I Liked My Life(8)

It’s horrible, I know. But I have no choice. When the reality of my new life hits me, my response has to be physical—flee or fight. My instinct was to backhand Susan; it took great restraint to simply exit. It’s Maddy’s voice that calms me in those moments. Leave, her memory tells me, and so I do. I probably walked seven miles that night, mostly wondering why my wife went through the headache of changing the foyer tile when she planned to kill herself.

Things aren’t as bad when I hear her laugh. It’s far worse when people invade my grief and Maddy doesn’t come to the rescue. That’s when my anger clots and detonates. It started a week after the funeral when Eve hightailed it to school. Maddy’s best friend Paige offered to work with the guidance counselor and homeschool Eve the last two months of the year, but Eve rejected the idea outright. She glared at us—chin jutted out like Maddy’s—and said, “So you think it’s a stellar idea to isolate me even more?” Paige and I cowered.

The next day Eve left for school, so I went to work. What else could I do? Paula greeted me outside my office door with a rehearsed look of sympathy. Maddy loved that my assistant was old enough to be her mother. “How are you holding up?” she asked, patting my back.

Each time her hand connected with my shirt my jaw clenched tighter. “Fine,” I replied, realizing I’d be answering that question all day. “Is everything rescheduled? Can Jack catch up this afternoon?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Paula said with the curt smile of a flight attendant. “I was talking to Sally this morning … we agreed you probably aren’t ready just yet. Maybe spend a little more time with Eve? Work some half days?”

Sally is the CEO’s assistant and evening companion when he’s not with his wife, an interesting person to dole out family advice.

I clenched my fists, willing them firmly by my sides, and enunciated every word as if English was Paula’s second language. “Something tells me the auditors won’t care about my wife’s death, and I still have a daughter to support with a career of some sort. Reschedule. My. Goddamn. Calendar.”

Paula stood there, stunned, expecting an immediate apology. I’d never been terse with her or anyone else at the office. But given the giant pile of shit that recently became my life, I enjoyed the power of it. I shut my office door and got back to work.

There is nothing Maddy in my office. Not even a family picture on my desk. There never was. I treated the two separate: there was my career and there was my family. Now, there’s work and there’s my daughter. Buying and selling companies is infinitely easier than communicating with a pissed off sixteen-year-old. And being wronged is easier to accept than being made a fool.





CHAPTER TWO

Madeline

It’s hard to keep track of time here. I suppose I’m negative one month. The stunted scale reminds me of when Eve was a newborn and people asked how old she was. (Or he if they were unable to piece together basic gender clues from the color of her clothes and bow in her hair.) At first I kept track daily. “Two weeks tomorrow,” I’d say with pride. When Eve was a month I acquiesced slightly, moving to fifteen-day increments. “One and a half months,” I’d report, marveling at the speed of time. After her second birthday it jumped to years and from there it’s a haze—Eve went from three to five to sixteen in what felt like one season. Wherever the hell I am now, time holds me accountable for every minute. It’s slow going when there’s no laundry and all you can do is watch.

“Look at me please, Toby,” Rory prompts.

“Okay, but don’t freak.”

A pudgy boy with impressive bedhead turns to face her. Rory covers her mouth to stifle a laugh at the raisin lodged in his nose. “Oh my … how did that get there?”

“I wanted to know what raisins smelled like.”

Rory gives a doubting look. “You don’t need to put something in your nose to smell it.”

“Yeah huh. I did! I couldn’t smell a thing until it got up there, but now I can.”

Rory smiles. “Before you head to the nurse, I have to ask: What do raisins smell like?”

“Like raisins,” he says, exasperated.

I’m addicted to watching Rory in action. Earlier a little girl tugged on her skirt to say she lost a pencil. “Okay, ready?” Rory replied. The girl nodded. Rory swooshed her hands in a circle, then flung them toward her desk shouting, “Abracadabra!” The girl looked, wide-eyed. “Did it work?” She shook her head no. “Then I guess you’ll have to handle this the old-fashioned way and go look for it.”

As the kids line up for music, Rory reflects on the simplicity of Toby’s answer. He’s right, she thinks. Life is not as complicated as adults make it. I remain singularly focused so I can intercept her thoughts, which flow from one to the next like notes in a symphony. Rory’s musings leave me certain she’s the answer to my mess. I just need to get her to step in it.

I relish my newfound ability to mind-read. I now know Brady can hear my laughter and exit prompts—abandonment is better than battery—and the song lyrics do reach Eve. With practice, I’ll be able to influence their actions.

Though I’d rather keep Rory’s lighthearted company, there’s work to be done. I turn my attention to Eve as she moves my things to her closet. I find myself oddly flattered. When my mother died, nothing tempted me. Her color palette was extensive, the woman never met a hue she didn’t like. Meg and I packed her entire wardrobe into moving boxes and dropped them off at Salvation Army. The chore was completed in an efficient, no-nonsense manner, which my mother no doubt applauded from the grave. Even wasted, she pooh-poohed sentimentality. Her intoxicated breath smothered any hint of it by reminding everyone the moment would not be remembered. Eve and I had more in common. We wore a similar preppy style, though I splurged on nicer brands. My wardrobe will be an upgrade for her.