The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen

Annie nods. “I’m ready.”


“Okay. Look,” Maddie says, giving Annie an encouraging squeeze.

Annie drops her hand from her eyes and stands frozen, unbreathing, looking down at the immense tapestry of the city spreading south from beneath her feet.

We’re on the main observation deck of the Empire State Building, a place I know only from Sleepless in Seattle and King Kong (the original, not the remake). From here we can see all the way to the Battery, the skyscrapers of downtown looking like children’s toys clustered together at the point at the bottom of the island. Seagulls wheel by in the distance, and the Hudson is dotted with sailboats and ferries. The sun burns high overhead, and its light glints off the glass of the skyscrapers. Summer haze clings to the shore of New Jersey, obscuring our view of Jersey City, so Manhattan floats in a cloud by itself, hemmed in on both sides by imaginary rivers. Yellow taxis creep up and down the veins of Manhattan, pedestrians crawl along the street so far below us that they look like pill bugs.

“Oh my goodness,” Annie breathes. She rests her hands on the diamond-patterned bars of the observation deck, leaning her forehead against it, like she’s straining to break free.

“Come on,” Eastlin urges me to step closer. “You’ve never seen it, either.”

My mouth has gone bone dry. Visions of Vertigo and plunging down hundreds of stories to my death crowd in around me, and I get light-headed and Eastlin has to catch hold of my elbow. God, I’m a wuss.

“I can’t,” I say, my voice sounding strangled.

Annie turns to me and smiles. The breeze stirs the curls over her ears and makes the lace along her neckline flutter. She holds a hand out to me.

It’s me. She wants me, next to her.

I hesitate, and then I grasp her hand tightly, swallow once very hard, and step to the edge of the observation deck.

“Look at this,” she whispers to me. “Look at all of those people, living. Just look at it all.”

Clutching her hand in mine, I grip my free hand on the bars and peer over the edge. I tremble with terror, and press myself against her. Annie doesn’t look afraid. Her bottomless eyes are bright, her rosebud lips parted, as though she were drinking it all in.

“I can see it all, Wes,” she breathes, staring with wonder down at the city. “I can see the blocks where they’ve plotted out the streets, but no houses are built yet. Look! I can see the cow fields and the streams glistening through the hills. There’s the Five Points. I can see our town house. There’s Brooklyn ferry landing, down by Herschel’s uncle shop, I can see it between the wooden masts and the rigging. There’s the steeple of Trinity Church! I can see everything!”

“Annie. Aren’t you scared?” I whisper into her hair.

But she fixes me with a delighted smile and says, “No. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

I’m distracted by the whir of Tyler filming us, poking the camera over our shoulders and peering down the edge of the skyscraper. More children thunder by behind us, and I hear Maddie say, “Whoa!” and giggle as she nearly gets knocked over by the wave of them. I’m distracted by an elderly man escorting a woman with support hose rolled up under her knees, digging through his pockets to find a quarter to feed into one of those owl-shaped telescopes. It’s too much to take in all at once. It’s happening too fast.

Annie lets go my hand and stretches her arms out on either side of her, closing her eyes and breathing in the wind.

“Look at her,” Tyler whispers, perhaps without knowing he’s doing it.

Her smile broadens, and she opens her eyes. “Maddie,” she says. “I’m ready.”

Maddie rummages in her bag and pulls out a tiny, battered cameo ring. After all that fuss to find it, it’s nothing like I pictured. It looks old and worn-out.

“Are you sure?” Maddie asks, holding the ring between finger and thumb.