What Doesn't Kill You (5 page)

By my fifth month I craved sweet potatoes, and I wasn't real happy with my marathon prenatal clinic visits, or that we were searching in Salvation Army stores for a crib. I told Mom we didn't want to waste money on something the baby would only need a short time. That's how he explained it to me and I halfway bought it—maybe a third of the way. But she was not interested in having her grandbaby sleep in a used crib. “You got a new bed, didn't you?” So she bought one, which made me feel
about two feet tall. And worry about what kind of life I was—we were—bringing a baby into.

I didn't talk about the bad stuff at work—my misery did not want company—but I'm pretty sure Olivia knew I wasn't a happy camper. She never said anything directly, incorporating M&D Enterprises moved to the front burner and Olivia arranged for hospitalization. When she told me, I didn't know what to say, for once. I just hugged her. We got kind of gushy for a second, then we laughed because her boobs and my belly took up so much space we couldn't get very close. I wasn't the only newly covered employee, but I sure was relieved to cross that off my worry list.

During that same time Olivia was having her own family trauma. After a long bout with Eliot and Hillary, she relented and agreed to let her daughter enroll in an exclusive boarding school in Switzerland. So my child was coming as hers was going. One afternoon a little after she shipped Hillary off, Olivia was repotting my philodendron, which by then was a six-foot vine I nicknamed Rapunzel, and she suggested I bring the baby to work with me, the way it used to be when Hillary was small. I think it made us both feel better. And it meant Mr. Music would not have to be Mr. Mom. I was never too sure how that was going to work out.

Amber arrived a week early, and from the moment we met I was in love. And I loved my little family trio. My six-week maternity leave was the happiest time in my life. I was his baby, Amber was our baby, and la la la la la la la la la means…the song couldn't last forever.

Reality, round two: bundling Amber in the quilted snuggle sack Olivia made and carting her to work, mightily pissed because he was still laid up in bed. Problem was, I wasn't seeing
any record deals or hearing any Top Forty tunes, and it just didn't look like he was trying that hard. I mean, I watched Olivia build a company out of stuff she cooked up in a pot in her kitchen. I was willing to help him, but we had a baby to support and I was doing most of the supporting. And I used to keep Amber up later than I should when he was out because I was lonely. And worried. His rhymes were getting on my nerves and I wasn't about to admit any of it. My parents may have bought the mattress, but I made my own bed. I was going to sleep in it—or burn it.

Then I came home one day and he was wearing a jacket and tie and said he's got a job teaching piano, at my old alma mater, of all places. Oh happy day. It was perfect—for a few semesters. I liked the way it sounded too—professor—OK, he was an instructor, but the students called him professor. I was executive assistant to the president and CEO of a corporation. That was my title after the reorganization. My salary got fancier too. But after a while he'd come home mad. Nobody in the department knew what they were talking about. They were mediocre musicians infecting students with their lack of creativity—he was always dramatic. The longer it went on, the more frustrated he got. I'd tell him to chill. It was just a job. He'd blow up and tell me music was never just a job. Then Amber would cry, so we'd stop fighting—at least at first. And we'd play Old Maid, or ride the horsey, and her little grin was enough to keep us in check.

By the time Amber got to pre-K we had the scheduling down pat. I'd drop her off in the morning. He'd teach his classes, then pick her up and keep her until I got home. Then one day he said he had a fight with the department chairman and quit. You what?! I told him he'd better kiss and make up. But he had a plan. He and one of his students, a talented sax player, were
going to drive to LA in Sunshine. They'd share expenses and make the record company rounds. That was a plan?! Well, I went off—told him to grow up. He said if I didn't believe in him, why were we together? You can feel where this was heading. He went west. Said he would send for us when he got settled. I was through. I had stuck my neck out to be with him and he left us. Period.

