Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (5 page)

“Oh, great! Macaroni and cheese!” eight-year-old Aaron exclaimed. His six-year-old brother Brian just dug right in. Lauren, at four, took her cue from her older brothers.

Relieved, Nancy announced, “Okay, kids, I'm running in to take a shower.”

They looked up at her, their expressions puzzled.

“Aren't you eating with us?”

“No. Remember? I'm working tonight. Julie D'Amico is coming over to babysit until Daddy gets home.”

“Good,” said Aaron as he turned his attention back to the orange food on his plate. “Julie always has gum.”

Nancy sighed, not having the energy tonight to attempt the requisite lecture on gum not being good for your teeth.

As she stepped gratefully into the steaming shower, Nancy wished she could stand there forever. She did not look forward to four hours on her feet tonight at Macy's, running the register in the ladies' lingerie department and straightening up the stock. But they needed the extra money, and not just for the holidays. They were trying desperately to get out of debt and eventually put back the money they'd taken from the kids' college fund.

It was amazing what a year out of work for the main bread-winner did to a family's financial position. Sometimes it seemed to Nancy that they'd never get ahead again.

And wait until she told Mike that an invitation to Gwyneth's famous New Year's Eve party had arrived in the mail today.

10

Thursday, December 23

L
AURA HUNG HER
double-breasted navy wool coat and striped chenille scarf in the crowded Bulletin Center's double closet and went straight to her desk. Booting up her computer, she first checked her e-mail.

Three new messages since she left last night: the
DAILY PLANNER
, listing the stories that
KEY News
was planning to cover for the day; yesterday's
OPPOSITION LOG
, listing the stories that ABC, CBS and NBC had aired on their evening news broadcasts last night; and a
JOBS AVAILABLE
posting.

At this point, Laura was most interested in the jobs bulletin. She wanted to move on from the Bulletin Center and she knew where she wanted to go. She clicked open the e-mail.

There was a job as a producer in the London bureau. Tempting, but she really did not want to leave New York, or Pop, right now. There was also a producer spot unfilled in Washington. That did not appeal to Laura, either.

Both jobs would be a definite promotion for her. She'd be working on “breaking news,” working out in the field and doing original reporting. But Laura had her heart set on
Hourglass,
even though there was no posted opening there. She knew full well that the job postings were often mere formalities. Executive producers usually decided who would staff their broadcasts before the mandatory job lists were posted.

By pitching the Palisades Park story to Joel Malcolm, she hoped she'd have won him over to considering her for the next
Hourglass
producer spot. It helped to have Gwyneth on her side, but, as Laura thought about it, Gwyneth had not pursued the idea of Laura joining the
Hourglass
staff as they exchanged Christmas gifts the night before.

11

T
HINKING ABOUT
L
AURA'S
visit after a fitful night's sleep, Gwyneth took a seat at her desk. Clad in an ice-blue silk dressing robe, she checked her e-mail from her apartment laptop computer. With two days until Christmas and much to do, she wanted to avoid going into the Broadcast Center if she could.

As she read the electronic message from Laura, Gwyneth felt the warmth of blood rising to her cheeks.

TO
: [email protected]

FROM
: [email protected]

RE
: Research

I am working on a piece about the old Palisades Amusement Park. It's been said that Palisades Park, which operated for nearly 75, years, reflected the popular culture of a changing nation.

If you know anyone with a good Palisades Park story to tell, please contact me.

How dare Joel give Laura the go-ahead to do the story! He'd promised the decision would wait until the new year.

Gwyneth logged off the computer and poured herself another cup of herbal tea from the silver pot that Delia had left on the library's refectory table. As she sipped, she tried to organize the thoughts running through her head. Her rage at Joel only grew as she pondered his betrayal—although she knew, when confronted, Joel would deny that he'd broken his word to her. From Joel's point of view, giving Laura the okay to work on the story was in the best interests of
Hourglass
and therefore in the best interests of Gwyneth. That was always the rationalization he used with her as he maneuvered to inevitably get his own way.

