Chapter Six: NYC, Saturday, April 9, 2005
The moon, full and silver, had just slid past the darkened, still-bare treetops when Caroline finally left the world Above, via a sewer drain near the Central Park Carousel. The restaurant had closed at three, but she and Simon had spent another hours sitting on a bench outside, talking. About everything. About nothing.
He'd told her how he was close with his older brother Matt, whom he'd always looked up to and had been devastated by, when Matt asked Robbie Palmer to be his best man, instead of Simon. Robbie was a guy first Mary, then Lucy, had dated. Their parents had initially disliked Robbie, but later adopted into their home, after their father found Robbie living on the streets, but somehow still going to school, and maintaining a decent GPA.
Simon had confided that telling her that, now, with everything he'd screwed up over the last two years, made him feel like an even bigger failure than ever. He had a home. Parents. Financial support. Caroline had held his hands and reminded him that everybody stumbled, sometimes. What was important was that he was picking himself back up again and that he needed to go easy on himself, give himself the same grace and understanding he would give someone else.
She'd told him how his family reminded her a little of her own, with their generosity and kindness. She explained that how, despite their differences—and not-so-occasional bickering—she and Jake had always been close. She'd been careful about the dates, although she figured Simon would piece it together eventually, but she'd told him how she and Jake had been born in the same year. She hadn't been planned—neither had Jake—but her parents had welcomed them both with love and joy. Apparently, Simon's younger brothers, the twins Sam and David, hadn't been planned either.
Simon told her how, as close as he was to Matt, he was probably closest to his little sister Ruthie and hated the way they'd become strangers to each other lately. He and Ruthie had shared a room as kids, before she decided to move up into the attic with Lucy, after Mary got shipped off to Buffalo to live with "the Colonel", which was apparently what even their father called his father.
Caroline told Simon that it sounded to her like Ruthie was just finding her wings, figuring out her place in the world. It was a difficult age for a lot of girls. She could tell Simon felt a little uncomfortable because Caroline wasn't much older than his little sister—but they were, after all, just friends, so what difference did it make how old or young she was.
She sighed and waved at the sentry on duty; she didn't actually see him, but she knew where the post was. She'd done her fair share of sentry duty.
Caroline couldn't go into the same kinds of details Simon could about her life, her home, but she'd told him that she from the same kind of close-knit community, a mix of family and friends. She could tell him that it was her mother and father—but especially her father—who had taught her to look at who a person was, not what they looked like or where they came from. She told him about her friend Mouse, who a lot of people would consider "challenged", but who was so clever, he'd made Caroline a music box for Christmas when she was twelve. She told him about Mary who had taught her to sew, to embroider, and along with their friend William, had taught her how to cook. She told him that the less said about her mother's cooking, the better. Simon had laughed at that. His mother was a great cook, his father, not so much. Caroline said her father could probably commiserate; the only time he'd ever wanted to be in the kitchen, even as a boy, was when Mary was baking cookies.
And Simon, to his credit, hadn't asked intrusive questions. He'd simply listened. He'd told her about the time he took cooking in middle school to be near his girlfriend Deena, and how even though he'd excelled, he'd transferred to woodshop because he hadn't wanted to be "one of the girls"—which in retrospect, he said, was really stupid and misogynistic, but he'd been pretty young and going through a phase where he was, however briefly, interested in learning to build things. Both his mother and his sister Lucy were really handy—which made it "extra stupid" for him to have acted like some kind of misogynistic jerk. He confessed to how hard he'd worked as a teen to "be a man" and how obsessed he'd been with the idea of "manhood" he'd been. In retrospect, he said, that was pretty stupid too.
He told her how for the longest time, he'd thought he had his life all figured out. He would go to college, get a degree, get married (probably Cecelia), and start a family.
Then, in one instant, everything changed.
The toughest part of the conversation had been when Simon told her how two years ago, when he'd killed a kid. Paul Smith. It was an accident. Simon was driving. Paul had been on his bike. He hadn't been wearing a helmet. He'd probably been high on marijuana and not paying attention to his surroundings. Simon hadn't been going that fast; Paul just came out of nowhere and he couldn't stop in time.
