Fare Forward (11 page)

Right. In fact, that's exactly what had happened; I did forget. I lost track of time in the cathedral with Benjamin. I panic for a second remembering the many discussions Emily and I had about this night.

"What could be better than celebrating the achievements of brilliant people?" She could hardly contain herself. "Brains, now that's what really turns me on."

"Emily, the only reason I agreed to go to this . . . this event is because of him."

"Science and specifically physics are quite the vogue, Gabriella," she stated with conviction, "but I'm sure you haven't noticed."

"I leave these things up to you, Em. To keep me informed." I knew she wasn't listening to me.

"Young, fabulous scientists," she had continued, "are better than rock stars. Remember that."

Combine that with a black-tie soiree with food, dancing, and press, and to Emily, you had created the ultimate social opportunity. I was sure she had spent half the day preparing—I had less than thirty minutes.

I slam the door of my room behind me and try to concentrate completely on three simple goals: get in the shower; get dressed; get downstairs. I strip down and peel away the elements of my day, thanking fate for the many dinners I had accompanied my grandfather to over the last few years that would provide something appropriate in my closet. I wrap the towel haphazardly around myself and try to run around the corner and down the hall without attracting too much attention from my suite mates who are arguing loudly in the kitchen about the merits of postmodern architecture.

The hot water warms me as I wash away the uncertainty of the day. It's a relief to take this moment, to stand still. Needing every possible second to separate from the intensity and the undeniable force of energy between Benjamin and me, a sensation that I had never really felt before. I keep trying to push the image of him out of my mind—
away,
like it doesn't belong. But his face, his eyes, the velvet quality of his voice, and the way he had touched my hand, held it, and looked at it, as if confirming to himself who I was, keeps coming back to me.

He recognized something about me, in me. I was so thrown off balance by the way it made me feel.

Okay, Gabriella, try to focus.

I step out of the shower and run back to my room. I quickly towel dry my hair, pin it up in a twist, and find a dress, checking my watch one more time. I walk out of my room, hoping to escape the interested eyes of my roommates, but they immediately stop speaking when I emerge. All of them stare at me in complete silence, and I can see that they are reading the headline article about my grandfather. I had purposely not read it. I knew that it contained a detailed account not only of his work and goals, but the attempt on his life that had killed my parents in France.

"That bad?" I try to sound lighthearted and hope they won't start asking questions about what they are reading.

No response.

Finally, Daniel, one of my suite mates, speaks up. "Gabriella, you are—"

"Yes." David seems to agree. "Wow, a dress. I wonder where you're going?"

He tries to sound cheerful as he discreetly puts down the newspaper and disguises the sympathy I can clearly see on his face. I had tried to keep the details of my personal life private but now I know they are out in the open, on the front page of the
New York Times.

"Thanks." I try to sound polite. "I have something tonight, for my family. It's a dinner kind of thing."

"Come on, Gabriella, isn't tonight the night your grandfather is getting that award?" He holds up the cover of the
New York Times
and points to my grandfather's photograph. "Hardly a dinner."

I can tell how taken aback they are, both by the comment about the evening and my physical transformation.

"Yes, you're right, that's it." I move away toward the door. "I'll be back later; I really have to get downstairs."

I make it into the hallway as quickly as possible, then will the elevator to move faster, knowing Emily is arriving momentarily. As I emerge into the crisp night air, the large black sedan pulls up in front of the building. The driver Emily has hired gets out of the car and opens the door for me. Once safely inside the confines and privacy of the car, I exhale gratefully, lean my head back, and see Emily, with her cheerful overly made-up eyes, looking right at me, slightly shocked.

"Gabriella, you look very nice. Actually, amazing. You really should dress up more often. Isn't this fun?" She can't contain her exuberance.

"Emily, you look beautiful too."

She was, of course, ready and willing to start discussing every detail of what she was wearing, her preparations for the day, her classes, professors, and any sightings of gorgeous men. She realizes that I am not responding so she switches topics.

"And how was the rest of your crazy day? Your walk to the bookstore? Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks me breathlessly.

"What? Oh, you mean the book. No, I didn't find it. You know. The usual." I look straight ahead as I catch myself at the inaccuracy of what I am saying. The irony strikes me immediately. The
most
unusual things had happened.

"Well, I can't wait to come to your architecture review. When you have your midterms." She claps her hands together. "Those are supposed to be wild you know, Gabriella. They have food, wine, and really famous people who come and sit on the jury right? It's like a big architecture party!"

"Not really." I can't help laughing at her exuberance. "It's more like being on trial, but I like the way you see it better."

"I'm sure you'll do great. You never know who might be there and discover what an amazing architect you are." She squeezes my hand tightly. "It's happened before you know. I've heard stories about how students are discovered at school and their whole life changes. Just like that. One minute you think you're going in one direction and then suddenly—" She stops talking.

"Gabriella, are you even listening to me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Emily. I've actually been thinking about this other class, you know the poetry one?"

"You mean the elective?"

"Yes, Professor Gray's class. We're reading T.S. Eliot."

"Your grandmother's favorite."

"It's interesting, Emily, he writes about time. Implying in poetry what science is saying. I see so many connections to everything, even to my grandfather's work."
And to ancient mystical ideas,
I think to myself. The expression changes on her face and I know she disapproves.

"A connection between the poem and cutting-edge physics?" She is clearly concerned.

"I don't know, Em. He implies that maybe things aren't always what they seem." I say it slowly and wait for the idea to sink in. "And that you have to feel things, even before you can try to understand them. Question what we're all looking for, what we're hoping for."

She narrows her eyes. "Gabriella! What you're looking for? What the hell does that mean anyway?"

