th
ink that he is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. I try desperately to keep my balance and wait until he stops, inches away from me.

  I lift my hand to reach out and touch him as my fingers trace the lines of his face. I need to make sure that this is real, that he is not a dream. I try to steady my breathing, heavy from the run, the excitement, and everything I am feeling. With his intense eyes locked on mine, he reaches out and pulls me to him. And finally I am in his arms, kissing him everywhere.

  My lips cover his eyes, his cheeks; my fingers are in his hair. I take in every piece of him, breathe him in like oxygen I have been deprived of. As my arms wrap tightly around his neck, he kisses me back with a force I have not felt before, finding his own answers in the moment. I don't stop until I need to tear myself away from him and succumb to the need to breathe. He turns my face up to his and looks into my eyes.

  "Gabriella." The sound of his voice saying my name is like music to me. "There are things I cannot explain to you right now."

  He seems to anticipate my questions.

  "No!" I exclaim, "I need to know, I need to understand."

  I let everything go. My words are filled with rage and frustration from years of mystery. The many frightening memories of abandonment and loss. He kisses me deeply and pulls me back to the moment. I realize that this is not about the past, or even the future. It is about the present. Mine. Ours.

  "It is better this way."

  "I heard you, everything you said on the beach. I remember, I remember all of it." I look right at him and feel the power in my words. "You said that you would never let me go again. Now I'm here, offering myself to you in every way I can. Please, take me."

  What comes out of my mouth is emerging from my heart, everything I think and feel and believe since the first day we met.