Read Online All the Things We Didn't Say by Sara Shepard - Free Book Online

were waiting patiently at the curb next to an old diesel Mercedes, but Steven was standing in the middle of the street, his hands on his hips, glaring at Renee Klinefelter, our forty-something neighbor down the block. Renee was in her uniform, jeans cut off at the knees and a slightly-too-small black t-shirt that stretched tight over her paunchy stomach. As usual, her two grumpy-faced pugs flanked her, one on each side.
    â€˜Don’t pull that amnesty stuff on me,’ Steven was shouting.‘That bomb could have decimated one of our most vulnerable buildings. He should’ve been shot on the spot.’
    â€˜So what do you suggest we do?’ Renee shouted back, spitting a little. ‘Deport everyone? Take away political asylum as a whole?’
    â€˜If that’s what it takes.’
    â€˜Some people need political asylum.’
    â€˜And some people who have it like to blow things up.’ Steven was moving closer and closer to Renee’s face. ‘And do you realize you’re arguing for terrorism? You’re arguing for people with those ideals to…to infiltrate here and do this to us when we aren’t expecting it?’
    He wheeled around, glaring pointedly at Iqbal, who owned the M&J deli down the block. Iqbal had innocently walked into the street to check on the fresh flowers he sold, but when he realized Steven was near, he inched back inside. Steven had gone off on Iqbal a month or so ago- people from your country do this. How does that make you feel? Iqbal dealt with it quietly, neither calling the cops nor barring Steven from the store-although maybe he should have. During Desert Storm, there were several yellow ribbons affixed to Iqbal’s register. He still slipped me loose candy he kept in the plastic bins above the register, barrel-shaped Tootsie Rolls and mini York Peppermint Patties, whenever I went in there to buy a Coke.
    â€˜If that van would’ve been a little closer to the concrete foundation in the basement, both buildings would’ve collapsed,’ Steven yelled to Renee. ‘Do you even realize that?’
    â€˜Of course I realize that!’ Renee shouted. ‘But it doesn’t mean we should persecute everyone!’
    â€˜You should do something,’ I murmured to my father, who, as usual, had halted, paralyzed, on the curb. He cradled his right hand in his left, running his fingers over the scar onhis right palm he’d gotten a few months ago from the broken snow globe. The deep cut had healed, but he often thoughtfully traced the scar over and over, maybe finding the motion soothing, maybe remembering what happened. I never wanted to ask. A curious, passive crowd had gathered to watch Steven and Renee. People were stepping out of their buildings, heads tilted toward the noise, and passersby had paused, leaning against railings, reining in their dogs, trying to understand what was transpiring.
    I moved out to the street and pulled Steven’s arm. He wrenched it away without even looking at me. Renee leaned over like a bull ready to charge. My father, finally, pushed around me. ‘We have to go,’ he said in Steven’s ear. ‘You’ve made your point.’
    We both managed to pull Steven backwards, returning to our pile of luggage at the curb. Luckily, the car service rolled up then, and I waved it over. We threw our suitcases in the trunk fast, piling them on top of empty water bottles, frayed straps to secure luggage, and a little box that looked either like a tool kit or a small suitcase for a gun. Steven craned his neck to get a look at the driver, a pale man with high cheekbones. When he greeted us, he had a Staten Island accent. Visibly relieved, Steven got in.
    As we pulled away, Renee remained in the middle of the street, her stance solid and righteous. A man I didn’t recognize approached her, and Renee’s mouth started moving fast. It wasn’t hard to figure out what she was saying. Steven used to