Chapter 3 #2
I blinked fast, trying to digest it all. The gist seemed to be that her former experiences mirrored mine in some way—though I would actively ignore her comment about Julian. Still, I couldn’t disagree. I kept many secrets.
So far, Dina gave me more attention than anyone else in the past five years. I didn’t realize I’d missed it until I had it again, then I thought I could roll around in it. “If there’s any way I can help you, Dina, I will do it in a heartbeat.”
She patted my hand again. “We are going to have such a nice summer, you’ll see.
Julian texted me …” She paused on the word texted .
I had watched her struggle with texting all day.
Half the time, she gave up and called whoever it was instead of texting in return.
“He said that I didn’t have to answer him, but he would be here around the same time as last night.
He also mentioned you were going out with him again. ”
I nodded. “He’s taking me to the library.”
Dina didn’t seem surprised. “Good boy. Okay, let’s get started.
I’ve written five notebooks total so far.
These are the first three. I’m not sure about the final two at this point.
I don’t know if I’ll share them or not, but we’ll start with these three.
I want you to read them and then type them up for me.
I’m afraid that the handwritten notebooks will get destroyed if I’m not careful.
I want them typed up, so they last forever. ”
I glanced at her. “Dina, we could scan them into the computer. You don’t have to have them typed. We could …”
“No.” She shook her head fast. “This is what I want, and you’re just the person for the job, I just know it. I want them copied word for word, but please fix my spelling, if I misspelled something. I’ve never been very smart, despite my schooling.”
I could understand that, although I might not be much better than her when it came to spelling. Spell check will be great for that. “But your family doesn’t know what’s in them?”
“Some of it, they know. They’d have to know, but not all of it.
I think that they need to know about me and the people they loved before it’s too late.
” She smiled. “I’m not trying to be melodramatic, but this is a big step for me.
Please, don’t tell Julian what’s in the books.
Or any of his brothers, either, for that matter. ”
I shook my head then shrugged. “I don’t know his brothers, but I wouldn’t tell anyone anything anyway. I say that, but I realize that Julian will be curious what I’m doing eventually.”
“You can tell him what you’re doing, just not what they say. I plan to give the typed version to them all in the future as a gift from me to them.”
I tilted my head, a bit confused at the premise. Then again, Dina was seventy-something years old. She could do whatever she liked. It still seemed weird to me.
“Here.” She rose, went into the kitchen, and returned with a laptop. “Use this. I bought it for you.”
I gawked at her present, holding it gingerly in my hands. I never got to ask her when she bought it, because she waved her hand in her dismissive way again. “I’ve been waiting for you, Alatheia. You do know what your name means, right?”
I shrugged. It never occurred to me to look it up. It was just a name; everyone had one. Suddenly, though, I was desperate to know. “What does it mean?”
“Derived from the ancient Greek, your name means truth. By the end of this summer, you’ll be used to the truth being what you deserve.
” She smiled at me again. “Not to mention fun. You’ll have that this summer, too.
Oh, and in regard to Julian’s brothers, you will know them, I can guarantee it. Off you go. Read and type.”
Read and type.
With that instruction, she left me alone in her living room with my tea, the notebooks, and the laptop.
The task seemed simple enough, especially considering the five shopping bags full of goodies sitting around my feet.
Granted, I never asked her for anything, but the joy she expressed about spending time with me made it worth its weight in gold.
I reached for a notebook, revved to get started.
I had to admit to a certain level of curiosity, because after all, how dark could it get?
She was a rich woman living in the upper east side of New York City, beloved by her family, and obviously a widow—unless her husband lived elsewhere.
I imagined her divorced, or with an ex-husband and a string of lovers.
Despite spending a day with her, the woman’s life remained a mystery.
I grabbed a notebook, eager to read. It took me a second to decipher her cursive, since we didn’t use it anymore in school.
I was dyslexic but reading quietly had not been a problem for years.
Luckily, I had learned script in San Francisco with one teacher, but then we’d never revisited it again.
Eventually, I adjusted and I began to read.
June 6 th , 1966
Well, I feel compelled to write this, despite not being sure if I will ever share it.
Today, he picked me up from the airport.
We went straight from there to check on the project in Lower Manhattan—I think my uncle called it the World Trade Center.
He says they’ll have an official party when it is finished.
I have to go with them in August, but today they started construction.
It’s hard for me to imagine how big the finished structure will be. Then again, I am used to things being smaller. I don’t think anyone could ever really think of this place as a home, not really.
What was I doing there at all? Sorry, I had to pause before I could write any more after the word all.
I just started crying again. It’s hard to believe what has happened.
How can my parents be gone? Dead. They were so alive, so happy, just days ago .
Now they are dead, and I am across the world—or at least it feels like I am.
Please don’t critique my melodrama, people who will never read this.
Focus instead on the parts with my uncle doing important things, and staring at construction sites, and whether they’re bigger or smaller than imagination can conceive.
When I close my eyes, I can still imagine the rolling hills in Switzerland, practically feel the breeze on my face.
Schoen was always so perfect in the summer.
I waited all year for the season to change.
Then it would happen, and the weather would turn just cool enough that I wasn’t so hot that I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Mother always loved Southern Italy in the summer—what a difference in temperature that was!
I shouldn’t think of them at all. That is what my uncle says, at least. He claims I should put them out of my head and never consider them again, as though they never existed.
My mother always said her brother was a little bit mad—and not in the angry way.
