“Willa, come on now. I know that we’re best friends and you’re really upset, but I don’t do snot.”
I laugh, though it’s more of a sputter, so she laughs alongside me, and I try to go still and absorb the enormity of leaving Seattle and jetting back to disaster and how very grateful I am that she dared me to betray my comfort zone. That she dared me to step outside of myself, even if it lasted only ten days, even if I’ll be home in six hours and everything will go back to how it once was.
When we board, Theo turns on the satellite TV and flips it to CNN. My dad is all over the screen.
NEWS ANCHOR #1: “We are devastated to report that our colleague here, Richard Chandler, whom many of us have come to think of as a mentor…
NEWS ANCHOR #2 (interrupting): “As a bit of a God in these parts…”
NEWS ANCHOR #1: “Richard Chandler has had a heart attack. The details are still coming in but our source on the scene tells us that Chandler was on his way for an early swim at the New York Athletic Club when he suddenly collapsed in the middle of 60th Street.”
NEWS ANCHOR #2: “Yes, Tim, evidently, a passerby recognized his famous face and leapt in to perform CPR, which may have saved Richard’s life. As our viewers know, Richard is the author of
Is It Really Your Choice? How Your Entire Life May Be Out of Your Control…”
NEWS ANCHOR #1: “Great book, Audrey. Just great. It changed my entire life.”
NEWS ANCHOR #2: “I couldn’t agree more, Tim. And to Richard’s point, emergency personnel are claiming that if this fan hadn’t stopped to perform CPR, that, in fact, Chandler would have died on the street. Everything happens for a reason, indeed.”
NEWS ANCHOR #1: “Remarkable, Audrey. Just remarkable. Richard Chandler. He has never been more of a God of Wisdom than today.”
NEWS ANCHOR #2: “Chandler is currently in doctors’ care at Mt. Sinai Hospital. There are conflicting reports as to his condition, but we trust that he is at peace with whatever happens. That is what he would have wanted.”
NEWS ANCHOR #1: “Let’s take a moment here and say a prayer for our colleague.”
NEWS ANCHOR #2: “I think we should pray for his family. Richard wouldn’t want our prayers.”
NEWS ANCHOR #1 (choking up): “Audrey, how right you are. We will pray for his family. They’ll need it.”
21
Raina and Jeremy are seated in the emergency room, clutching coffee and staring at their phones. I can see them from down the hallway: the fluorescent lights, the harsh shadows, the bleakness of it all. Raina sighs and rests her head on Jeremy’s shoulder, and he reaches up and touches her cheek, then kisses her forehead.
“Oh, thank God.” Raina spies me and hops up, spilling Jeremy’s coffee on his pants.
“I came as soon as I could, straight from the airport. How is he?”
“He’s probably going to live,” she says.
She leans in and hugs me — clutches me really.
“Oh my God.” I purge my relief through my tears.
“They’re going to have to operate again, and then they’ll know for sure, but the doctors said the odds of success are high.” She pulls back and straightens her blouse, tucking the hem into her waistband. Zippering right back into pre-crisis Raina.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this on your own.”
“Ollie’s here,” she says. “I mean, he can’t leave the apartment, but he’s calmed me down.”
“Are you wearing a taupe ribbon?” I ask, angling closer and staring at her collar.
“Ollie made me.” She sits, so I do too.
“It’s the color of peace,” Jeremy says, angling over and kissing me.
“Have you reached Mom?”
“I reached Nancy, her ‘partner.’” Raina holds up air quotes. “Mom was on a twenty-four-hour solo spiritual retreat — ”
“They have those in Palm Beach?” I interrupt.
“Evidently. But Nancy said she would try to get in touch with her.”
“You know that mom is just finding herself,” I say gently. “Forty years with dad and his philosophies, and this is the first time she’s been allowed outside those bounds.”
“I know,” Raina says. “And it’s not because it’s ‘Nancy.’ You know that. I mean, we donate every year to support gay marriage.”
“We do?” Jeremy asks.
“We do a lot of things you don’t know about,” Raina says.
“That’s probably true,” Jeremy says to me.
“You’re not great with change,” I say to Raina. “That’s all. I get it.”
“Well, I believe in marriage. They’ve been together forty years. I think that’s worth something.”