It happened towards the end of Simon's junior year of high school—his last year of high school because he'd ended up testing out and starting college rather than have to face the Paul's brother Justin. Justin was in Simon's class. They'd never been close, but Simon knew him. Knew his parents.
His brother.
He had faced Justin eventually, late last spring. They'd come to a sort of tenuous peace, but Simon still blamed himself for what happened. He'd tried therapy. Tried everything. He'd spent the better part of the last two years running away, lying to himself and everyone around him that he was okay, that he knew it was an accident. And it was, but it had been him behind the wheel, that meant it was his fault, even if he hadn't done it on purpose, even if he wasn't going that fast, even though he was completely sober.
Caroline had felt his guilt—his pain—it as surely and as sharply as she felt her own feelings, her own pain.
Her own hopes.
Her own fears.
Every time she and Simon touched, she felt his heart beating through his fingertips, as if it was her heart beating. She wanted nothing more than to ease his pain, even though she knew there was nothing she could do but hold him and let him talk.
Cry.
He promised he didn't normally break down like that; she promised that it was all right, even if he did. Crying was cathartic. She told him she could never understand exactly what he was feeling—no one could. It was a burden only he could carry. And when she said that, he'd looked—felt—so relieved. He was just so sick of everyone telling him how it wasn't his fault. Even if they were right, it didn't help.
After that, they'd been quiet a while, watching the world go by a while, until Simon suddenly realized the time and offered to see her home. She'd promised him she could get there fine, the busses and subways ran all night and in any case, he would never navigate his way back to Matt's neighborhood on his own. So, they said goodnight—or good morning, perhaps—at the corner and she'd taken every shortcut she knew back to the park.
Caroline hastened her steps. Father—her father, not Grandfather—was awake. Waiting. She could feel him. She'd felt him, a vague buzzing at the edge of her senses, all night and the closer she got to him, the stronger her sense of him—his emotions—she became. It wasn't acute, not like the sense she knew he had of Mother and Uncle Elliott. But she knew he was….not quite angry, but definitely not happy. It wasn't fair. Not that he was upset. Of course, he was upset. But she knew the reason for his displeasure went beyond her staying out all night.
He was upset because she was the "good one". She never got into trouble or picked fights, or even got into fights. She was aware of her strength—which might be greater than Jake's—so she walked away. She buried her feelings. She kept everything safely bottled up inside because she'd seen what Jake went through, what everyone around him went through, when he went through what Father and Grandfather called his "period of darkness." Father had gone through it too, as a teen, and then later in life. Caroline didn't want to put the people she loved through that kind of turmoil.
That kind of fear. Not for themselves, but for her.
For Jake.
For Father when he'd gone through it.
She concentrated on her schoolwork, her music. She was a straight-A student; she was first chair violin in her school orchestra. She was going to be an attorney, like Mother, even if her orchestra director thought she was good enough for Julliard. Caroline hadn't told her parents that and had asked her teacher not to, either. Caroline had made up her mind a long time ago that she was going to law school. Music was something she did for herself. As an attorney, she would be able help other people. You couldn't help anyone by playing the violin.
She bounded down the spiral staircase at a pace that would make Grandfather lecture her about slowing down and being careful.
He was always saying to slow down and be careful.
And really, she always was slow and careful.
Except for tonight.
Tonight, she'd stayed out late with a boy she barely knew, a Topsider, a boy too old for her even though they were really only three and a half years apart. A boy who was going home to California in a couple of weeks.
A boy whose heart she could still feel beating, as if it were somehow a part of her.
A boy who was just her friend, because what else could he be, and in any case, if he knew who she really was—what she really was—he might not even want that much.
