In Sight of Stars(22)
“Okay, fine. Maybe not everyone. But everyone in Tarantoli’s class, for sure.”
“Whatever,” I say. “I’m okay. But, my dad, he was amazing. Way better than I’ll ever be. And I know from him that most of us will never make a living—”
“Maybe,” she says, cutting me off. “So he was a lawyer?”
“Yeah. Corporate. Securities. Tax work. Pretty boring stuff. He made good money, but he hated it. Hey, it was your pact. Do we really need to keep talking about this?”
“No. You’re right. If it makes you feel better, my mother is a nurse and she hates it, too. She used to like it when she first started, but it’s hard, with crazy hours, and there are all these hospital politics she’s always bitching about. And they don’t pay her nearly enough. She’s always complaining, and always tired, and, I swear, it seems like babies are always dying on her.”
“Babies?”
“Yeah, she works with preemies in neonatal. It can be brutal sometimes.”
“Wow, that’s hard. See? This is why I shouldn’t give a shit if I’m poor. Money never makes anyone happy. That’s one thing I know. I can’t work a shit job I hate, just so I can buy someone else fancy things.” My voice hitches with anger. “So, I guess that’s one difference between my dad and me.”
“So, he was rich, then? I mean, you are…? I mean, it’s clear you’re not poor.”
“Come on.” I start walking again and she follows.
“I mean, I knew that from where you live, obviously. The Ridge neighborhood is pretty exclusive. Not like my neighborhood. Wait till you see.”
It isn’t lost on me that she knows where I live, but it makes me wonder why she does. “I won’t care,” I say, pressing forward, warding off the growing knot in my stomach. “But you keep bringing all this up, when it was your pact not to in the first place. I’m going to have to remember that about you: You’re a crap dealmaker. Or at least a crap deal keeper.”
She laughs and I glance up, relieved. We’ve reached the 72nd Street entrance to Central Park.
“Forget all that,” I say. “We’re here. Let me show you my favorite place in the whole city.” I grab her hand and pull her into a run.
*
Dr. Alvarez has put her pen down. Her eyes are closed, and for a second I wonder if she’s sleeping. I can’t believe I’m telling her all this stupid stuff anyway. The small things. The private things. What do they even matter now?
She shifts her feet under the table, opens her eyes, and studies me. “I love Central Park,” she says. “And, don’t be fooled by my eyes,” she says, closing them again. “Sometimes I just listen best this way.”
*
In the park, Sarah takes my hand again, which makes me dizzy in a good way. It’s as if I can feel the electricity pass from her fingers into mine, traveling like a current up my arms and through my chest, thawing the cold numbness I hadn’t even realized had settled there.
“This is Bethesda Terrace,” I say, when we finally reach the fountain, its towering Angel of the Waters cascading her circular waterfall from her feet to the basin below.
“She’s beautiful,” Sarah says.
As the mist dampens our faces, I explain how the angel is actually a goddess or something more secular, not religious. “She’s supposed to be the purifier of the city’s water supply,” I say, less worried than I should be about the total geek I keep sounding like. “Which is ironic, I guess, since a guy has to come clean the coins and garbage out from under her pretty much every day.”
She laughs. “Is that true?”
“Yeah. It’s actually his job.”
“It’s crazy how much stuff you know.” I give her a look, and she adds, “Good crazy, not bad. Seriously. I like that about you. It’s different. You’re different. Weird, but hot.” She gives me this smile, which kills me, then walks off, trawling her fingers along the edge of the fountain’s coping. I follow, watching the spray catch in her hair like tiny, mystical crystals.
At the far side of the fountain she stops again and leans so far over to cup her hand under the cascade of water, I’m sure she’s going to fall in.
“Hey, Klee,” she says, turning to me finally, “out of all those wishes, how many do you think come true? I mean, there must be thousands of coins in here, so thousands of wishes every day, right?” She looks down again. “I hope at least some of them come true.”
“Me, too,” I say, nodding, as she starts off again. I follow silently, wondering what it is about her that breaks my heart and fills it at the same time, that scares me but comforts me, that makes me want to tell her things I can’t begin to find words for.
When she stops again, she tilts her face to the sun and closes her eyes and inhales deeply. I stop next to her and do the same. I know what she’s doing because I’ve done it myself before. She’s letting the mist collect on her face, on her shoulders, her body, hoping in some magical way it might anoint her.
*
“I know it’s not a story exactly, but you’re a good storyteller,” Dr. Alvarez says when I pause again to collect myself. “You have a way with words, as well as art, I suppose. Has anyone ever told you that?”