I believe in marriage, too
, I want to say.
Though I’m starting to wonder about mine.
Raina pulls out a prescription bottle from her bag — Bobby’s backpack. She unscrews the lid and shakes out a pill, then offers me one. I pinch it up and drop it on the back of my tongue.
“You guys realize that’s not candy, right?” Jeremy says.
Raina ignores him. “I’m just saying…Dad just had a heart attack. I think Mom should be here.”
“Dad’s sort of the one who told her to get lost in the first place,” I counter. “Which is sort of exactly what Shawn told me.”
Yes, maybe I should refocus on Fault #5: he’s a total asshole!
“Well, maybe you and Shawn should also try to make it work,” Raina says. “You did take vows.”
“It’s not up to me.” The bitterness of the pill is etched onto the back of my throat. “He established the rules. No contact, sex with other people — ”
Jeremy cuts me off: “Sex with other people? Wow.”
“Don’t be jealous.” Raina smacks his arm.
“Not jealous,” he answers, though he looks a little jealous. “Impressed though.”
“I actually resolved in Seattle to fight for him, to get him back, but now…” I trail off.
“But now what?” Raina asks.
But now a million things!
I think.
But now Theo! But now Dad! But now I’ve seen that baseball games can kind of be fun and that a drum circle might be cool and that hiking is still the worst thing in the world, but eventually, your blisters heal.
“But now, I don’t know. But…I guess…if he comes back for Dad, if he’s there for me during this, I’ll try.”
“Okay.” Raina eases her head back, the Xanax sinking in. It doesn’t really seem like she cares too much either way.
Jeremy says, “I texted him to let him know what was going on.”
And I want to shout: have you seen his Facebook page? Do you know that he is compulsively JDating? Are you aware that he appears to be wooing Erica Stoppard? And while we’re discussing it, can you run a background check on her because she is the sole person in the history of the world who leaves no Google footprint?
But instead I mutter: “Cool. Well, we’ll see what happens.”
And he says, pointing to my rainbow: “Nice cast.”
So I say: “Long story.”
And then Raina opens her eyes and focuses them on my hand and says: “What the hell happened to you?”
But before I can launch into my long story, before I can tell them about the dares and the master plan and inertia and Cracker Jacks and the Jumbotron and Bill and maybe even Theo, I hear a voice behind me.
“Hey,” it says.
And my insides buckle.
I know it’s him without even turning around. But then I do, just to confirm that I’m not totally losing my mind.
I see Nicky first. He’s wearing a yarmulke and greets us by pressing his hands together in prayer and bowing his head. And then, behind him, with his leather jacket and moussed-up hair and Wired2Go graphic tee, he’s there.
My husband.
Shawn came.
—
“How’d you get that?” Shawn asks, nudging his chin toward my cast, while we’re on line at the hospital cafeteria.
I think:
Where’d you meet Erica Stoppard
? but say, because I am trying to win him back: “At Safeco.”
“Safeco Field?” He turns and looks at me.
“Yes, at Safeco Field,” I say, mostly because I know that he’ll find this intriguing. “I went to a Mariners game.” I slap my tray down and reach for a fruit cocktail. “It was singles night. I made it onto the Jumbotron.”
“You made it onto the Jumbotron?” He freezes, lost in what this might mean, until he realizes that he’s holding up the people behind us. When he catches up to me, he says, “Since when do you like baseball?”
I shrug and try to look coy because I can’t exactly say:
I don’t like baseball! I just went because Vanessa dared me!
I eyeball something that looks like baked ziti but might also be chicken Parmesan or possibly some sort of congealed eggplant and say:
“Anyway, I caught a home run. But I broke my hand.”
He echoes, like he’s in a daze: “You caught a home run. But you broke your hand.”
And I just want to laugh and laugh and laugh, but I do it on the inside, resisting what would be easy, what would be obvious, because I don’t want him to recognize that two can play at this game. Two can come up with a plan. Two can make their own rules and live by them, even without the consent of the other.
I try not to think of that night in the ER when Theo dashed to my rescue, when I promised that six-year-old that I believed in everything, when Theo kissed me on the bridge, and then kissed me again on the houseboat and then assured my safe passage all the way back to New York. No, I stare at the waxy cafeteria selections, and I do the opposite of what my mind wants to do, though sometimes, the mind wants what the mind wants. Even my dad would agree with that.
