Fare Forward (21 page)

"Come on, Gabriella. We're here." Emily pulls me out of the subway and up the stairs to the main concourse.

"Look, Em." I stop and point at the famous turquoise blue ceiling of the constellations.

She cranes her head back and exhales dramatically. "I know, it's
amayyyzing
isn't it?"

"Remember when we learned the secret about it?" I ask.

The celestial mural was one of Grand Central Terminal's most remarkable features. However, there was something extraordinary that few people knew. I remembered clearly the day my grandfather had taken Emily, Lily, and me to a special observation platform where we could look down at the travelers below and up at the painted sky.

"Listen to me very carefully, children." He had waited to speak until he knew he had our undivided attention. "I have something very special to tell you."

We huddled together like a small team, waiting for him to impart one of the deepest darkest secrets of the universe.

"What is it, Dr. Vogel?"

"Look at this image." He unfolded a large photograph of a dark night sky. His finger traced the line of white dots and circles that connected shapes and created the famous images."You see the stars on the ceiling? That is called the zodiac."

"We know that!" Emily had said with excitement as Lily and I nodded in agreement.

"Yes, my dear, but look closely at the two. Are they the same or different?"

I knew him, I knew there was a reason for this adventure.

"Different," Lily had said with certainty.

"You are right! Now tell me how."

The three of us stood there, our faces twisted in concentration. I knew what it was, I could see it clearly. Visual images were second nature to me.

"It's backward," I said softly.

"That's correct, Gabriella. It's as if we are sky voyagers, looking down at our solar system from
outside
our world. Some people think that the artist who conceived of the ceiling, Paul Helleu, made a mistake. But he did not, it was quite intentional. I want you to think about that story every time you walk through here. Promise me that."

I remembered that day so well, the time my grandfather spent explaining this mystery to us, answering our endless questions. The concept of looking down at our earth from the heavens captivated him.

"Gabriella." Emily throws her arms around me and points to the clock. "You better hurry and get the shuttle to Penn Station. You've got twenty minutes to catch your train. Have a wonderful weekend and do me a favor, please? Be careful."

"Emily, I'll see you Monday."

As I turn away from her I look up to the painted stars on the ceiling and run for the train that will take me one step closer to home. Unlike the recent exchange with my grandfather, the memory of that day was such a happy one. The captivating and oddly personal knowledge that was imparted to us by the seeker of other worlds.

I
LOOK OUT THE WINDOW as I sit cocooned in my raincoat and hood, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my coat. I have chosen to sit in the "quiet car." No cell phones are allowed and minimal hushed conversations—anonymous and silent.

Perfect.

I see the landscape of Rhode Island roll by as we pass through. The rain streams down the window that separates the outside world from the interior space. The wet paths trace lines that jump across the surface of the glass. Earlier, when the train had passed through a tunnel, I saw my own reflection. I was jolted by what looked back at me and realized it was not my face but my grandmother's. The image in the frame on my grandfather's desk. Mine is younger and without the dark hair that was always tied up above her graceful neck in a sleek chignon, in stark contrast to the wild golden hair I would thoughtlessly twist and pin out of my way. She was from another time, an era where great care was given to appearance and propriety. My tomboyish predilection precluded that effort.

My grandparents had shared a great and enduring love affair. He spoke of her in the present tense, as if she still were with him every day. His
"beshert"
he called her. His soul mate. He believed in the fundamental concept that for every person, every soul, there is only one other that completes them. Two lost halves created for the purpose of being united, creating a divine union.

I touch my cheek and slowly move my hand down to the edge of my jaw, across and over my lips. I want to trace the path that Benjamin's breath had moved over my face. I think about his mouth; I imagine it on me. His hands, his face—all of him. It is a sensation and memory that I have played over thousands of times since that night several weeks earlier.

