I Liked My Life(84)

Pamela leans in and speaks softly. “For depression to take your wife to such an extreme, she had to be trapped inside her own thoughts to a point where she couldn’t perceive the ripple effect of her decision.” I look up. It’s the first time anyone has attempted to understand Maddy’s frame of mind. “Brady: she wasn’t leaving you; she was leaving her.”

My senses flood. Is it possible? I have a sudden compulsion to read Maddy’s last journal entry. If Pamela’s right, the answer will be there. I flag the bartender. “Put it all on my tab.” He nods.

“I’m sorry to leave like this, I am, but this day—”

“Go,” she says. “Think and cry and sleep. We’ll catch each other in Boston sometime.”

I bolt for the elevators Cinderella style, grateful for Pamela’s ability to read the situation so well. Once in the safety of my room, I retrieve the journal and flip to the last page. I’ve been a coward, putting it off for so long. It’s the equivalent of a suicide note. If Pamela is right, it’ll show in Maddy’s words.

April 13, 2015

Easter kind of gives me the creeps. Rising from the dead? The story allows the idea of the afterlife to function as a sort of insurance policy. It makes it too easy to never face fears or regrets. I don’t think the universe should hand out free passes. Combing through the weeds of my childhood with a therapist allowed me to find compassion for my mother, which freed the chip from my shoulder. I’m fortunate for the autonomy in my life. I was able to have a hiccup and get help without Eve and Brady even knowing.

I believe there’s a higher power. There has to be. Science can’t rationalize it all. To our understanding, there’s no such thing as nothing, which means there’s always been something, which means there is a divine force at work.

I’m excited for our family run on Easter Sunday so I can ask Brady and Eve what they think about these things. It is, hands down, my favorite of our family traditions. Meg says we’re a sacrilege, and maybe we are, but Easter doesn’t make any more spiritual sense to me than a long family jog where we all take the time to connect. I’m finally at an age where I no longer have an intense need to be understood. I just want to learn from the past and move on.

I read the entry thirty times, thrown. She saw a therapist about her mother, but she doesn’t sound caged by depression. Or angered by my flawed priorities. Or saddened by Eve’s independence. She wasn’t in love with someone else or drinking too much or tired by the banality of suburban life.

Why the hell did she leave us?





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Madeline

A fog has set in. It won’t be long now; I can only faintly make out the scenes unfolding below. I keep expecting a glimpse of my final destination but the openness above appears infinite.

I take note of the oak tree we planted out front when Eve was in kindergarten. It was Earth Day and every child came home with a sapling. I had no hope—I couldn’t conceive how such a puny, flimsy thing could defend itself from New England’s nor’easters—but I let Eve take care in picking a spot. It needs sunlight, she said, and lots of space. I assumed Eve’s interest would wane when she woke up the next morning and there wasn’t yet a branch to swing from, but I was mistaken. She watered that thing every day. When she noticed a deer sniffing nearby, she chased it away. We have to protect it, she begged. It’s our tree. I googled “protecting oak saplings” and—of course—there was a wiki page and YouTube video that made it look easy enough. Twelve years later, and it’s the size of Eve. The memory supports many truths: plant yourself in a place that gives you room to grow; let the light in; everyone needs help to survive; have patience.

The philosophical thought turns dark; the damn tree outlived me. I should be there ten years from now, when Eve is full-grown and her tree towers over us all as a reminder of the impact we can have. I wasn’t patient that night. I didn’t give myself enough space. When a decision had to be made, I thought of my mother. My mother, of all people! If I’d thought of Eve and Brady, everything would be different now, but I thought of my mother and how I hadn’t done enough. I’d failed her, and she took her life, and this was the universe giving me a chance to make it right. I was so certain.

I spend what I assume to be my last moments telling Eve I love her. I repeat it over and over like waves lapping the shore. I remember thinking I’d found true love with Brady, but when Eve arrived I discovered love has tiers and motherhood is the pinnacle. I wasn’t much of a scorekeeper, but parenting was the only relationship where the idea of keeping score was preposterous. Eve and I were on the same team, united. When she won, I won, and when she lost—even when the lesson learned was valuable—I ached for her. Unlike with Brady, it was a simple love. I wanted nothing in return.

Well, that’s not true. I wanted time. I wanted so much more time.

My musings continue as I watch Kara pull down our driveway. Even so far removed, the Andersons’ neon-yellow Jag stands out. An obnoxious car for obnoxious people. I don’t process what it means until I sense Kara’s panic and shame.

“Stay away,” she warned that night, her eyes frantic. But my mother’s face flashed before me and I knew I couldn’t turn my back on someone so desperate. Not again. Not a child. I replayed Brady’s lectures on having boundaries and saying no even as I nuzzled my way so far into the Andersons’ problem that it became my problem instead. I liked my life, loved it even, and Kara must be here to tell my family that. Thank you, I say now. Thank you. How brave of her to come forward. I honestly never thought she would. Of all the girls, Kara’s was a callousness I assumed incurable. I wonder what broke her down?