It all happens so fast. Sam’s back for a blip of time, and all of a sudden we’re packing our bags for New York.
Mom and Earl have agreed on Helen Winters. She always gets the “big” interviews, apparently. She’s “classy and respectful,” Mom said, which is probably what Bud Walker told her. “She’s been in the business for years. She’s interviewed presidents, world leaders, everyone.” The big-time producers are flying us up, first class, and putting us up in a fancy hotel.
I have my suitcase on my bed when Mom comes in. “Don’t pack too much. We’re just going for a few nights.”
“Okay,” I say, glancing at the clothes in my closet and not seeing anything that looks remotely cool or hip enough for New York City.
“I know I don’t need to say this,” she says, “but this isn’t a pleasure trip. It’s work.”
“We can’t even go up the Empire State Building, or see a show?” I ask, feeling like a brat for even thinking it.
“We’ll go back one day, I promise,” Mom says.
Later, after Bud Walker leaves, we all scarf down some of the food that the neighbors have been bringing over. Then Sam goes to bed and I go to my room. I look at my phone, which is still turned off. I put it in my desk drawer. After a while I get thirsty and want some water so I head to kitchen. But I stop before I get there. I can hear Mom and Earl.
“This is the right decision, isn’t it?” she says, sounding uncertain. “I mean, it’s for Sam’s future. For our future.”
“I think so,” Earl says. “Plus, maybe we’ll inspire other families with missing kids—inspire them to not give up.”
“You’re right,” Mom says. “We’ll do it, we’ll get it over with, and then we can just get on with our lives.”
Get on with our lives. I want to laugh, or scream, something. Because it’s like Mom thinks our lives are like some TV show that got interrupted, like when something big happens and the news cuts in and once they’re done, the announcer says, “We now return to regular programming.”
Sam was gone and now he’s back. We now return to regular life.
===
A driver wearing a suit is waiting for us at the airport in New York. He helps us with our bags and ushers us all into a big black SUV. As the driver speeds through traffic, Mr. Walker goes over the schedule again, but I don’t really listen. I just want to take in the sights. I guess we’re not really in the city yet, but on the outskirts. Still, everything is so alive. Rows and rows of brick buildings, streets crammed with parked cars, giant billboards that announce new movies and TV shows, taxis zooming by, people headed toward a zillion possible destinations.
The driver veers off onto yet another freeway and soon, up ahead, we can see the city in the distance, ablaze with so many lights—the Empire State Building, and all these other gigantic ones that I don’t know the names of. It all looks so imposing and exciting.
“Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,” Mr. Walker says, ignoring our surroundings. Maybe he’s been here a lot.
“We’ll try and get a good night’s sleep,” Mom says.
I look over at Sam, but he’s staring out the window, gobbling up the views like I am. It must be even more overwhelming for him.
The driver slows down through a tollbooth and then we’re in a tunnel and then, just as suddenly, we’re in the city. We’re all quiet as the SUV creeps through traffic. I’ve seen New York a lot on TV, but it’s still kind of weird actually seeing it all up close. So many types of people—women dolled up and in high heels, scraggly men shuffling along in dirty coats, cyclists snaking through traffic. Restaurants and shops everywhere—nothing closed, even though it’s a little after nine o’clock.
The SUV finally pulls up to our hotel. It’s on a street lined with trees and fancy apartment buildings. It’s not far from Central Park, the driver tells us.
When we get out, bellhops in dark-green uniforms spring out to help us with our bags. It’s kind of embarrassing, especially since we don’t have much with us. The inside of the hotel lobby is shiny, full of marble and brass. Mom sits in one of the lobby’s chairs and waits while Earl and Mr. Walker deal with check-in. Sam stands next to Mom, looking shell-shocked.
But I’m energized and excited. I stand there hoping someone famous will come out of the elevators, because this seems like a place where celebrities might stay. But I look at Sam and feel a pang of guilt for thinking—even briefly—that I’m just a normal tourist. We’re not here for fun. We don’t even really get to leave the hotel, since we’re doing the interview here. According to Mr. Walker, when privacy and security are important, Helen Winters conducts interviews in the penthouse suite. He explained this to us at the airport this afternoon, before we took off, when I had mentioned it would be so cool being near Times Square, where the network’s studio was. I think he got a little pleasure out of dashing my hopes. But then he added, “She interviewed the Pope at the hotel. And Britney Spears once.” He sounded like we should be grateful, like that would make up for the past three years.
“We’re all set,” Mr. Walker says now, walking up with Earl. “You guys are in Suite eight-o-seven. Now, one of the producers wants to meet with us over breakfast, so be downstairs at the restaurant at eight. And then the makeup and wardrobe people are coming at ten, to get you dressed and ready. And then Ms. Winters will arrive around noon. I imagine the interview will start soon after that, after she chats with you guys for a little bit. For dinner tonight, help yourself to room service.” My heart sinks. I was hoping we could venture out—go to a real restaurant and see more of the city up close. But no. We have to stay holed up. We could be anywhere in the world, really, it wouldn’t matter.
The suite is huge at least, with a big main room decked out with polished furniture and a couch, a big flat-screen TV mounted in the wall, and large windows that look out onto the street, flanked by heavy dark green drapes. Then, on each side, there are two rooms with huge king-size beds, each with its own bathroom. The idea was for Earl and Sam to share a room, and for me and Mom to share one, but Mom has slept in Sam’s room each night since he’s been back, so I’m not sure what will happen.
“Okay, let’s unpack,” Earl says.
But I sit on the couch and flip on the TV. Sam sits next to me.
“Beth,” Mom says.
“I’ll unpack in a minute,” I say. “Can’t we just relax?”
“This isn’t a trip for relaxing,” she says, her tone grumpy and tired, the way I’m used to her sounding.