expression grew wild. “I always see you staring at me, you asshole, you crazy bitch,” the woman hissed at her and spit.
Drawing back in fear, Nina glanced first at Lily, who was sleeping blithely in the stroller, then looked around, wondering who else had heard. Ignoring Max’s repeated questions of “Why did she say that to you? What did you do to her?” Nina buckled him into his spot in the stroller and left a message for Jeremy, wanting to tell him about their day which took place not miles but continents apart from his. She wasn’t surprised that he was unavailable. He rarely answered when she called, and when he did, she felt like she was taking him from his work. Her anger at him reared. If by some miracle Jeremy had been the one at Gymboree, he wouldn’t have needed to know how to handle Max. His presence alone—a daddy on the bus!—would have earned universal acclaim.
Rather than go home to another lonely stretch of evening, in which she would wait in vain for her husband to come home, Nina kept walking until she reached Georgia’s, where displayed in the window were the three-tiered cakes that looked like the fanciful illustrations in a picture book. A new sign was hanging on the door, the words written in bright red Magic Marker:
Children of All Ages Are Reminded to Use Their Inside Voices.
Would mothers of loud children be chastened, she wondered, or would they bring the whole nursery school in to stage a protest?
As she’d hoped, Leon was still inside with his daughter and wife, their faces bisected by the white grids of the windows. She looked more closely and saw that she had been right. His daughter was the one she’d seen in the window. Leon and his wife were the couple whose quiet contentment she’d watched and envied.
But now that image came apart. In the daylight, their expressions didn’t match what she’d envisioned. The wife, whose back was to Nina, was talking but no one was listening. She reached for her daughter, who pulled her hand away. Instead of appearing bold and unabashed, the daughter looked small and uncertain. If Leon noticed the tension in the exchange, he showed little reaction. Glancing at his watch, at his phone, at the people next to them, he seemed so distant he may as well have been sitting at a different table.
From the privacy of her apartment, Nina felt entitled to watch: flip off the lights and they were hers. Outside, in public, people would wonder why she was standing here for so long. But curiosity trumped self-consciousness. She needed to know why Leon had told her that his wife was the one screaming. She needed to match the wife’s face to the enraged voice, needed to look at their daughter’s eyes and see if that glimmer of freedom was still evident.
Nina busied herself with the kids, dispensing snacks, wiping imaginary crumbs from their cheeks. It took patience and luck. A passing bus backfired, Max screamed, and the wife turned around. Through the window, Nina recognized her former professor, Claudia Stein. It was no longer a stranger she’d been watching but someone she knew.
Ghost stations were in existence throughout the city, ten of them in all, sealed off but intact. The old 91st Street station, once a stop on the 1 train, was fleetingly visible from the window of a passing train. The tiles of the Worth Street station could be briefly, faintly seen. But City Hall, the station that Jeremy had caught sight of the week before, was the most majestic of all.
Designed by George Heins and Christopher Grant La Farge, it was used until 1945, when the trains became too long to fit into the circular station. Though it was closed to the public, it continued to serve as the turnaround for the 6 train, the vaulted ceilings and intricate tile work a testament to the grandeur that once was.
Instead of drafting the documents Richard needed, Jeremy spent the week reading about this former crown jewel of the IRT. The management of the firm had
Drawing back in fear, Nina glanced first at Lily, who was sleeping blithely in the stroller, then looked around, wondering who else had heard. Ignoring Max’s repeated questions of “Why did she say that to you? What did you do to her?” Nina buckled him into his spot in the stroller and left a message for Jeremy, wanting to tell him about their day which took place not miles but continents apart from his. She wasn’t surprised that he was unavailable. He rarely answered when she called, and when he did, she felt like she was taking him from his work. Her anger at him reared. If by some miracle Jeremy had been the one at Gymboree, he wouldn’t have needed to know how to handle Max. His presence alone—a daddy on the bus!—would have earned universal acclaim.
Rather than go home to another lonely stretch of evening, in which she would wait in vain for her husband to come home, Nina kept walking until she reached Georgia’s, where displayed in the window were the three-tiered cakes that looked like the fanciful illustrations in a picture book. A new sign was hanging on the door, the words written in bright red Magic Marker:
Children of All Ages Are Reminded to Use Their Inside Voices.
Would mothers of loud children be chastened, she wondered, or would they bring the whole nursery school in to stage a protest?
As she’d hoped, Leon was still inside with his daughter and wife, their faces bisected by the white grids of the windows. She looked more closely and saw that she had been right. His daughter was the one she’d seen in the window. Leon and his wife were the couple whose quiet contentment she’d watched and envied.
But now that image came apart. In the daylight, their expressions didn’t match what she’d envisioned. The wife, whose back was to Nina, was talking but no one was listening. She reached for her daughter, who pulled her hand away. Instead of appearing bold and unabashed, the daughter looked small and uncertain. If Leon noticed the tension in the exchange, he showed little reaction. Glancing at his watch, at his phone, at the people next to them, he seemed so distant he may as well have been sitting at a different table.
From the privacy of her apartment, Nina felt entitled to watch: flip off the lights and they were hers. Outside, in public, people would wonder why she was standing here for so long. But curiosity trumped self-consciousness. She needed to know why Leon had told her that his wife was the one screaming. She needed to match the wife’s face to the enraged voice, needed to look at their daughter’s eyes and see if that glimmer of freedom was still evident.
Nina busied herself with the kids, dispensing snacks, wiping imaginary crumbs from their cheeks. It took patience and luck. A passing bus backfired, Max screamed, and the wife turned around. Through the window, Nina recognized her former professor, Claudia Stein. It was no longer a stranger she’d been watching but someone she knew.
Ghost stations were in existence throughout the city, ten of them in all, sealed off but intact. The old 91st Street station, once a stop on the 1 train, was fleetingly visible from the window of a passing train. The tiles of the Worth Street station could be briefly, faintly seen. But City Hall, the station that Jeremy had caught sight of the week before, was the most majestic of all.
Designed by George Heins and Christopher Grant La Farge, it was used until 1945, when the trains became too long to fit into the circular station. Though it was closed to the public, it continued to serve as the turnaround for the 6 train, the vaulted ceilings and intricate tile work a testament to the grandeur that once was.
Instead of drafting the documents Richard needed, Jeremy spent the week reading about this former crown jewel of the IRT. The management of the firm had
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