Authors: Francine Pascal
“It's all right, Tatiana” Natasha said to the girl. “Gaia is still very sick.”
“Where's my father?” Gaia demanded, dissecting Natasha's wide smile suspiciously.
“He is gone,” Natasha said.
“Well, when will he be back?” Gaia's eyes darted toward the girl in the corner.
Tatiana.
“I want to talk to him.”
“No, no,” Natasha said, placing her hand over Gaia's. Gaia quickly tugged her hand away. Natasha's smile curved down into an expression somewhere between sympathy and pity. “Oh, I am afraid your fever was too high, perhaps, when your father spoke to you.”
“What are you talking about?” Gaia searched desperately through her memory banks. She'd had no sense of time since her uncle had pricked her with that sedative in the back of his limousine. How long ago was that? It could have been hours or days. She was reasonably sure she remembered her father speaking to her. Why else would she be asking for him at this moment? How else would she have known this woman's name was Natasha? But as for the details ⦠Gaia was extremely weak on the details.
“Gaia, your father will not be coming back to this house for a while.” Natasha leaned in closer. “We're all going to live here together now. You and Tatiana and me. Tom has helped me to get a job interpreting at the United Nations, so I will be able to take care of you both. This will be our home now. Until your father returns.”
Gaia stared numbly into Natasha's eyes, watching the sadistic pleasure she was clearly taking in this turn of events. And Gaia found herself paralyzed. Not by the sweltering heat that had engulfed her entire body or the horrific reenactment of her mother's death. She'd just been overcome by sheer disbelief. Stricken by a level of disgust as yet unknown. It couldn't be that her father actually thought Gaia would accept such a fate. It couldn't be that he would be so foolish and ignorant and cruel as to believe that he could actually
drop
Gaia in another foster home with another set of total strangers. Strangers who, once again, clearly couldn't be trusted.
It was as if her father's sole purpose in life was to work as diligently as possible to prove himself an evil, heartless son of a bitch. Even if Gaia was nothing other than his fearless guinea pigâhis
Project Intrepidâ
even if he'd known when he left Gaia in George and Ella Niven's care that Ella would try to kill her, this offense was still by far his worst. Because this time her father knew exactly what he was doing by leaving Gaia. He knew the dangers. He knew what it
would do to her heart and soul. And he did it, anyway.
And then her uncle's voice blew through her mind. Something her uncle had said about her father that suddenly made such undeniable sense.
He's testing you,
he'd said.
They're all testing you.
Gaia slowly looked over at Tatiana, moving her eyes down toward her lower back, where her crisscrossed hands clung to her little book of observations. Then she looked back at Natasha. She fixed her eyes on Natasha's “kind” face, burrowing through her motherly facade to what was clearly a cold, calculating mind. “You know I can see right through you?” she said, struggling with all she had to tug her covers off. At least she was still dressed. That would make what she was about to do much easier.
“What are you talking about?” Natasha asked. “Please, you should keep the covers on.”
Gaia forced all of her muscles to work, stepping out of the bed in spite of the overwhelming dizziness. She pushed her matted wet hair out of her face.
“Please, I do not think you should be standing yet.”
“You can't keep me here,” Gaia warned, backing toward the doorway as she shot bullets at them with her eyes. “You people are sick. Truly sick.”
“Gaia, what are you talking about?”
“You tell him that I'm through taking his
tests.
Tell him I failed this one because I ran. A fearless person wouldn't run, right? Well, then I must be terrified because there's no way in hell I'm staying here.”
“Gaia.” Natasha rose from her chair and stepped toward her. “I think your fever hasâ”
“Don't take another step,” Gaia warned, “or I swear to God, Ã11 break your neck. I'm sure you know I can do it. Just tell himâ¦.” The mere act of standing had left Gaia weak and short of breath. But her anger was providing all the power she needed. “Tell him to stay the hell out of what's left of my life.”
