She's Gone: A Novel (27 page)

Leah’s mom laid out platters of food, and they ate in the formal dining room. As daylight faded, they raised glasses of wine and drank. It was time for the fireworks on top of Leah’s father’s office building, ten blocks away.

The adults drove, and the foursome walked. On the streets, thousands of people were seated in chairs or stood, waiting for the fireworks. The girls followed Zack, snaking their way through the masses of revelers.

On the rooftop garden Jolie was on top of the world. A spectacular view of the city skyline lay before them. She took out her camera, adjusted the exposure, and snapped photos of the skyline and Leah, Sarah, and Zack. Boom, boom, boom…the sky lit up in bursts of color in endless designs.

She was in New York, on top of a building with a garden with her friends, watching the incredible celebration. It was a very different experience from the first time she’d been in New York only three months earlier. Her thoughts turned to her father. He was still searching for her. A wave of sorrow overcame her.

A bird burst forth in song outside the window. Jolie opened her eyes. The room was dark. The big house was quiet. She rose, peered out the curtain, and saw the bird in the elm tree. The street was still. She dressed and went downstairs.

In the living room, she was drawn to the bookcases. She went from shelf to shelf, reading the titles, running her finger over the spines. There were so many books to read, a sea of knowledge. Startled by a rustling sound, she turned. Leah’s father watched her from his deep velvet chair with the Sunday paper in his lap. He smiled at her, and they exchanged good mornings.

“The fireworks were amazing,” she said.

“There were more than fireworks last night.”

Was their music too loud after they got home?

He held up the front page of the
New York Times
. A smoldering building with blown out windows stared back at her. “Some crazy group tried to blow up the Bank of America. They did a pretty good job of it, too.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

He shook his head. “Thankfully, no.”

Will despised the Bank of America, the symbol of capitalism.

In the kitchen, Leah’s mom poured her a cup of tea, fragrant and sweet. Jolie asked her for her bread recipe, and she sat at the kitchen table, copying it onto a recipe card while Leah’s mom fussed about the kitchen.

The bank bombing haunted her. Who was behind it? She’d have to get a copy of the
Village Voice
before they drove back to Boston.

Eventually Leah and Zack came down. Zack wore his jacket.

“Did you sleep in that?” his mom asked.

He ignored her and addressed Jolie. “What do you want to see in New York today? Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, or the Modern Art Museum?”

“The girls have to be on the road by early afternoon,” his mom said.

Zack rolled his eyes.

“There’s a Sunday flea market,” Leah said.

“I’ll go wherever you want to take me,” Jolie said.

“Then Central Park it is,” Zack said.

Leah’s father strode into the kitchen. “I’m going out to get bagels.”

Zack stood. “I’ll go with you.”

“Not in that jacket, you won’t.”

Zack shrugged and slipped it off. Minutes later the doorbell rang, and Sarah came in.

When Zach and his dad returned they placed the assorted bagels, lox, and cream cheese on the dining room table.

Jolie savored a still warm bagel. “This is the best bagel I’ve ever had.”

Leah’s dad beamed. “They’re cooked in water.”

“In water?”

He nodded.

How do you cook a bagel in water?

Zack led the girls to the subway. They emerged in the middle of Central Park amid lush greenery and trees. They walked south along a path. People on bicycles and roller skates, some wearing hot pants blew by them. They had only covered a portion of the park when it was time to head back to Brooklyn.

Later that afternoon, the three girls stood by Leah’s car in the driveway.

“Visit us any time, Jolie. You’re a lovely girl,” Leah’s mom said.

Zack gave them all a hug. He looked at Jolie. “I want to see some photos from this weekend.”

“I’ll send you some,” she said, smiling as she thought about some of the crazy people she’d photographed.

Leah’s father stepped toward Jolie, holding a large paper bag. “I went and bought another dozen bagels for you to take back. Nobody can make a bagel like we do in New York. They try, but they’re just not the same.”

Jolie stepped toward him, gave him a hug and a brief kiss on the cheek, and took the bag. The bagels were still warm.

“Take care of these girls for us,” he said, nodding toward Leah and Sarah.

“Oh, I will,” Jolie said, trying to smile, fighting back tears.

The car ride back to Boston was quieter than the ride down. They were hot and tired but happy. Jolie was glad to have the back seat to herself. She looked out the window and soaked up the passing scenery.

“I liked Zack,” Jolie said. “What about you Sarah, are you attracted to him?”

“No. We’re like brother and sister. We’re close, we hang out together, but that’s all. Why?”

“Oh, just wondered.”

“Are you attracted to him?” Sarah said.

“Well, he is damned cute with those curls.” She smiled. “But I love Will.”

The girls laughed.

“He liked you. I could tell,” Leah said.

“How could you tell?” Jolie asked.

“He wouldn’t have come with us to SoHo or Central Park if you weren’t there, that’s for sure.”

“Well, even if I didn’t have Will, and we fell in love it wouldn’t work out. I’m not Jewish.”

Leah and Sarah laughed. “That’s our lot in life,” Leah said. “But I guess you could always run away together. They’d have to forgive you both sometime. He is their flesh and blood.”

