Can You Keep a Secret? (10 page)

Two days after the attacks, Aaron Blatt arrived in Manhattan. He immediately called what remained of his staff to a meeting at the Hilton Hotel, in Midtown.

‘The offices of Carnegie have been destroyed,’ he said. ‘Every note, file, computer, data storage box and diary – it’s all gone. But you know that. What we don’t know – yet – is how many of our colleagues and friends are missing. We have heard from almost everyone, but we suspect that there may be at least five people still missing. You know who they are. I know who they are. And I am here today to say that we – our team – will never give up looking for them.’

Some people started to clap, but it quickly died out. Aaron nodded.

‘No, it’s okay. I understand, people are confused about what to do. That’s why I’m here. I’m here to say that as far as I’m concerned, Carnegie will go on. I will never give in to
terrorism. These attacks are designed to destroy us. All of us. To destroy America. And we cannot let them win. These are evil regimes that would take away our freedoms. We cannot let them do that. As I’ve just said, we will never give up looking for those who are missing. But from today, I will also be returning to work. Right now. And anyone who wants to join me is welcome. Because I truly believe that the best way forward for America is for all of us to get back to work. And if there’s anyone in this room who wants to join me, they can. And if there is anyone who cannot join me, I respect that. But I stand here today and say, together we can go on.’

The applause this time was loud and sustained.

‘I’m in,’ said Colby. He had his hand straight up in the air. Caitlin had urged him to let her accompany him. She stood beside him, trembling, watching as so many other hands were raised.

‘But what will I do?’ asked Caitlin, as the cheering died down. ‘Where am I supposed to go?’

Colby had taken a suite at the Hilton. Caitlin was staying with him. The airport was due to open and flights to Australia were due to resume. Caitlin had said that she couldn’t yet board – she didn’t have the courage – and Colby understood that. She would have to stay in his room at the Hilton until she felt able to fly.

In the meantime, he had important tasks to attend to, such as putting Summer – still the most organised person he knew – in charge of helping the families of people whose lives had been lost.

‘You can do this,’ he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, so he could look directly into her blue eyes. ‘It won’t be easy. But we need you to do it. It’s our responsibility to ensure they have everything they need. Is that something you can see yourself doing?’

Summer touched a tissue to her nose, and nodded, and from that day forward she became the person in charge of everything the Carnegie families needed: emergency cash payments; applications to the compensation fund; death certificates; funerals.

Colby praised her courage.

‘It’s one thing getting the computers up and running, it’s another to do what you do,’ he said one evening. They were alone in Carnegie’s makeshift office: a series of inter connecting rooms that Aaron had rented at the Hilton, with the beds stripped out. It was late, and they were alone.

‘It breaks my heart,’ Summer said. ‘Mrs Hartmann – that’s Henry’s wife, you know Henry, from bookkeeping? – had to tell the children today: “Daddy’s not coming home.” Can you imagine?’

‘I can’t,’ said Colby.

‘I don’t know what to say sometimes.’

‘You are magnificent.’

‘And there’s still no sign of Robert … no trace. It’s hard to believe you can be here one day and then just be gone, like dust.’

Colby nodded. Hearing Robert’s name was hard for him,
but he did not want to make Summer’s job more difficult by breaking down. ‘Are you sure you’re coping with it?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Summer, and she was coping. Summer was a strong girl, raised in Maine by a father who was a surgeon and a mother who was an elementary school teacher. She had three brothers, one of whom had come to stay with her, and was sleeping on her sofa.

‘I’ve got a lot of support,’ she added.

The same could not be said for Caitlin, who was struggling. Flights to Australia had now resumed, but she could not bring herself to board.

‘I can’t fly, I just can’t,’ she told Colby, but she was also terrified of being left alone in their suite.

‘I’m just next door,’ Colby would say.

‘But what if something happens?’ Caitlin always replied, clinging to him.

‘I have to go.’ Eventually he would get loose, but then he’d come in at night to find Caitlin sitting on the sofa, watching footage of the attacks. She would have a pile of tissues on the floor by her feet.

‘I thought I was going to die,’ she said, pretty much daily. ‘I really thought I was going to die.’ Weeks went by and she still would not talk about her flight home, and when Colby tried to ask her about it, she put her hands over her ears and shook her head like a child.

‘I can’t,’ she’d say.