The rhythm of the train's pace starts to change indicating the approach to Boston's South Station. The landscape out the window is familiar yet transformed into yellow, red, and bronze by the fire of the New England fall. Golden light on the river shimmers off the glass towers. It's an amazing city. Home to so many great minds, those who are creating, inventing, and describing the world. Revealing what is locked deep in the consciousness of yet unnamed sources.

"Charlie!" I yell into my cell phone as I try to balance everything I'm carrying.

He was part of our life in Gloucester, always around to help Maggie run the house or shuttle my grandfather to the airport. I planned to use the thirty-mile drive out to the North Shore to catch up on all the local news.

"Sorry I didn't call you sooner, but I'm here. Almost at South Station."

"Well, today is your lucky day, kid, I just happen to be doing a drop off at the airport. So, I'll be right there."

"I'll be outside, the usual spot."

Twenty minutes later, I am safely buckled into his car.

I listen to him talk animatedly, describing events in Gloucester over the last few weeks. The highlights of weather and fishing. I look out the window and realize how in just a short period of time, everything seems so different, as if I am seeing things for the first time. Was it only a few months ago that my life had not included architecture school and, of course, Benjamin?

"I've been driving your grandfather back and forth a lot lately. To the airports. He's traveling all the time. Especially to Switzerland, right? I think he said Geneva?"

I could smell the sea, the sweet air blowing in through the window. It's much warmer than it was in New York, and the late fall sun warms me through the window of the car.

"It's so pretty here, Charlie, it never changes."

But he doesn't hear me. He wants to talk about my grandfather. "He loves to tell me about that thing—the Super—"

"collider?"

"Yep, that's it. Supercollider. I hear that thing is
huge.
Might even blast us into the future, right? I saw something on PBS about it. "

"Uh huh."

"Someday, it's gonna be a whole story about him you know." He turns around to look at me. His tanned arm, still dark from the summer days on the beach, draped casually over the seat. "They're all so different, those physics types who come to the house." He exhales slowly, making a slight whistling sound. "Maggie has told me about them over the years, a strange group they are." He catches himself as he clarifies. "I mean, Gabriella,
interesting,
you know how I love Dr. Vogel. No offense intended."

"Hey, don't worry about it, Charlie." I return his smile. "I hear you."

"They just kind of stick out when they're in Gloucester."

"Well, that's what I love about being home. I don't."

He laughs to himself, amused by what I have just said. "Yeah, right," I hear him say under his breath.

I think about the relationship I have with this northern cape of Massachusetts. Like the one between the earth and moon. The magnetic attraction and gravitational pull that creates the tides, fluctuating as the moon travels around the earth. The rise and fall of the world's oceans seems to mirror my own emotional state, the personal struggles I have faced, and even my desire to find the elusive understanding of my family. Now, there is something bigger than everything else: Benjamin.

C
HARLIE TURNS OFF of Route 128 at our exit and drives along the familiar side roads toward the center of Gloucester. I feel all the tension leaving my body. As we come over the crest of the hill, the beautiful endless vista of the Atlantic Ocean comes into view. The car circles through the narrow streets and passes the iconic sculpture of the Gloucester fisherman, a memorial to the thousands of souls who lost their lives to the sea. The center of downtown is very different from the private beachfront property where our home is. Small shops, bakeries, and restaurants create a distinctive urban character, dominated by the fishing industry that is its lifeblood. Many of the houses have small white plaques with details of the sea captains or sailors who had lived there and established this outpost on the northernmost point of Cape Ann in the early 1600s. They defined so much of the economy and history of New England as many tried to build their lives in the new world. With the crush of summer tourists gone, the town returned to its true character. Generations of hard working people descended from Irish, Italian, and Portuguese immigrants.

"Charlie, have you seen the Sullivans lately? I would love to see Lily."

He looks at me in the rearview mirror, his face becomes somber.

"Of course, Gabriella, Lily is doing great. She's already the favorite teacher at the middle school. Always happy, an amazing person, given everything she has to deal with."