My folks said we could always come home, but I knew I'd lock horns with Mom over Amber. Besides, Nineteenth Street was home. Life was simpler without having to worry where we could park the car and not get a ticket, or whether we were disturbing the genius at work. And I was handling my business—working, taking care of my child. I did not need my parents or my ex, and I was way too busy for moping and hoping and sorry songs. Except for those nights I cried until I fell asleep, but that didn't count. Nobody saw it. He kept sending tapes of the stuff he wrote about breaking up and making up. Seems like our marriage was just a source of material, and I was tired of hearing my life in C major. I sold his precious Fender Rhodes. He left that too and it was in my way. That got a rise out of him. I'm still waiting for the song about it.

In the meantime, I had a life to live. Money was tight, but Amber never knew it. I spruced up the apartment, then moved to a bigger place when the man upstairs left. I took computer classes so I could at least pretend I knew what the consultant was talking about when it was time to set up Markson's system. Amber was as smart as they come and I rode her teachers to get her in every enrichment program they had going. We took advantage of all the city had to offer—museums, plays, concerts—you name it, we went. For a while Amber even took riding lessons at the stable near Central Park. Hillary's old boots
and helmet fit her great, but Amber wasn't into horse manure. Neither was I, which is why I went ahead and divorced her father. He wasn't too keen on my vibe when I had him served, acted all surprised. Well, I was surprised when he tossed his duffle bag in the car and took off, so we were even, but I never bad-mouthed him to Amber. Promised Daddy I wouldn't. Besides, she knew who was there for her every day. Truth was, my ex gave me the best gift I ever got—my daughter. She was my rock, my strength, my happiness. Amber kept me focused.

And Olivia had given me a job to grow into. She was growing too, traveling the world—Zambia, Nepal, Ecuador—looking for local suppliers of the natural ingredients she used. She hired a PR firm and spoke out about nurturing the planet. That brought us more attention, and Markson & Daughter products became available in more high-end outlets. She dressed more like a grown-up, got a better haircut. Me too. There was still something special between us, especially when nobody was around and we shared one of those “Can you believe it?” moments, but the days were mostly full, and they were more about business. So I hadn't exactly hit the lottery, but it had become a pretty great gig. On our fifteenth anniversary I had the card I swiped from the placement office framed and gave it to her, which cracked her up. “I still believe it was destiny,” she said.

Finally, we outgrew the loft, but when we'd been looking at new space for a while she shocked me—said the tempo and hustle of the city was wearing her out. After a factory visit she had gone for a drive, stumbled on a farm for sale, fell in love and made an offer. So she was moving our headquarters nearby in central New Jersey. New Jersey?! Was she kidding? All I knew was the stinky part between the Holland Tunnel and the airport. Why would anyone want to live there? But she took
me to the farm, showed me the wooden house plopped in the middle and where the lavender would go. Then we drove to the steel-and-glass office park where she had decided to move Markson & Daughter.

What the hell was I going to do? Commuting was out. There was no train down the block from the office. There were no blocks in Princeton Junction—just big parking lots. Driving from Manhattan was out—the tolls, the traffic, the hide-and-seek parking when I got home—it made no sense. And I wasn't about to look for another job. What could compare to the one I had?

Amber took it better than I did—especially after she saw the place I found—a duplex with a fireplace and patio. The complex had tennis courts, a pool, and the rent was less than what I'd paid on Nineteenth Street. We were both excited when I bought my first car—a used white T-Bird I named Aretha because it was classy and flashy—and it had a backseat. Amber liked her new school, she met a boy named J.J. You know the rest.

And as for Gerald, I met him at a car dealership when I decided to trade up. He leased my starter Lexus. I can't exactly explain what attracted me. First thing I noticed was that he looked so precise—from the crease in his trousers to his shirt sleeves rolled up just so, like they were pressed that way. And his mustache was trimmed an eighth of an inch above his lip—always looked exactly the same, not a hair out of line. Gerald looked sharp, a little like my dad. I was feeling pretty happy with myself that day—living in the suburbs, picking out my first new ride. I don't usually like salespeople following me around, but it felt more like he was keeping me company. It was gorgeous out when we went for a test drive and he directed me down windy little roads I'd never seen before, past houses with
horses grazing and mums in autumn colors lining the walk-ways. I swear, we were gone an hour.