‘But you can’t stay here, Caitlin, you don’t even have a visa. And if you over-stay, in this climate – with
everyone’s visa being scrutinised – I don’t want to think what might happen.’

‘I just can’t. I just can’t get on a plane.’

‘Look, I know it’s tough. You’re not the only one who feels this way. But we can get help. You need to see somebody. Would you like me to find somebody for you to see?’

Caitlin, rocking on the sofa with her arms around her knees, nodded. ‘I want to see somebody, but I still don’t think I can get on a plane.’

‘Alright. I’ll find somebody,’ Colby reassured her, but of course he asked Summer – the organised one – to do it.

‘I realise it’s not the most pressing problem, but I’m starting to worry about Caitlin,’ he said. ‘I feel terrible about it, but she has to leave – she had a three-month visa, and it’s running out – but she’s absolutely petrified about getting on a plane.’

Summer nodded. Colby had mentioned the problem before. ‘I understand. I feel pretty anxious about it myself. And she’s very young. She must have been terrified. Imagine being up there, at that level, in your apartment, eye-to-eye and seeing that plane crash.’

‘She didn’t see the plane crash,’ said Colby, ‘she was in the shower.’

Summer looked perplexed.

‘Are you sure? She told me she saw the plane fly into the building. She saw the whole thing happen. She thinks she even saw the pilot.’

‘She’s losing her mind. She was in the shower. When I found her at Columbus Circle she still had conditioner in her hair.’

‘Well,’ said Summer, confused, ‘that is odd. But don’t worry, I’ll find you somebody.’ And she did: she found Dr Susan Greenberg.

‘She’s good.’ She handed Colby a Post-It note with the address and phone number in her lovely, cursive script. ‘But it’s going to be hard to get in. She’s seeing a lot of people with the same problem, apparently.’

‘I owe you one,’ said Colby.

Dr Greenberg’s offices were on the ground floor of an elegant, pre-war brownstone near the corner of East 88th and Park. Patients were seen there only on Thursdays. Colby placed the first call, and explained the situation: ‘I have a girl staying with me. She’s from Australia and her visa is about to expire. But she’s grown terrified of flying.’

‘I completely understand,’ Dr Greenberg said, ‘but I have many patients in that situation: flights booked, and they can’t bring themselves to get on. So, our waiting list is very long.’

‘This is important. Her mother has MS and they’re checking everyone on a visa. I’m worried that Border Patrol will come and put her in detention. Can you see if you can find something? I’m at Carnegie. We’re working from temporary offices at the Hilton.’

That worked. Dr Greenberg found a gap in her calendar. Then came the problem of getting Caitlin to go.

‘I don’t want to get on the plane,’ she said. She was face down on the hotel bed, with a pillow over her blonde head. ‘Why can’t I just stay here?’

‘It’s not healthy to spend so much time in this room,’ said Colby.

‘Not here in the hotel. Why can’t I stay here in New York with you?’

‘Because it’s not your home and if you don’t go willingly they’ll deport you. You’ll never be allowed to visit me again. You’ll be forcibly deported. And in the current climate, probably tortured.’

The last bit was supposed to be a joke. Caitlin didn’t laugh, but she did grudgingly go to Dr Greenberg’s rooms. They were very pretty – there were two pale linen chairs, and a slow-moving ceiling fan – and Dr Greenberg seemed very pleasant, with her jangly earrings and short brown hair.

‘Alright then,’ she said, reading from the clipboard on her lap. ‘Caitlin Hourigan. It’s nice to meet you. And your friend here is Lachlan, known as Colby. It’s nice to meet you, too. Native New Yorker. Very nice. How can I help?’

Caitlin and Colby were side-by-side on the dark visitor’s sofa. Caitlin’s arms were hanging down and her wrists were turned upward, like she was ready to be handcuffed. Colby had on one of his well-made suits, with his big watch turned inward so he could discreetly keep an eye on the time. Not for the first time, he explained the problem: ‘Caitlin came out to New York at my invitation,
on a tourist visa. It’s about to expire. She’s from Queensland, Australia. But after what’s happened, she feels that she can’t get on a plane. She’s on medication. I took her to my medico, and he’s given her some Valium. But her nerves are still off the scale.’

Dr Greenberg turned to Caitlin. ‘Is that right?’

‘I suppose so. Whenever I think about having to fly, I feel sick. Not sick like nausea but dread. It’s like my heart is beating in my ears. Like my eyes are going to pop. It’s hard to explain.’