"Sometimes I wonder, I don't know—if I'm running out of time."

"What are you talking about?"

"Like they did. My parents, my grandmother—even Lily. They all ran out of time."

"You promised me, you
promised
your grandfather." She takes my hand. "That you weren't going to worry so much about everything. Remember? No more scary stuff."

"This doesn't scare me, Emily. I need to think about these things. It's how I look at the world. I don't want to ever take things for granted."

"I know," she says, her voice softening. "You're the bravest person I know. You've been through so much. It's time. It's time for you to be happy."

She keeps talking, and I listen as I hold her hand tightly. Squeezing it in a tradition we had begun when we were young and excited about something that was about to occur. I turn my head to look out the window at the city that passes quickly in a blur of speed. But my mind is very far away, another universe away.

The excitement of the strange coincidences of my encounters with Benjamin are something that I have decided to keep to myself. Preferring to let the newness, exhilaration, and mystery of all of it play over in my mind. I know I am in uncharted territory.

"There is one more thing, Gabriella. Something I've been thinking about.
You
I mean. Always living your life as if you're waiting for something or someone. Forget the future, okay? Let's try to enjoy now. You never know what the future will bring."

"You're right."

I wasn't so sure anymore either.

“J
ESUS, WHAT THE HELL? Come on, people, move!"

The driver's head hangs out the window as he inches the car down the street. He is trying to get as close as possible to the front of the museum, but the streets are blocked off in every direction. Police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances fill the street, and the night sky is lit with flashing blue and red lights.

"I'm sorry." He is frustrated and trying to understand what is going on. "We've been at a standstill here for almost thirty minutes." He slams the car into park. "Stay here. I'll be right back. I'm gonna see if I can find out what the hell is going on. This is insane. At this rate we'll be here all night."

"Emily." I feel the heat beginning to burn down my back as my anxiety starts to rise. "Do you think this has something to do with my grandfather?"

My mind races back to the night in Paris, the explosion, the rush of sirens, the flashing lights, ambulances, and people everywhere, holding me, comforting my grandfather. The moment my life changed, in so many ways, forever.

"Gabriella, please don't worry. It's always like this, don't you remember last time?"

"Actually—no. This seems different."

I knew very well that anonymous threats had been made to the selection committee for the National Medal of Science honorees. Security had been dramatically increased in light of my grandfather's agreement to attend. I had also noticed changes in some of his habits and routines. He seemed to move with more caution, going over things, double checking. Even at the beach house, a place that had always been free from worry and the pressures of the world, a refuge of safety. The realities of the dangers of his life outside the isolated cape community were seeping into our sacred space. I could picture the black vans on the property, the men installing cameras in the trees and the day in his library where I sensed something was wrong. I had tried to explain this new caution to myself as his characteristic vigilance, but I knew there was more. Something was on his mind. I would catch him staring out the window, his brow furrowed in contemplation. He seemed different, almost distracted, and there were times I felt he wanted to tell me something. Struggling to find the moment or the right words, but then holding back.

Before I left for New York, I had found a quiet moment alone in his library at the beach house to question him as I looked for reassurance that my fears were unfounded.

"Papa, what does this mean?" I had pleaded, alarmed at the real changes he was making in his habits that went far beyond the new security system and everything we had done after that terrible night in Paris.

"There are certain people, forces who do not want me to reveal the proof of what I have been working toward. My Theory."

"I don't understand, are you telling me that you are in some sort of new danger? I thought the French, American, and Israeli governments had successfully shut down the terrorist cell. Those who set the bomb in Paris. You told me we were safe, that you were no longer at risk."

He paused for a moment, as if he was trying to decide how much to reveal to me.

"Tell me." I caught myself as I tried not to raise my voice. "What's going on? Does this have anything to do with you leaving Columbia and all the time you spend traveling now?"

"Gabriella, as you know, there have always been two theories, but at a certain moment in time, they negate each other. I have simply been looking for the missing connection. The proof that will finally allow for the legitimacy of both."

"Both theories, what do you mean both?"

"Quantum mechanics and Einstein's general relativity, one explains the very small and the other the very large." He looked at me and took my cold hands in his warm, protective grasp. I remember how he had leaned back in his worn leather chair as the sun illuminated his face, highlighting everything I loved about him.

"You see, even Einstein saw the flaw in his theory. He saw it break down and spent the last thirty years of his life trying to resolve the conflicts. He wanted the new synthesis to be called, the 'Theory of Everything.'"

We said the last words together.

"I know, the Theory of Everything. But it's crazy. Sometimes you end up creating more questions than finding answers, right?"

"That's true," he had laughed.

"Well, have you found it?"

"You will be the first to know. I promise you."

"Are you worried?" I had looked down at the floor as I asked the question, not wanting to legitimize my fears by meeting his gaze.

"No, of course not." He tried to reassure me. "I am safe. I promise you that I know exactly what I'm doing. If I'm worried, it's not about some external force, not about this anyway."

He had a way of not answering my questions, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. The possibility that someone or something he would not explain to me was hovering above our lives. That they were back.

"Gabriella!" The urgency in Emily's voice brings me back to the car and the crowds. "Here comes our driver."

"Sorry, I was just looking at all the police. I mean the security, the guards." I try to steady my voice.

The front door opens, and I am relieved to see the driver's smiling face as he slams the door behind him, buckles his seatbelt, and turns around to greet our expectant faces.

"Coast is clear, no problem. Everyone should be moving toward the front now."

"Well, tell us what you found out?" Emily didn't want to miss a thing.

"Some crazies. A bomb threat or something."

"What? Oh, I'm sure that can't be right—" Emily tries to stop him, but he continues.