Caroline wasn't surprised to find her father waiting for her at the entrance to the main hub. This close to where everyone lived, candles flickered in the tunnels, day and night, to light the way with flickering warmth—not that Caroline was feeling their warmth just then. Not that she needed the light to see her father standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the rough tunnel wall. He straightened as she approached, and let his arms drop to his sides. His stern, leonine face bore exactly the expression she'd expected: he was angry, concerned. Determined. Determined to do what, she wasn't quite sure, but there was a determination in his stance that she had only seen on a few other occasions.
"Your mother and I would like to speak to you in our chamber," he said, by way of greeting.
"I know, Father. That's where I was going to go first."
He nodded and fell into step next to her. It was early enough that no one was up, not even William, who always rose early to get the morning meal started. After several moments, he spoke, his voice a soft rumble. "I remember a time when I used to carry you on my shoulders."
She couldn't help but smile. "I outgrew piggyback rides a long time ago." She might not be quite an adult yet, but she wasn't a child anymore, either. "I didn't mean to worry you and Mother."
"And yet, you did."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Perhaps we should discuss this in more depth after we reach our chamber."
"Yes, Father."
He favored her with a smile and laid his arm around her shoulders; even when they were angry with her, with any of them, Caroline knew her parents loved her. She knew how lucky that made her. There were too many children in the world who weren't loved, weren't cherished.
They found Mother sitting in her robe and nightgown, in her favorite chair knitting when they came into her and Father's chamber. She looked so much the way she did in the old photos Caroline had seen; her hair was a little longer, it was streaked with grey and silver, but her smile had always been kind, her eyes always filled with such radiance. She looked up from her work and smiled at Caroline the same way she always did, even when she was upset. "You had us worried."
"I know. I'm sorry." Caroline waited for Mother to set her knitting aside to embrace her. Father leaned in and wrapped his arms lightly around Caroline's shoulders. Both their arms were strong and warm. Comforting.
Home.
She knew someday she was going to live Above, but this, here, would always be her home.
"We accept your apology," Father said, after a long moment had passed. "But that doesn't change how we feel about you being out all night."
"I know." Caroline took a seat on the stepstool, while Father moved to Mother's side and took her hand.
"Jacob told us where you were," he said. "And with whom."
Suddenly, the rug under her father's booted feet seemed like the most interesting sight in all the world.
"We expected you home hours ago, Caroline," said Mother.
"I didn't mean to worry you, time just kept…slipping away from me," she explained. Or tried to. The explanation didn't make sense, even to her.
"We know you would never intentionally do something to worry or upset us," said Father. "But your behavior tonight is beyond excuse."
"We have always trusted you," Mother added. "Staying out like this, Above. I know we have never given you an explicit curfew, but that was because we believed you knew better."
"I do know better," Caroline promised. "I…I don't want to say I won't do it again, just in case I do, but I promise I'll be careful. I was careful tonight."
"Caroline," her father began.
"I know you're going to punish me. But…." She glanced from Father to Mother and back again. It was impossible to tell exactly what they were thinking, besides what they'd said. They were worried. Disappointed. Angry, but mostly because she was the one they'd always been able to count on to do the right thing.
"But?" her father prompted.
Caroline didn't miss the look he and Mother exchanged. Curiosity. Openness. A willingness to listen. The more time she spent Above, the more she realized other people weren't like her parents, especially with their children. "I understand that I worried you and that I abused your trust tonight, even if I didn't set out to do it on purpose. I still did it," she said, in the most adult, responsible, reasonable tone she could muster. "So, I am willing to gracefully accept whatever punishment you decide to give me. You've always been fair. More fair than almost anyone else I know. That's why I hope….I hope you'll take into consideration the fact that I have never done anything like this before when I ask you to commute my punishment, just for a couple of weeks. I'll take a longer punishment—you can even double it if you like, I promise, I won't complain."
Her parents exchanged another bemused look.
Caroline smoothed her skirt. "The young man I was with, Simon…?"
Father nodded. Yes, that was exactly what he had meant, exactly what Jake had told them.
"He returns home to California in a couple of weeks. I'd like to be able to see him while he's here."
"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you stayed out all night," her father told her.
