The Immortalists(76)

West Milton Cascades and Stairway, someone has posted. This place is not well taken care of. People are throwing junk and the stairs and railing are not too safe.

It seems a better place to hide than the main drag. Daniel navigates back to the map. West Milton is a ten-hour drive from Kingston. The thought makes his pulse speed. He knows nothing about Bruna’s precise location, but the cascades seem promising, and the entire village is barely more than three square miles. How hard could it be to spot a rundown RV?

He hears a shrill ringing from the kitchen. These days, they use the landline so infrequently that it takes him a moment to place it. The only people who even have the number are telemarketers and family members, the odd neighbor. This time, he doesn’t have to check the caller ID to know it’s Varya.

‘V,’ he says.

‘Daniel.’ She was unable to come for Thanksgiving, having committed to a conference in Amsterdam. ‘Your cell phone was off. I just thought I’d check in.’

Eddie’s voice crackled from the highway, but Varya’s comes through the receiver from four thousand miles away with such clarity she could be standing in front of him. She speaks with a cool self-control for which Daniel has no patience.

‘I know why you’re calling,’ he says.

‘Well.’ She laughs, brittle. ‘Sue me.’ There is a pause that Daniel makes no effort to fill. ‘What are you doing today?’

‘I’m going to find the fortune teller. I’m going to hunt her down, and I’m going to force her to apologize for what she did to our family.’

‘That isn’t funny.’

‘It would have been nice to have you here yesterday.’

‘I had to give a presentation.’

‘Over Thanksgiving?’

‘Turns out the Dutch don’t celebrate it.’ Her tone has tightened, and Daniel’s resentment plumes again. ‘How did it go?’

‘Fine.’ He’ll give her nothing. ‘How was the conference?’

‘Fine.’

It enrages him, that Varya cares enough to call him now but not on any other day, and certainly not enough to come see him. Instead she watches from above as he scurries around, never coming down to intervene.

‘So how do you keep track of these things?’ he asks, pressing the phone to his ear. ‘A spreadsheet? Or do you have it all memorized?’

‘Don’t be nasty,’ she says, and Daniel falters.

‘I’m fine, Varya.’ He leans against the counter and uses his free hand to rub the bridge of his nose. ‘Everything is going to be fine.’

He feels regretful as soon as they hang up. Varya is not the enemy. But there will be plenty of time to smooth things over. He walks to the counter and grabs his keys from a wicker basket.

‘Daniel,’ says Gertie. ‘What are you doing?’

His mother stands in the doorway. She wears the old pink bathrobe, her legs bare. The skin around her eyes is damp and strangely lavender.

‘I’m going for a drive,’ he says.

‘Where to?’

‘The office. There’re a few things I want to get done before Monday.’

‘It’s Shabbat. You shouldn’t work.’

‘Shabbat’s tomorrow.’

‘It starts tonight.’

‘Then I have six hours,’ Daniel says.

But he knows he won’t be back by then. He won’t be back before morning. Then, he’ll tell Gertie and Mira everything. He’ll tell them how he caught Bruna, how she confessed. He’ll tell Eddie, too. Perhaps Eddie will reopen the case.

‘Daniel.’ Gertie blocks his exit. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘You’re drinking too much.’

‘I’m not.’

‘And you’re keeping something from me.’ She stares at him: curious, pained. ‘What are you keeping, my love?’

‘Nothing.’ God, she makes him feel like a child. If only she’d move out of the doorway. ‘You’re paranoid.’

‘I don’t think you should go. It’s not right, on Shabbat.’

‘Shabbat means nothing,’ says Daniel, viciously. ‘God doesn’t care. God doesn’t give a rat’s ass.’

Suddenly, the notion of God feels as enraging and useless as Varya’s phone call. God did not watch over Simon and Klara, and he certainly has not brought justice. But what did Daniel expect? When he married Mira, he chose to return to Judaism. He imagined – he chose – a God to believe in, and this was the problem. Of course, people choose things to believe in all the time: relationships, political ideology, lotto tickets. But God, Daniel sees now, is different. God should not be designed based on personal preference, like a custom pair of gloves. He should not be a product of human longing, which is powerful enough to pull a deity from thin air.

‘Daniel,’ says Gertie. If she doesn’t stop repeating his name, he’ll scream. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘You don’t believe in God, either, Ma,’ he says. ‘You just want to.’

Gertie blinks, her lips pursed, though she keeps very still. Daniel puts a hand on her shoulder and leans down to kiss her cheek. She’s still standing in the kitchen when he leaves.