The Girl He Used to Know (Page 40)

“What? Oh God. Oh shit.”

“Can you go down there? Can you look for him?”

“Annika, the towers fell. Even if I could get near them, which I can’t, I have no idea what I’d do. It’s absolute pandemonium down there. There’s smoke and fire and … The National Guard is here.” He stops talking when I start sobbing. “I’m so sorry,” he yells in an attempt to be heard over the noise I’m making.

I hand the phone to my mom and I sit in the corner of my living room, MBJ 2.0 in my lap, and I rock. The reality of what I’m facing is too much for me to handle, and even though I promised Jonathan that I would be brave, that I would not run and hide from the things that scare me, I escape in the same way I always have when things go wrong.

I shut my eyes and I let sleep’s darkness swallow me.

* * *

When I wake up several hours later, still on the floor but with a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me, my body feels like a lead weight. I struggle to sit up. My dad is stretched out asleep on the couch, but my mom is on the phone. She looks at me and the first thing I notice is that her expression seems different. I don’t know what it means, but then she smiles, and when she hangs up, she gives me the first bit of hopeful news we’ve received since the planes hit the towers. While I slept, she decided to try Jonathan’s Chicago office again, and she tells me that he’s been accounted for by someone named Bradford Klein.

“That’s his boss,” I say.

“They told me everyone with direct reports is supposed to use their BlackBerrys to communicate with the Chicago office by email.”

My phone will do no such thing, but Jonathan’s BlackBerry can do things the phone he gave me cannot. I don’t care how they’re doing it as long as they provide an open channel of communication. A feeling of absolutely unmitigated joy rises in me with such force that I clap my hands while running around the room. My dad jolts awake. “What? What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s good news,” my mom says. “They think Jonathan made it out okay.”

“He did make it out okay. Brad said so.” I start pacing again, impatient for details. “Where is he now? Is he hurt?”

“They couldn’t tell me much. They just said his name is on a list of employees who made it out of the building.”

“How can they not know where he is?”

“There’s still a lot of uncertainty,” my mom says. “Many of the survivors left on foot and are no longer in the area, especially once the towers fell. Does Jonathan know anyone in the city?”

“He knows Will, but I’m not sure if he’d know how to contact him. He knows that Janice lives in Hoboken. I don’t know if there’s any transportation available to take him there. I can ask Janice once I get through to her. I’m sure Jonathan has other friends or business acquaintances because he used to live there, but I don’t know their names or phone numbers.” Maybe his ex-wife will be nice enough to let him stay with her. I wonder if Liz was at the World Trade Center. I hope she got out of the building, too.

“Your brother will let us know if he turns up, and so will Janice. In the meantime, we’ll have to be patient. Jonathan will go somewhere, and I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he gets there.”

* * *

I am never able to get through to Janice, but an hour later, she calls me. “Clay is here. He was able to catch the ferry after spending the night on a friend’s couch a few miles from Ground Zero. That’s what they’re calling it. What about Jonathan? Have you heard from him?”

“He got out! My mom spoke to someone from his company’s Chicago office. We’re just waiting for him to call and let us know where he is.”

“Oh, thank God.” She’s crying now in relief. So am I. “I can’t get any incoming calls, but the outgoing calls seem to be going through now. You’ll hear from him soon. I’ll try you every hour. It’ll be okay.”

“It’ll be okay,” I parrot.

“It will.”

“I know,” I say, because I believe her and because it simply has to.

* * *

So, we wait. My mom makes lunch and forces me to eat it. The food feels like a lump going down my throat, because Jonathan really should have called by now.

There’s a reason he hasn’t.

I know that’s what we’re all thinking, but no one can say it, because that would mean admitting that maybe Jonathan didn’t make it out of the building.

We wait some more.

* * *

Janice calls again. “Have you heard from him?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Clay says lots of people had to find shelter with friends, even strangers. The phone lines are just … they’re still a mess.”

“That’s what Will said. He checked in half an hour ago. Took him a while to get through. I’m sure Jonathan will call.” My voice sounds oddly flat and unconvincing, even to my own ears.

“I’m sorry, Annika.” She is silent for a few moments. “I wish we could wait this out together and I could comfort you.”

She may get her wish, because if I don’t hear from Jonathan soon, the next time she calls, I’m going to tell her what I’ve decided to do.

* * *

Jonathan does not call. It’s nearly eight o’clock at night by then. When I break the news to my parents that I’m going to drive to Hoboken, New Jersey, and then go to Ground Zero to find Jonathan myself, they protest. Loudly and rather emphatically. I don’t blame them. It’s an outlandish, foolhardy plan. Surely they don’t believe I’m even capable of it, and why would they? There are lots of things no one thinks I’m capable of, and for the most part, they would be right. But in the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water.” This is the hottest water I’ve ever been in. I’m scared, and driving to Hoboken seems impossible.

But I’m going to do it anyway.

“Then what will you do?” my mom asks.

“Janice will help me. We’ll look for Jonathan. We’ll check all the hospitals. We’ll put up signs.” I have gleaned from the news broadcasts and newspaper articles that this is what people are doing. They’re holding candlelight vigils and they’re trading information and they’re helping one another.

“I can’t go with you. I can’t leave your dad, and he can’t be in a car that long right now.”

“Yes, I can,” my dad says, but it would be too painful for him. He doesn’t even look comfortable sitting on the couch. And she will not leave him by himself.

“I’m not asking you to go with me. I don’t want you to go with me.” That’s a straight-up lie, because I have no idea if I have the ability to do this. Even more important than ability is whether or not I have the courage. This revelation makes me feel ashamed. I’m a grown woman, and it’s time to prove—if not to everyone else then at least to myself—that I can do things on my own. Janice said that Jonathan needs me to step up, to be the kind of person he can depend on not to retreat when things get rough. This time, I won’t hide in my childhood bed hoping the world will right itself. Jonathan would do anything to help me, but now he’s the one who needs help, and I’m going to dig deep and be the one to give it to him.

Janice reacts even more strongly than my parents when I tell her. “I don’t think you have any idea what it’s like here. Clay said the footage on TV can’t remotely compare to what he saw with his own eyes. We won’t be able to get anywhere near Ground Zero unless we can prove we live in the neighborhood. And I’m not even sure that’s enough.”

“What if Jonathan is hurt? What if he’s at the hospital but for some reason he can’t speak.” I don’t like to think about what those reasons might be. I tell myself that his voice might be too hoarse from the smoke and dust and it’s given him laryngitis and that’s why he hasn’t called. “He has no one. No siblings, no parents. No one is looking for him but me.”

“Annika.” She sounds tired.

“His name is on the list. He got out.”

“What if his name is there by mistake?”

“Why would it be there by mistake? His boss was supposed to put down the names of everyone who got out and email it to the Chicago office, and that’s what he did. He wouldn’t lie about something like that.” Janice doesn’t say anything. “If I can get there, will you help me?”

“Of course I will.”

Before we hang up, I tell her when to expect me and that I’ll have my cell phone so I can call her from the road. “Be careful,” she says.

My mom’s subsequent calls to the Chicago office go unanswered. The phone just rings and rings now. “I can’t blame them,” she says. “They must be terribly busy.”

Jonathan’s company has set up a hotline and also a command center of sorts at a hotel. Family members of missing employees have been instructed to go there.

I want to go there.

40

Annika

SEPTEMBER 13, 2001