Gaia turned around and willed her legs to run. Natasha began to chase after her, but even in this state Gaia was too quick for her. She jogged through the alien rooms of the apartment, slamming each door behind her until she'd found the front door. She burst through and bolted down the building hallway, nearly falling down the entire first flight of stairs.
For a moment the stairs appeared to be rolling up toward her like a high-speed cement escalator. Gaia grabbed onto the railing and shut her eyes, struggling to regain her balance. When she opened her eyes again, the stairs had thankfully stopped moving. But Gaia wasn't so sure that
she
wanted to move. If the silent stillness of a stairwell was daunting, she couldn't imagine what the outside world would be like. One simple thought spurred her legs to take on the stairs. One simple wish would keep her moving.
Be home, Ed. Just please be home.
My
father always told me I was beautiful.
“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” He would say it at least twice a day, usually when I was in the midst of some extremely banal unbeautiful task-like unclogging the toilet or cleaning out the gerbil cage.
But even in fourth grade I was well aware of why he did it. God knows it wasn't because I was actually beautiful. I mean, at the age of nine, I swear the top half of my face had decided to grow to full size while the bottom half was still stuck in negotiations. No, he did it as what I would call “a noble act of compensation.” That is to say, he did it so that I wouldn't feel ugly next to my mother, who was in fact, empirically speaking, the most beautiful thing my father or I had ever seen.
I know most nine-year-olds probably thought their mothers
were the most beautiful woman they'd ever seen, but I was also a lot smarter than the average nine-year-old, and in my case, the opinion was based solely on fact.
Plus I also had a very sophisticated understanding of which elements combined to form that superior beauty. While a lot of kids were probably under the impression that their mothers' beauty stemmed only from the classic “unfettered smile,” I knew that in my mother's case, it was actually a precise combination of three things:
When these three elements were in harmony, my mother took on this otherworldly radiance that
was so powerful, it was nearly blinding.
And now, somehow, due to some sort of glorious mix-up in the time-space continuum, that blinding radiance is shining in my eyes again.
home
His eyes and mouth were contorted with a look of unfathomable pain, like a living Rodin sculptureâan agonized, tortured soul.
“TESTS? WHAT TESTS? WHAT ON
earth is she talking about?”
Tom felt a painful twinge in his stomach. He couldn't begin to understand the meaning of Gaia's statements, but it really wouldn't have mattered what she had said. Natasha's description of his daughter's bitter rage hurt enough.
“I have no idea,” Natasha replied, tightening her coat as the wind kicked up. “I don't know that she was in her right mind, Tom.”
They were standing on a deserted steel platform under the Brooklyn Bridge, right by the South Street Seaport. The night wind had turned rather strong coming off the river, and the water was just rough enough to send some faint ripples onto the shore. Just below the steel platform was a thirty-foot span of garbage-laden rocks and sand. It was just about the only remaining evidence that this city had once been an actual island with actual beaches.
Tom kicked the metal rail with frustration. He knew how childish it must have seemed to Natasha, but it couldn't be helped. It
was
the act of a child. An involuntary response to his complete powerlessness.
“What did he do to her?” he murmured, staring out at the lights of Brooklyn. “I need to know what he did to her.”
“We'll find out, Tom,” Natasha said. “Don't worry.” She placed her delicate hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Tom stiffened at her touch. He turned his head slightly to where her hand touched his shoulder. Natasha pulled her hand away, flashing an uncomfortable reassuring smile before she thrust her hand back in her coat pocket and turned out to the water. Tom felt a pang of guilt for having stiffened up, although he wasn't quite sure why. He moved quickly to the next moment.
“I
hate
not being with her,” he murmured. “I know it's for her own protection, but it feels like I'm just leaving her hanging out there. I can't stand it.”
“I'll take care of her,” Natasha assured him. “You've made the right decision, Tom. She's in good hands with me, I promise you. So she needed to run off tonight. That's okay. Let her collect herself. We've got people keeping an eye on her at all times.”
Tom nodded, although nothing could give him much solace right now.