Yes, I kind of knew I was flirting. For years I'd put myself on lockdown, being Amber's mother. I hadn't used that muscle in so long—it felt good. Besides, he wasn't wearing any identifying jewelry. Gerald called all over North America to locate the coupe I wanted—shiny black with black leather interior. And I think he called me at work every day until it arrived. I started looking forward to it. When I picked up the car, he took as much time as I needed explaining all the levers and switches. Then, when he handed me the keys, there was a little silver
T
on the key ring that I know was not standard issue. Oh, and a card with his private cell phone number. Said he'd be happy to show me some more of those back roads and unexpected places. I don't know, Gerald was smooth and steady, not artistic and crazy like my ex. I felt like he could actually
do
stuff, not just write songs about it.

We went out a few times before he told me he was married. I swore I would never talk to him again. Except it's like when you've gone all day without eating and you think you're not hungry until you put a stick of gum in your mouth. Then you could chew the shrubbery. After a while I decided that in a way, his being married was a plus. I could have a snack now and then without turning my life—or Amber's—inside out.

Anyway, the offices of Markson & Daughter still had lots of greenery, but now it was maintained by a plant service. Rapunzel took to her new home—the office next to Olivia's—and over time became a blanket of green on my credenza. Olivia got feelers from companies wanting to buy her out, but she wasn't interested. “It would be like selling my child.” And speaking of children, Hillary never did come home. She married Viscount
Somebody, became Lady Hillary and took up residence in his drafty castle. By the time Amber was in high school I'd bought a place that impressed even my mom, complete with landscaping and a lawn service, since I was living in the Garden State. That's not too shabby. For years everything went great—until the morning Olivia didn't show up.

In all the time I'd known her she'd never been more than a few minutes late for anything, but that day she had a nine-thirty meeting scheduled, and when I hadn't heard from her by ten o'clock I called her home, her cell—nothing. By ten-thirty I was on my way to her house.

From my car I could see Olivia sitting on the porch in her pajamas, head propped against her rocker. The newspaper had slid down her legs. A breeze tinkled the wind chimes and had blown some pages against the railing. I remember thinking,
Wonder if she still snores?
I'd give her grief about that. It all looked so normal, but then I got closer, and I realized she wasn't breathing. That couldn't be. We'd said our good nights the day before. She was excited about going to get her teeth whitened. “So I look young and perky. All right, middle-aged and perky,” she told me. I said I'd be sure to wear my shades. They were on my desk, so I could pop them on when she walked in, but right at that moment I had to grab hold of myself, because I had to do something to make this go away. I was trembling so bad the emergency dispatcher had trouble making out the address. And I've never felt more empty and helpless, waiting to hear the ambulance siren. I had my eyes closed, praying. I couldn't look at her like that.

They called it sudden cardiac death—that about summed it up. Her heart was broken and it stopped. You'd never have known it to look at her, but I knew how sad she was that Hil
lary had become so distant. I'm no doctor, but that's what I think wore her down. Olivia had two grandsons she saw only on state occasions. I watched how she was with Amber, so I know she had mounds of love stored up to give them. But confidences shared with an assistant amount to what? Part of my job description? Certainly not the basis for an official diagnosis. Nobody was interested in my theory anyway, but you'll never convince me otherwise.

I went through the funeral in a hazy limbo. She was still so young, not that much ahead of me, really, although I never thought of her as an age. Olivia was never big on birthdays anyhow. “Why celebrate one day? Rejoice for them all,” she used to say. Hillary acted like she barely knew me, didn't introduce me to her family. So after all the prayers and eulogies, I drove Amber back to her dorm room. She was pretty shook up and she talked nonstop about things I didn't even think she remembered. Then she hugged me, hard, before she left the car, told me she loved me. I hadn't heard that much since she entered her teens, and I sure needed it that day.

After that I went home and lit some ginger-almond candles. The smell reminded me of the loft and the first day we met. I didn't know what to call Olivia. My employer? My friend? A little of both, I guess. I'd probably spent more time with her than with anybody else in my life, and my every days would never be the same.