“Yeah, I guess that’s a good thing,” Aida agreed, although she wasn’t sure anything at the moment was good.
When they reached Yumi’s little condo in Boston’s Back Bay, the first thing Aida did was take her MODA phone out of her pocket and set it on the counter. “Let’s hit up the Esplanade. I need to take a walk.”
Yumi immediately took Aida’s hint. She set her own phone on the counter next to Aida’s and grabbed her keys and a jacket off a hook in the nearby hallway. “Lead the way.”
As they walked to the Dartmouth Street footbridge that spanned busy Storrow Drive, Aida told her friend what had happened when she’d confronted Graham. But it wasn’t until they reached the bridge that she finally felt comfortable enough to freely talk about MODA. On the bridge, they could easily see anyone coming from either direction, and the noise of the traffic below would mask most of their conversation from anyone approaching.
“While I appreciate them helping me return to Boston and with the movers, it’s so weird. All of it,” she confided. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I always feel like my best friend is some sort of superspy with all the secrecy,” Yumi said.
“And that’s the worst part about it. I’m just a weird version of an historian,” she conceded. “Mostly, I am trying to understand what role happiness has played in everything I’m studying. I don’t understand why they are so hardcore about keepingit under wraps. It’s strange, but not anything that will hurt anyone or even interest most people, for that matter.”
“Have you had any warnings lately?”
“No, I’ve been a lot more careful. It’s not worth the hassle of Trista’s scrutiny.”
During the first few weeks with MODA, Trista had regularly warned her about talking too freely with Yumi or Felix. When Trista once saw Aida using her personal phone to talk to Yumi on the Via Giulia outside the palazzo, she left a copy of the NDA on Aida’s desk. Aida had asked her about it, and Trista only shrugged and suggested that sometimes it’s good to have reminders on MODA policy. After that, Aida was more careful about using her personal devices where Trista might see her, despite the fact that the assistant had been clear on that first day about her ability to use them.
“I’m going to put some extra secure encryption on your laptop and phone while you’re here. Just in case,” Yumi said.
“Honestly, this secret skulking around to talk with my friends is the only thing I dislike about the job. Well, maybe not theonlything, but certainly the worst of it. I could never have dreamed of having a job where I see so many wonderful things every day.” She rattled off some of the places they were planning on sending her next: the Sacro Bosco, a Mannerist garden full of monstrous statues; the Baci chocolate factory in Perugia; and the underground Domus Aurea, once the home of Emperor Nero.
“It sounds incredible. But is it really all roses? It seems way too good to be true.” Yumi leaned against the rail. She bent over, hanging her head down toward the racing traffic.
“I guess it does sound that way,” she admitted. She thought back to all the conversations with Graham. About a month into her time in Rome, she had felt so guilty about the beauty around her that she had started glossing over her work during their conversations. It made everything he was doing in Boston feel pale in comparison. Maybe all this was her fault. Maybe she drove Erin into his...
No.She refused to follow that line of thought and shifted her attention back to MODA. “It’s rosy, but not all roses. There are a few thorns. The whole NDA thing hanging over my head sucks. Trista is a downer and I still know as much about her as I did the day I arrived. But I’ve gotten used to her and I don’t let her get to me. And then there’s Mo. He drives me up a wall.”
“Maybe he’s into you,” Yumi teased, lifting her head to give her friend a little grin.
“God, I hope not.” But the thought had crossed Aida’s mind. Mo seemed to delight in making fun of her. He showed up randomly at places where she was working, and sometimes at the palazzo, where he took considerable pleasure in making Pippa mad and Trista sad. But with Aida, Mo’s edge was slightly tempered, and while still biting and sarcastic, bordered on playful. He clearly enjoyed their back-and-forth, and the fact that Aida too often succumbed to his jabs. However, most of the staff could hardly stand him. Dante, who Aida thought was ever unflappable, patently refused to be in the same room when he was there. “He’s manageable in small doses, but I think I’d be driven to murder if I had to spend a full twenty-four hours with him,” Aida told Yumi.
“I wish I knew what he looked like. Or that you could draw like a sketch artist.” Yumi laughed. “How was London?”
Aida groaned. “Awkward. I have no idea if I gave them the right answers or not.”
After exhausting the more specific details about Aida’s work for MODA, the two continued over the bridge to the Esplanade, a grassy park that lined the banks of the Charles River.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Yumi said as they headed down one of the paths along the river. “They tore down the Hatch Shell.”
Aida stopped in her tracks. “What?” The Hatch Shell was an iconic wooden concert venue that had hosted countless events over its nearly eighty-year lifespan. Millions of people across the nation glued themselves to the television to watch the Boston Pops play there every Fourth of July in celebration of thecountry’s independence. Just the year before, it had finished undergoing a renovation. What Yumi was saying to her literally made no sense. There was no reason to tear down the structure. None.
“Don’t you remember? It was in the news for most of last year that a shady activist group filed a lawsuit claiming that the crowds on the lawn, the boats on the river, the fireworks—everything about the Fourth of July celebration—was an environmental disaster. They won, maybe right after you left for Rome. The ruling didn’t force the city to tear down the shell, just to stop holding concerts. But then, in a rather suspicious way last month, it caught fire. Half of it burned, and the structural integrity was shot. Since they couldn’t use it for performances anymore, and restoration would have cost a fortune, the city just... got rid of it. Damn, I’m sorry, Aida. I can’t believe we didn’t talk about this. Or that you didn’t see the news.”
“I put myGlobesubscription on hold,” she explained. She didn’t want to admit to Yumi that she couldn’t remember hearing anything about the activist group or their lawsuit—or how much that bothered her. How could she have forgotten something so important? “Did they catch the person?” She picked up the pace, wanting to see for herself. She didn’t want to believe what Yumi was telling her.
“That’s the even weirder thing. You know they have security cameras everywhere since the bombing at the Marathon. They didn’t record anything. They had intended to keep the shell as a monument, even if they couldn’t have concerts there. It’s so beautiful and historic. But out of nowhere, it burst into flames. The fire department says they can’t determine the cause. It was a clear night—no lightning. And they didn’t find any evidence of explosives. But it’s rather convenient timing.”
When they reached the space where Aida remembered the vast grass expanse and little shacks for food vendors, there was, instead, an ugly chain-link fence circling the area where the Hatch Shell once stood. The whole area had been dug up, andthere wasn’t a trace left of the once beautiful Art Deco half dome and the bronze lettering on the steps with names of great composers. It was a Sunday, and no one was working. Two bulldozers sat on the edge of the dirt oval, silent big yellow monoliths. The shacks were gone.
“So that’s it?” Aida was so upset she could barely get the words out. “They’re just... leaving it like this?”
“No. Apparently, the surviving wife of the man who originally owned the land had a clause in her will—back in the twenties—stating that if the property ever stopped being used for performances, it had to be turned into a park, a playground, or a memorial. Since the lawsuit banned big gatherings, they decided on a memorial in her name.”
“To a dead woman no one remembers? Not a park? Or a playground?”
“Nope. The activists ruined that. I think they’ve now turned their sights on the entire Esplanade, claiming that even bike paths and joggers disrupt the natural habitat along the riverbanks.”