“You need to understand something, Tomâ¦.”
Tom kept his gaze locked across the water. The same question was still running through his head.
What did he do to her? I need to know what he's done.
“Tomâ¦?” Natasha used the tip of her index finger to turn Tom's head to hers and establish eye contact. Then she quickly let go. Tom looked into her large brown eyes and gave her his full attention.
“No matter what she is going through,” she said, “Gaia is still just a teenager, like any teenager. Like my daughter. Her anger is not only because of Loki. She is angry at having to move again ⦠at having no real home.” The wind was snapping Natasha's long, honey-colored hair all over her face. Tom felt compelled to reach over and sweep it behind her ear. Simply as an act of public service. But he kept his arm glued to his side. Thankfully she finally gathered it in her own hands and tucked it into the back of her coat. Her eyes dug deeper into Tom's. “She only wants what you want, Tom,” she said. “A normal life. She wants her father. And she wants her mother very badly.”
Tom lowered his eyes. He could feel the veins in his neck bulging as he strained to harden his heart. The simplicity of Natasha's statement had hit him with enough guilt to crush him against those jagged black rocks. Of course Gaia wanted her mother. Tom wanted her, too. But he had lost her. Thanks to one brief moment of ineptitude, he'd lost her for them both.
“You knowâ¦,” Natasha began cautiously, “she has mistaken me for Katia twice now.” Tom raised his head again, locking eyes with her. “Our families are separated by many generations. Do I really look so much like her?”
“No, not really,” Tom said dismissively. He had a flash of worry that his answer might have somehow come out offensive, so he quickly amended it. “I mean, you're both beautiful in different waysâ¦.” Tom froze at the end of
his statement. That was not at all how he had meant to say it. “I mean, I didn't mean to say that you were ⦠Not that you re
not⦔
Each addendum to his sentence made him more uncomfortable than the last until he'd finally talked himself into a painfully awkward silence.
Natasha smiled. “It's okay,” she said. “Thank you for the accidental compliment.”
Tom nodded and turned back toward the water, trying to find a professional way out of this deeply unprofessional moment. But Natasha did it for him.
“I should check in on Gaia. Make sure she is all right.”
“Yes,” Tom replied quickly. Natasha had brought them back around to the real matter at hand. “You'll let me know immediatelyâ¦.”
“Of course,” she said. “Don't worry, Tom. She's had a little time alone. I'm sure she must have calmed down by now.”
FITS AND STARTS. THE ENTIRE CITY
was coming through in fits and starts. Bells were too loud, lights were too bright. Sirens were making Gaia's ears bleed. Why was everyone screaming?
Spitting vicious curses at her for bumping into them? She wasn't even coming near them. No ⦠that wasn't true. She was bumping into everything. Walls, mailboxes, fire hydrants, bitter old men, and mischievous children. Street after street, it was all the same. The sights, the smells, the sounds. Enough light to make her blind, enough garlic to make her retch, and this collective cloud of anger, firing random bolts of lightning into every malevolent stranger on every corner.
She had no idea how long she'd been walking or how close she was to Ed's. She only knew that her clothes were drenched with sweat and that people had gotten progressively uglier with every block. The image of Ed's kind and beautiful face was like a distorted phantom carrot, dangling just ahead to keep her moving forward. But no matter how hard she dragged her aching legs and no matter how far she went, she still didn't feel like she was moving any closer to beauty of any kind. It was quite the opposite. It seemed as if, without remembering why she had done so, Gaia had decided to take a nice long walk to purgatory. But she'd gotten there hours ago. She'd just been walking in circles ever since.
Burning up and walking in circles. She was past purgatory. She was in hell.
The ninth circle of hell and still walking. I need a sign. Please, God, I know I don't believe in you, but show me a goddamn signâ¦. I can say “goddamn” as much as I please; I'm in hellâthank you very much. You show
me a way out, and I swear I'll change my ways. Just show me the way out â¦.