Free Invisible City by Julia Dahl Page A

left.
    “Did you know he was a cop?”
    “I did. He kept in touch over the years.”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “You sound upset.”
    I sigh heavily. My dad is king of the understatement.
    “He kind of ambushed me. Why didn’t you tell me you had, like, told someone who knew Mom that I was moving to New York?”
    “I’m sorry,” he says. “He e-mailed me a few months ago. I think he saw your byline in the newspaper. Wanted to know if it was the same person.”
    “Great, so he’s stalking me.”
    “I doubt that,” says my dad. “He’s a very nice man. How did you say you met him?”
    “He showed up at a crime scene.”
    “A crime scene?”
    “Well, actually, at a victim’s house. They found a dead woman in a scrap pile this morning, and it turns out she’s Hasidic. I went to her house to get a quote from the family and Saul was there.”
    “How awful. Are you okay?” My dad is very concerned about my work for the Trib. He doesn’t approve of tabloid journalism. I wouldn’t say I “approve” either, exactly, but, as I’ve explained to him, The New York Times wasn’t hiring and I wanted to learn how to be a reporter.
    “I’m fine.”
    “I don’t know how you can do that kind of work. It must be so hard.”
    “What kind of work, Dad?”
    “Not the Trib —I just mean, a body in a, what did you say? A scrap pile? Lord.” My dad says “Lord” a lot. “The family must be devastated.”
    I decide not to get into the reactions of the family members I’ve met so far.
    “So, how did Saul know Mom, exactly? He’s older than you guys.”
    “Saul was part of a group of ultra-Orthodox who were questioning the rigid lifestyle. They used to meet in a house out near Coney Island to talk freely and read newspapers and watch movies—things they couldn’t do at home.”
    “They couldn’t read newspapers ?”
    “No. Most Orthodox try very hard to keep themselves from interacting, even passively, with the rest of the world.”
    “Right, because we’re so evil.”
    “Depends on your perspective.” I roll my eyes. My dad is the ultimate religious apologist.
    “Okay, anyway…”
    “They were all experimenting with new ways of living. From what I remember, Saul had married, at about nineteen, a woman he did not love. His family was not wealthy, and the matchmaker didn’t consider him a good match, so he ended up engaged to a troubled young woman from a slightly wealthier family.”
    “Troubled?”
    “Depressed? I’m not sure. What I know is that the marriage was a disaster. They were married more than ten years and had only one child, which was considered shameful. When he filed for divorce, she moved back in with her parents. Her father went to court and told a judge that Saul should be barred from seeing his son because he had become less religious and the child would be confused.”
    “And the judge agreed?”
    “Apparently.”
    Everything I learn about Hasidic life is So. Fucking. Sad. But this is what she left me for. My stomach sizzles. I shift in my seat; I’m going to need a bathroom soon.
    “Divorce was rare in the community, and he’d brought shame on his family and hers.”
    “Where does Mom come in?”
    “Saul had worked at his father-in-law’s clothing store. Of course, he was fired as soon as he filed for divorce. He had nowhere to go, and I think he actually slept outside or in the subway for a while until another man, I forget his name, invited him to help him fix up the run-down Coney Island house he’d been living in in exchange for a place to stay. Saul and the man—maybe his name was Menachem?—turned the place into a refuge for questioning Orthodox. That’s where he met your mother.”
    “Mom stayed there?”
    “She did. At first, she just went when she could sneak away from home, while her brothers were at yeshiva. But once we met, yes, she stayed there some nights. Until she came to Florida.”
    “And now he’s a cop.”
    “Yes. He enrolled in the