"I wasn't sure I wanted to see him again. Or…no. That's not entirely true. I thought I'd want to see him again. I wasn't entirely certain he would want to see me, even after he said he did. We spent all night talking. After we left Dante's, we went to get something to eat near Simon's brother's apartment, in Washington Heights. He's not very adept at navigating the transit system, so I wanted to be somewhere where he could just walk back, instead of having to take the subway. After the restaurant closed, we were still talking, telling each other…not everything, but as much of everything as two people can cram into a few short hours. I know that isn't an excuse. It's only an explanation."
She watched her parents exchange another glance, coming to silent conclusion while she held her breath.
Her mother spoke first. "Two conditions. One is that I wish to meet this young man. You can bring him by my office Monday after school, and I'll take the two of you out for dinner to dinner."
Which meant Uncle Joe would meet him too, which was no doubt why Mother wanted it to be on Monday at work, not over the weekend. Caroline knew, however, that her choices were to accept their conditions or give up any hope of seeing Simon before he went back home. "May I still see him over the weekend?" she asked hopefully.
Her parents exchanged another look, then Mother nodded. "As long as you remember that you have a term paper due next week."
Caroline gave a quick nod and turned to her father. She had the feeling his condition might be more difficult.
"The second condition is that you will be home each night you are out with this young man no later than nine o'clock."
"And by home…?" she asked. Even for her, it took almost forty minutes to get from the Tunnel entrance in Central Park to her chamber.
He heaved a sigh. "I mean Below. You will be in the Tunnels by nine o'clock—and in your bed no later than ten. In exchange for our leniency, when this young man returns to California, you will be grounded for four weeks—meaning that you will be restricted to your chamber, our chamber, your grandfather's chamber, and the dining hall except to go to school or to the hospital on the days you volunteer. And Caroline, if your mother doesn't approve of him—"
"Thank you!" Caroline rushed forward to wrap her hands around her bemused father's waist. She turned to her mother. "I know you'll like him. He's polite and kind and he's made some mistakes, but he's learned from them even if he doesn't realize it yet. And really, we're just friends, but…but I'm sure you'll like him."
Mother chuckled. "I'm sure he's a perfectly nice young man. I look forward to meeting him on Monday."
…
Catherine couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she watched her daughter bound out the chamber door. Caroline had been reckless tonight. But Catherine knew her daughter. Caroline was studious. She was always so responsible. Even if she had taken risks, Catherine had to trust her to climb trees.
Vincent leaned onto the arm of the chair. "You don't wholly disapprove of this situation." It wasn't a question.
"How could I? You saw the lightness of her step. When was the last time we saw Caroline so happy?"
"Hmmmm," was all he had to say. They both knew Caroline hadn't been herself the last year or two; they both suspected it was that school. They had both reminded her that the choice to go—or quit—was hers. She remained adamant that she wanted to finish out her education Above, go to college, and become an attorney like her mother.
"Fifteen—not that far from sixteen—is a perfectly reasonable age for a girl to have her first real crush," said Catherine. "I don't count the crush she had Aaron Harris when she was seven," she added, before Vincent could remind her of Caroline's childhood crush on one of their Helper's children. It had been a short-lived infatuation and Caroline had shown no interest any boy—or girl—since. "I like seeing our daughter happy. So do you."
"She should not have been out all night. She should not spend so much time at that club."
"We both know she only went to keep Jake from getting into another fight. And we both know he only goes to see Kate."
Vincent let out another low rumble of disapproval.
"There's little to be done for his infatuation," Catherine told him. It was yet another thing they both knew. "It will pass."
"It must."
"It will. He knows who she is. What she is. At least in as much as any of us understands. And Kate…she may have the body of a child, but she has the soul…she has the soul of an angel."
He stood and drew her into his arms and held her a long moment. At least he said, "Thank you."
"For?"
"Not pointing out just how much like Father I sounded with Caroline."
Catherine smiled and met his gaze. "I don't think it's a bad thing for you to sound like Father, even if I doubt it's something any child wants to hear."
