I'm Fine and Neither Are You(77)

“By stuff , you mean your marriage and Jenny’s death.”

“Yes,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure moving up the ladder will make that more difficult than it needs to be.”

Russ was leaning in the doorway now. “Well, good for you, Penny. You’ve got guts to admit all that.”

I thought of Jenny’s letter. She seemed to be so close to finding her way out of that dark hole. Once again, it occurred to me how incredibly fortunate I was. “A couple months ago, I would have responded to that compliment with a self-deprecating comment,” I told Russ. “But now I’ve got to agree with you. It takes courage to be yourself when everyone expects you to be someone else. I’m just glad I still have the opportunity to make that decision.”





THIRTY

I visited Jenny’s website frequently after her death, and each time I wondered the same thing: if she had never started her blog, or maybe if it had not become the sensation that it had, would she have found it easier to admit she was struggling and seek help?

Because sharing her life online meant strangers—and even loved ones, me included—came to think of her in the particular way she presented herself online. People had expectations about how she should look and what she should say and do. And the more everyone expected of her, the harder it must have been to disappoint us by deviating from the image we had already bought into.

Perhaps Jenny wanted to unshackle herself from the golden handcuffs of internet fame. I would never know now. The draft I had discovered on her computer didn’t hold that answer. Nor did it provide closure, though it was close.

Still, that letter was the last thing I expected to see when I clicked on her site before shutting down my computer at the end of the day. It took me several seconds to process what had popped up on my monitor.

A new photo of Jenny and Cecily had been posted at the top of the page. They were sitting under the enormous oak tree in her backyard; Cecily was in Jenny’s lap, looking up at her as Jenny gazed down at her adoringly.

Below the photo, Jenny’s letter had been published in full, followed by a brief note saying she had accidentally died of a prescription painkiller overdose on June 26. Just beneath the note was a list of resources for people struggling with addiction.

A sob flew out of my mouth.

Matt had done the right thing.

After I had composed myself, I picked up the phone to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. I glanced at the clock and saw that I needed to pick up Stevie and Miles from their school’s aftercare program. I would have to try him again later.

Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the school parking lot. I was itching to see my kids, to put my arms around them and let their hugs lighten what had turned out to be an incredibly heavy day. I had just closed my car door when someone called out my name.

I spun around and saw a man jogging across the asphalt. As he got closer, I realized it was Matt. No wonder I hadn’t recognized him—he was wearing a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt and jeans and had grown a short beard.

“I called you earlier,” I said. “I saw the post.”

“Good,” he said. He kicked at the ground with his sneaker, the way Miles often did when he was bothered by something. I expected him to explain why he’d made the decision he had. Instead he said, “You should probably know that I left my job.”

I stared at him with disbelief. Jenny often said she wished Matt would quit. She always followed this remark with a disclaimer that she was joking—but there was truth in most jokes. If only she were there to learn her wish had come true. “Wow. When did you do that?”

“Last week,” he said. “The job isn’t important. Wasn’t important. We’ll be fine for money for a while, and I need to be with Cecily. She’s my focus. And dealing with Jenny’s death.”

An old instinct surfaced, and I almost blurted out that I hoped his decision had nothing to do with me. But that wasn’t true at all. I wanted what I had said to have influenced him. Wasn’t that the entire point of saying it? “That’s great, Matt. How wonderful that you can make that choice.”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m making some changes. I already told Cecily that Jenny accidentally died from taking too many pills, and for the time being that’s where we’ll leave it. Later, I’ll tell her the rest. I’d appreciate it if you took the same approach with Stevie and Miles. But otherwise use your judgment with whoever needs to know.”

“Sonia and Jael?” I said.

He shook his head. “That shouldn’t fall to you. I’ll call them myself tonight.”

“Thank you.” I had to take a few deep breaths before I could find the courage to speak again. “Are we going to be okay? You and me, I mean?”

The lines in his forehead deepened. “I don’t know, Penny. You’re probably not out of line to call me on the stuff I’ve done wrong, but it’s hard to be around you sometimes.”

“I know that. It hasn’t been my intention to make you feel bad. But I know Jenny would have wanted me to say what I did.”

“Yeah, I get that. But like I said, it’s still tough to hear.”

I swallowed hard. “I’ll choose my words carefully. But please, Matt—don’t punish me by keeping Cecily away from me. It’s bad enough to have lost Jenny. I don’t think I can handle losing her, too.”