“Bridge Over Troubled Water” came on the radio, and Sarah turned it up. Jolie leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

33

Magic Bus

They rolled into Cambridge at six that evening. Leah dropped Jolie in front of her apartment. She sprang up the stairs. In the living room she found Will and Charlie. Will played the guitar, and Charlie sat reading the Sunday
Globe
, the headline on the front page stared back at her:
Bank of America Bombed During Fireworks.

Will stood up, put his guitar down and opened his arms. “I missed you.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

She turned her face up to his, and he gave her a long kiss. “I gave Leon the envelope.”

“I know.”

How did he know?

Will released her from his embrace. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“Follow me.”

He walked toward the front door. Jolie gave Charlie a quick hug, and they followed Will out to the street. A few houses down he stopped and turned toward the curb.

“Here’s your bus.”

A sapphire-blue VW bus was parked before her. She looked at Will and then back to the bus and then to Charlie.

“Get in,” Will said, opening the side door. They climbed in the back and sat on the bench seats.

“It’s perfect,” Jolie said, running her hands over the seat.

“Charlie found it. We’ve been looking for a while, and he found this sweet deal.”

They got out and inspected the engine and the exterior.

“Let’s go for a drive,” she said.

Jolie sat in the back to experience the bus feeling, and Charlie sat shotgun. Will drove out to Memorial Drive and along the river. Skullers sliced through the water. The front windows were down, and the breeze blew fresh against her skin. Will and Jolie smiled at each other in the rearview mirror. They had wheels. There was no need to hitchhike now.

“I love it. We can fix it up for camping,” she said. “We can go to the White Mountains in New Hampshire or the Green Mountains or Maine. Charlie, you can come with us.”

“Wait a minute, who’s going to run the office?” Will said.

For the next few days, Jolie worked in the darkroom every morning before work, developing the photos from New York. She studied the different characters and scenes she’d shot. She printed a few of the fireworks and the shot she’d taken of the Statue of Liberty from across the river in Brooklyn. Her favorite was the one she’d asked Leah’s father to take of the four of them on the night of the fourth. Leah glowed in her black flapper dress next to Sarah in white. Zack stood tall in his military jacket with Jolie next to him, her scarf tied around her forehead, blonde hair spilled out the sides. It captured their weekend. She printed it to send to Zack. There were so many more photos to play with.

She showed them to Will one evening. She described the fireworks show from the rooftop garden and the view of the New York skyline. “I was on top of the world.”

“Baby, don’t get sucked into that bourgeois stuff by those people.”

She stared numbly at the photos and retreated into silence. Those people? They were her friends. Or as much as she could have good friends while keeping her true identity under wraps. That night had been one of the most thrilling moments of her life but now the memory of it was tarnished by his words.

Will and Jolie planned a camping trip to the White Mountains for the weekend. They shopped at an Army/Navy store for camping supplies and early Saturday, with the bus packed for the trip, they left for New Hampshire. Will wove through thick traffic amid blaring horns to the interstate.

“I can’t wait to get back to nature,” Jolie said.

“The ranch didn’t cure you of that?”

“I wonder about them sometimes.” She unconsciously ran her fingers over her moonstone pouch.

“That’s the new thing. Getting back to the land. Hippies are moving out to the country. We did that. And now we need to focus on the Revolution, and you can’t do that in isolation.”

His socialist utopia vision was becoming more urgent, more strident, and possibly more violent. He was obsessed with the Bank of America bombing in New York. He followed all of the news reports, but there were no leads, and no one had claimed responsibility.

They drove north. She flipped through the radio stations and settled on Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay.” The bus purred along in the slow lane, its top speed fifty-five miles per hour. “Old Blue,” Jolie said. “Let’s name the bus Old Blue.”

They arrived at the campground three hours later and pulled into a campsite. They got out and stretched. A stand of fir trees dwarfed them. The afternoon sun was high and glistened off the lake. They changed into bathing suits and walked down to the lakeshore. Jolie waded out and dove in, swimming underwater for some distance. The water was so refreshing and pure. Will dove underwater, and she swam to escape, squealing, but he caught up with her with his broad strokes. He brought her to him in an embrace, water beaded on their faces and hair. It was so good to get out of the city.

After swimming for some time, Will got out and lay on a towel on the shore. Jolie floated on her back, weightless and one with nature.

“Aren’t you ready to get out?”

“No, never.” She somersaulted into the depths and resurfaced some distance away.

He lay back, closed his eyes and fell asleep. Jolie got out of the water and lay beside him on a towel. It was quiet except for the wind, high in the trees. The scent of fir and pine floated on the warm breeze.

On Sunday morning, Will was ready to pack up and drive back to Cambridge. He paced around the camp like a caged animal, anxious to get back to the office.

Jolie wasn’t as eager to leave. “I’m going down to the lake for one last meditation.”

“Why do you waste your time on that?”

“Meditation? It calms my emotions. I feel stronger and more stable yet serene.”

“I’m ready to roll now.”

“Just give me twenty minutes. Relax…play your guitar.”

She sat cross-legged at the lake, her thoughts flowed through her mind in a torrent. They hadn’t even been there for twenty-four hours and he was ready to leave. If he didn’t want her meditating, what would he do if he found out about the temple? Despite the stillness she couldn’t quiet the chatter in her mind, knowing Will was ready to leave. She wanted to spend the day hiking and reading by the lake, communing with nature. The city was harsh and ungracious. She opened her eyes and looked out over the blue-gray water glistening in the morning sun. At least the temple awaited her.