What Changes Everything by Masha Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page A

in large, unappetizing gulps in order to stay alive. In front of a house half a block away, a narrow stretch of a man stood sweeping the sidewalk with a stitch straw broom, making a scratching sound against the pavement as he gathered leaves into a pile. It was a hopeful act, wasn‟t it? A belief in the future, in the order of things. She wanted to catch his eyes, maybe to smile or wave, but the bill of a blue cap hid his face and he didn‟t look up.
           Then someone called her name, as a question. "Clarissa?" And there was Bill Snyder, hugging her, his cheek pressing hers for too long, as if it were a sponge absorbing moisture, his fleshy, presumptuous hands swallowing hers, pulling her back inside, and though she tried to resist, to explain that she didn‟t want to be indoors, he spoke over her: what they knew, what they didn‟t know, how concerned-hopeful-involved-sorry he was.
           And then, a blurring, so that events did not stand out as separate. Ruby was suddenly there, less stiff than usual, more vulnerable, the situation bringing into sharp relief that they were family now, something the two of them had both silently conspired to ignore. Ruby was with her partner Angie, and they were quickly followed by Clarissa‟s brother Mikey—painful to see his face so blanched, like a visual of her own shock, but thank God for his presence. How did they all find out? Maybe Clarissa had called them? She had no memory of this. Maybe it had been the FBI?
           Mikey was speaking, but the words were impossible to discern. Once pronounced, they seemed to dissipate like the exotic, brief scent of Casablanca lilies, the flowers she and Todd had chosen for their wedding in Montauk. Her wedding day. She hurried away from that memory, calling to it over her shoulder not now, not now, distractin g herself by watching the movement of Mikey‟s lips: tiny, discordant waves that rose and fell cautiously as if he didn‟t want to open his mouth too wide. Which tight, tense words were managing to escape, Clarissa wondered. Which full ones were being trapped within? F abulous, perhaps, or mandatory? Wor ds that might apply to Todd, if only they could slip past constricted lips.
           Todd. Let them talk around her; Clarissa would concentrate on Todd. Maybe he would just run away from his captors. Maybe he would call and say "I‟m free. Coming home." Maybe even this morning. But from where, from whom would he escape? Was he bound? Was he blindfolded? In a tiny room, the trunk of a car, behind some rocks on a mountainside? As if it might help her find answers, Clarissa checked on her iPhone for the weather in Kabul. Sixty-nine degrees and sunny, with an expected high of 84. So at least he wasn‟t cold. If he was still in Kabul, that is. And that led to other questions, but it was hard to focus on them in the midst of the voices talking around her, to her, over her, a cocoon of voices.
           The phone rang, jarring, and Clarissa grabbed the receiver in order to silence it, wishing she could silence everyone around her so easily and claim for herself a moment to think. "Ms. Montague," said a man‟s voice. "Hi. My name is…" A journalist, she knew immediately. It was as if they had a special accent. Wordlessly, she passed the phone to Mikey. He spoke loudly, waving one arm for emphasis. Again, his words didn‟t stick with her. And then he hung up.
           And now Ruby was next to Clarissa, rubbing her eyes and wiping her nose with a knotted fist, suddenly a bereft child instead of the tough 28-year-old Clarissa had gotten to know. Ironically, she identified with this side of Ruby more closely. She put an arm around the younger woman, who seemed to be trying to contain herself, and failing. She was rocking in a way Clarissa understood she couldn‟t control. Clarissa embraced her more tightly, but it was like trying to hold back a breaking wave. Angie, looking miserable, rose to get Ruby