I called her often from New York and think about a recent conversation. The adversity she had overcome lived in me, as did the memory of how all our lives had changed in an instant when we were eleven years old. When the car had come around the corner, and I had known.

"You sound different, Gabriella, did you meet someone special?" Lily asked.

I could picture her sitting on the porch with the phone in her hand. I wondered how she could see directly into my heart. "Lily, I wish you would reconsider, come to New York. We could live together, all of us. Get the right kind of place."

"Gabriella."

"It would be as we planned. Emily, you, and me. I really need you."

"I don't need to be in New York to be
with
you, you know that."

"I know, but still."

"Tell me about school, tell me everything. Your grandfather has been written up endlessly in the papers and not just the local ones, TIME Magazine and on television, CNN, the internet. I try to keep up with him, with both of you."

"Everything is changing, Lily."

"Yes."

"Things are starting to happen," I said.

"Gabriella, you've met him. Someone wonderful, haven't you?" she asked.

"As my grandmother predicted," I continue.

"I knew you would," she says with satisfaction.

I hear the crushed-shell stones under the tires, the sound I have trained my ears for over the years. Often it signaled the return of my grandfather after a long absence of lectures and travel. Now the sound is of my return, continuing along the path that he has set out for me.

"Well, here we are, safe and sound!" Charlie puts the car in park and stops to look at the overwhelming view from this vantage point.

I press my nose to the window as I did when I was young. The blue-gray ribbon of sea extends as far as I can see. The water is still rough from the earlier storm and the white caps of the waves rise and crash down on the beach. The distinctive salt smell and the familiar sounds of seagulls and Indian summer are still in the air.

"Hey, Gabriella, I just remembered. I saw Maggie in town earlier. She said she wasn't going to be home until later. Did you tell her you were coming?"

"No, Charlie, I didn't," I answer as I open the car door and turn to face the ocean. I see the surfers who appear after every storm, looking for waves to ride into shore. I still have an hour or so before sunset and decide to find my wet suit and go down for a swim.

"Gabriella, is there anything else?" He watches me look at the surfers.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Charlie. You know, I have to say, it really seems like I've been gone a long time. Everything feels so different."

"Everything is the same around here, Gabriella." He shrugs. "Actually I think it's
you
that's different."

Our eyes meet and I remember what I wanted to say to him.

"Please, don't tell Maggie that I'm here if you see her in town later. I want to surprise her."

"No worries. I'll see you at the end of the weekend." He winks at me and puts the car in reverse. "And be careful. I know you're one of those crazies who likes to swim in the ice cold water. The undertow has been vicious lately."

"Thanks, Charlie." I give him a hug. "I'll be fine."

I slam the car door and walk up the path to the house, thinking about what he has just said about me being different, and how even he can see the amazing and complete shift in my life.

I
DROP MY BAGS IN the front hall and look out at the timeless view of the dunes, sea, and sand. It feels so good to be away from the architecture studios, New York, and everything that has happened. This is a rare opportunity to have the house to myself.

"We on the East Coast are the guardians of the rising sun." My grandfather often reminded me.

We would watch the path it traveled until the end of the day when the shadows it cast illuminated the grasses and pond outside our windows. The back of the house that faced the ocean was carefully composed, a wall of glass designed to frame a perfect view of the sea. I walk down the long gallery toward the staircase and see the many paintings on the walls. Interspersed with well-known contemporary artists of the last hundred years are my own paintings, even ones from when I was very young.

I had pleaded with my grandmother years before. "Please, don't hang that one. It's terrible."

"Art is subjective, dear. You know that, besides I want it here,
with
me. I can see the way your mind works in the shapes and lines. I can feel your heart."

The memory stops me, the words she had spoken were the same as Benjamin's. I think about my painting in his loft and can't understand any of it: the magnetic draw I cannot deny, the terrifying reaction my grandfather had when I mentioned his name, or the reality of Benjamin's constant absence. Too many unanswered questions.