In the crazy way. I can see it now. She never would’ve wanted me to be here with him, but he is my only living relative, since the person who they designated as my guardian —my father’s sister—perished just last month.
Are we under a curse, dear reader? Yes, I’ve decided that someday someone will read this.
Someone I judge to be just the right person will be handed this notebook.
Then they shall read how lonely I am in New York City, and how much I want to be back in Switzerland.
I long for the familiar halls of my boarding school that my parents ran.
I want to be with my father and mother, not with my uncle, who spends all day thinking about glass.
The glass he will handle for the windows in that building that I can’t believe shall ever be.
I look around this strange place, and I know it will never feel like my home.
--D
I took a deep breath and set down the notebook.
Okay, maybe she really did understand what it felt like to lose everyone she loved.
I forced myself to start typing. Besides sharing her story with me so I would understand, she had also assigned me a task important to her.
I intended to complete it despite the way that my throat clogged up thinking of her as that young woman.
I didn’t know how old exactly she was when she wrote the words, but she’d been young enough to still be in school.
I also got picked up from the airport and brought someplace I didn’t want to go.
It might not be another country, but San Francisco certainly felt foreign to me, that first home with my uncle.
Most of that first whole summer, my uncle and my aunt by marriage left me alone to grieve in the privacy of my room, but occasionally they would decide I needed to get out.
I watched my aunt run in what they called the Bay to Breakers race with her cheering squad, her name for them.
They performed as expected, but they ignored me.
My uncle vanished—I learned pretty quickly a typical habit for him—and that had been that.
I was expected to be over my mother’s death by then, whether I was or not.
Neither my uncle or aunt nor their friends cared at all that my mom died.
If anything, they seemed sort of relieved when her name did not come up.
With her dead, they didn’t have to deal with her anymore or think about her.
I rubbed at my eyes. Maybe the job wasn’t a good idea. Maybe reading Dina’s journals would make my own situation feel even worse. I sighed, glancing at the bags of clothing again. I would simply have to figure out how to deal and get it done.
After finishing the first, I was about to start the next entry when Julian strode into the apartment. He was a bit early but his big smile pushed my concerns for myself and Dina out of my mind.
“Hi.” He flopped down on the couch. “How’s it going?”
He still wore his rich- boy shoes but different ones, his loafers replaced by sneakers. At a glance, I would put them at three hundred dollars, but I bet he owned more expensive ones. I blinked. How did I know the cost? How preoccupied had I become with money lately?
“Hello,” I answered him probably too late, but I stared into his blue eyes for a long second first. His granny had once been horribly unhappy, but she built a loving family that included four grandsons who adored her. The idea seemed awesome, even if it might sound mundane to some.
No, I decided it absolutely was amazing. I hoped I would have a life I loved someday. I tried not to worry about the boarding school, since she left one and I would be attending one. Even after only one entry, I could already see the parallels that she’d mentioned.
He ran a hand through his brown hair, seemingly comfortable under my scrutiny. “You okay? I see you went shopping.”
“Oh!” I glanced at the bags again, having forgotten them for a second. “Yes. I didn’t ask her to do it or expect it or anything. She insisted. She thinks I can’t fit in around here if I don’t dress the right way. She’s probably right, not that I usually care. But she cares.”
Wow . I snapped my mouth closed, surprised at how much I blurted. I didn’t want him to see my soft underbelly. When he eventually stopped talking to me or got mean, it would be too hard if he actually knew me. He might even decide to use my honesty to torture me later. He wouldn’t be the first.
He shrugged. “She has a lot of money and does what she wants. I wasn’t criticizing a little shopping.” He lifted his eyebrows, a slow smile crawling across his handsome face. “You want to model them for me?”
Model what?
Oh, the clothes?
No. “What?” I stood up and closed the computer with a snap. “I absolutely don’t.” My cheeks had to be the color of a tomato. “I’ll take them upstairs, then I can meet you back here, if you still want to go to the library.”
The clock on the wall chimed the hour, and I jerked in surprise. Julian rose then grabbed the bags. “I’ll carry them for you.”
“I can do that. You don’t have to,” I sputtered.
He shook his head as if baffled by my response. “Yes, I do. It’s polite. Come on, Alatheia.”
I followed him, gripping my hands together kind of desperately.
He had a way of pushing his way through without seeming like he bulldozed me—just like his grandmother.
Velvet covered bulldozers, I thought, and then I blew out a breath.
I decided to be honest with myself, at least. I couldn’t believe that he was even there.
What guy wants to spend his night at a library with me?
Before long, though, I followed him into the lobby.
A low radio, probably owned by the doorman, played in the distance of the otherwise silent space.
The age of the building seemed to settle around me, a comfortable and comforting weight.
I would bet it wasn’t the first time someone listened to jazz quietly in the lobby.
Julian pushed the button on the elevator. “What got your attention?”
I smiled, despite myself. “The jazz music.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Do you like jazz?”
“I didn’t know I did, but I think I do. I’ve heard it before. Do you?” I bit my lip, surprised I asked him anything. If I wasn’t careful, I would break my own rules. Maybe I stayed up too late the night before? I would have to be careful. He isn’t to be trusted.
He shook his head. “No, but Barrett does. He loves it, so I’ve heard a lot of it. I don’t dislike it or anything, but it’s not what I choose. I like hard rock.”
We stepped into the elevator together, and I tried not to notice his spicy scent. I recognized the name, knowing Barrett was his older brother. I sighed. If I were really, really honest, I was already learning way too much about Julian Lent.