‘And you didn’t feel that way before 9/11 obviously?’

‘No. But our apartment, it was right next door. The whole building shook. The noise. I can’t un-hear it. I had to run downstairs. I saw people jumping. I stepped on somebody on the ground who was dead.’

Dr Greenberg’s pen was cruising over the pad on her clipboard. ‘And do you still see those images, Caitlin?’

‘I do. But that’s not the only thing. Another thing I’m dreading is, I don’t want to be where people won’t understand. I don’t want to have to answer a million questions about it. The people at home, they have no idea. I spoke to my mum afterwards and she said, “Oh, well, the US meddles in other countries. I suppose this is payback.” I can’t talk to people who think like that. They don’t wake up hearing what I do. They don’t have the nightmares, seeing what I do.’

‘And you wouldn’t be alone there. I have several patients in a similar spot,’ Dr Greenberg reassured her.

‘I think we’re all sick of talking about it,’ said Colby.

Dr Greenberg looked at him, and made a short note on her pad.

‘Now,’ she said to Caitlin, ‘maybe try to explain to me exactly what goes through your head when you imagine yourself on the plane.’

‘But that’s just it, I
don’t
imagine getting on a plane.’ Caitlin was sitting with her feet turned inward, and her hair hanging like rags over her face.

‘Well, why don’t we try to imagine it together?’ suggested Dr Greenberg. ‘Let’s do it now. Close your eyes. That’s good. Now, you’re at the airport.’

Caitlin’s eyes flew open.

‘No, no, keep your eyes closed. There’s no need to panic. We’re just imagining. You’re at the airport. You’ve been through security. It’s been very thorough. You’ve had your bag X-rayed. You’ve been patted down. Nobody’s got a nail clipper. Nobody’s got even a plastic knife.’

‘Can we please stop?’ pleaded Caitlin. ‘I can’t do this.’ She put her hands over her ears. She turned to Colby and said, ‘Please don’t get impatient. I’m actually scared to death. Just talking about this, I’m terrified.’

Colby squeezed her hand. ‘I know you are, but it’s irrational. A repeat of 9/11 is the last thing that’s likely to happen right now. Nobody’s going to try to hijack a plane again – or not for a long time.’

Dr Greenberg cleared her throat. They turned to look at her.

‘I can feel your frustration,’ she said, ‘both of you. But, Colby, could I just say, it’s not actually irrational to be fearful of flying right now.’

Caitlin nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you. Finally, somebody understands.’

‘I understand,’ said Colby, ‘but look, Caitlin came to the US on a three-month visa. What will happen if she over-stays? Is she going to be placed in detention? Because that’s not good for anyone.’

‘Including you,’ said Dr Greenberg.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, come on, Mr Colbert. Let’s be honest. It’s not all that convenient for you to have Caitlin here, is it? I understand that you invited her, but the fact that she’s still here, too frightened to fly, that’s something of a nuisance, am I right?’

Colby looked gobsmacked. ‘So, now this is my fault? How is this now my fault? Obviously none of this is ideal.’

‘But you do take some responsibility for it?’ Dr Greenberg asked. ‘For the fact that Caitlin is here, I mean? You invited her to come. You paid for the ticket. And then came 9/11. And it’s because of 9/11 that Caitlin cannot leave.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Colby. ‘I’m to blame for 9/11? I lost friends on 9/11. Close friends.’

‘We all did.’

‘Look, I get that. I understand. And I know she’s frightened. But I honestly can’t see what choice she has, other
than to go home. Her visa is about to expire. She says she doesn’t want to go and I understand that, but there are certain realities.’

‘Which are that you don’t want her here anymore?’

Caitlin drummed her feet on the floor. ‘Can we please stop this?’

‘It’s alright, Caitlin,’ Dr Greenberg said. ‘Colby, I’d like to speak to Caitlin on her own for a while. Is that okay? We’ll call it our first appointment.’

‘Sure. Fine.’ Colby got up and kissed the top of Caitlin’s head. He shook Dr Greenberg’s hand. ‘I’ll wait in the foyer.’

Forty minutes later, Caitlin came out.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I’m okay,’ she said. She was actually smiling, which unnerved Colby. She had not smiled for weeks. He took her hand, and they walked outside to hail a taxi, looping through the roads that run through Central Park.