I settle on the “baked ziti” (?) and shuffle down the line toward the cashier.
Shawn touches my arm.
“Hey,” he says. “You seem happy. I’m glad. I’m happy too.”
My stomach tumbles as I sense my brilliant plan faltering already.
“I didn’t realize that you really meant it…to not talk to me at all,” I say. “I mean, I’ve been emailing with Nicky.”
He bobs his head and grabs a chocolate pudding, peeling off the lid and licking it, then licking it again, which I find a little repulsive.
“It’s…I mean…you’re happy, I’m happy. It’s working.”
I turn away from him without answering and tell the cashier to ring us up separately.
“Willa, come on,” he says. “Does it help if I tell you that I missed you?” He looks at me like he means it, like maybe he’s happy, but maybe this has been hard on him as well.
“It helps,” I say. Then: “I missed you too.”
He rests the chocolate pudding on his tray and winces. “This is so complicated.”
“Why does it have to be?” I ask. Not because I haven’t found some sense of happiness during our break, but because I’ll take uncomplicated over happy. I am Switzerland, for God’s sake! Didn’t he and I agree to that on our Match.com profile way back when? That complication and conflict weren’t in our nature? We like easy people! We like things to be gentle and calm and soft as a bunny rabbit’s ears! Why is this suddenly so hard?
“I don’t know why it has to be so complicated,” he sighs, then unconsciously touches my hair. “It just is.”
Cilla Zuckerberg has a dog named Beast. Did you know that? I googled her again last night and joined her Facebook fan page. If I had a dog, I’d never have the guts to get an animal that lived up to the name “Beast.” I’d have, like, a Teacup or a Princess or maybe Max if I got crazy. But
Beast
implies ferocity, and I’ve never been ferocious. I wish I were. I wish I could be.
For all the reasons my future dog would be named Cinderella, I don’t say any more to Shawn now. I don’t say:
we’re married, for God’s sake! You don’t take breaks from that
! Or:
Whatever happened to Shilla? To Sundays on the couch? To foot massages? To Chinese food? To baby-making? To our plan?
I should have said these things four weeks ago, and I should say them now. I vowed to myself that I would. But I am so damn tired, and Shawn seems uncertain, and besides (and Vanessa would be so mad at me for this, but no one is perfect, and I’m still a work in progress), it’s easier to just say: “Well, even if we stick to your rules, maybe we could go to a baseball game sometime.”
And he considers it. He takes forever to consider it. And I think:
do you not see the leap I just took? It might not be exactly what I need to say but it is something! It is more than I ever could have said before!
Finally, he says, “Sure. I’m leaving town again, but maybe when I’m back. We’ll see. Let’s not promise.”
And I think:
what are promises anyway? Just another thing, in a world full of broken things, to be broken.
—
Because Shawn and I are now homeless — a side effect of your superstar yogi master brother who also grows his own pot in your closet — I decamp to Raina’s apartment on the Upper East Side. Shawn tells me that Wired2Go is putting him up at some super-hip hotel in the Meatpacking District that I pretend to have heard of. Nicky comes with me because kids under sixteen aren’t allowed.
“Don’t worry,” Nicky says to me in the cab from the hospital. “The Jews have been tested for millions of years. This is just but another test.”
I screw up my face like he’s a lunatic.
“What? Haven’t you read the story of Passover? Of the Dead Sea parting?”
“I think you mean the Red Sea,” I say.
“Hmmm,” he considers. “Whatever.”
We fall silent.
“Has Uncle Shawn been in touch with your mom?”
“Why? Because it’s such a sin to have found God? I’m a
Jew,
Aunt Willa, and I won’t be shamed for it.” He wiggles his finger at me, and I wonder if he’s been watching the
700 Club
. Or something. The
700 Club
for Jews. Do they have that?
“No. Not because you are a Jew.” I sigh. “Because I thought someone should let her know what’s going on with Shawn and me. And with my dad. This wasn’t exactly the plan when she left you with us for the summer.”
“Oh,” he says, with that perfectly pubescent realization that the world does not at all times revolve around his problems.
“Though it might not be a bad idea to tell her that you’ve found God, too,” I add.