But no more, Joel,
Gwyneth thought, a triumphant look in her blue eyes as she stared out at snow-covered Central Park.
You won't be getting your way with me anymore.

She'd been feeling guilty and full of trepidation, not wanting to tell Joel her news. However, in the face of Joel's latest outrage, Gwyneth now thought she'd take some real satisfaction in seeing the look on his handsome face when she told him she was leaving.

Leaving
KEY News,
leaving
Hourglass,
leaving him.

She felt momentarily satisfied. Joel had hurt her, and soon she would hurt him. But her satisfaction quickly gave way to dread. As she remembered that
KEY News
would soon be putting its considerable resources into an investigation of the final days of Palisades Amusement Park, beneath her silk robe Gwyneth felt a bead of cold perspiration trickle down her side.

Decisively, she reached for the telephone and dialed Joel's direct line.

“Just a few days before Christmas, and this is the gift you give me, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Joel winced at the venom in Gwyneth's hiss as he clutched the telephone receiver. “Gwyneth, sweetheart, I can explain.”

“Don't ‘sweetheart' me, you pathetic liar. You promised that we'd decide together,
after
the holidays, about that Palisades Park story, and you just went ahead and did what you pleased. That's the story of your life, doing what Joel wants. The big executive producer always gets his way.”

“That
is
how the system works, baby.”

“Well, I'm sick of it. What about keeping the talent happy? Now,
there's
a concept you haven't thought about lately.”

Joel paused for an instant, considering which tack to take. Should he show her who the boss was, or should he try to appease her?

“Come on, Gwyneth. What's the big deal?” he implored, choosing appeasement over confrontation. “I just told Laura to continue her research.”

“With you so high on the story, that's tantamount to giving her a green light, and we both know it,” Gwyneth answered angrily.

“Does this mean that Kitzi and I are off the guest list for your New Year's Eve party?”

“Do whatever you damn well please,” Gwyneth answered curtly. She slammed down the phone, knowing very well that Joel would show up for the party. He'd probably come bearing some sort of peace offering, confident that he could make things right.

But not this time. In fact, she had a little surprise ready for him, too. After this, she would take satisfaction in telling him her news. His beloved
Hourglass,
his creation and life's work, would soon be without its star.

12

R
ETIRED SCHOOLTEACHER
M
AXINE
Dzieskanowski Bronner looked forward to Laura's Christmas Eve visit tomorrow as she had each year for the last twenty. She remembered the first time the little eight-year-old Laura had come to the Bronner house on Lafayette Avenue. It had been just a month after her mother had died.

Laura's father was not taking the death of his wife well. He was drinking heavily, not going to work and crying all the time. Maxine knew all this because Laura had told her. Not verbally, but in her journal.

The third graders that Maxine taught at Epiphany School came to class each day, unpacked their book bags and wrote in their journals the first thing every morning. Mrs. Bronner would give a prompt each day. What will you be when you grow up? What is your favorite spot in the house? Describe your family. What are your plans for the summer? Or the young students had free choice: they could write anything they chose, anything that was on their minds.

It was through the journal that Maxine had witnessed a little girl's loss of her mother.

In September, Laura wrote that her mommy had been sick all summer and had to go to the doctor all the time. In October, her mommy was going to the hospital for treatments, treatments that made her throw up and lose her yellow hair. Mommy said the treatments would make her better. By November, Mommy told Laura that the medicine wasn't working after all.

Maxine's students were aware of what was going on. Part of the journal experience was reading to the class what they had written. No one was forced to, but when the teacher asked the class, “Who would like to share?” Laura's hand would spring up.

The other kids tried to console her.

“Your mother will get better.”

“Don't worry, Laura.”

“My uncle was sick, too, but he got well.”

But as Thanksgiving grew close and the class was learning about the
Mayflower
and Plymouth Rock and the Pilgrims and the Indians, Laura wrote in her journal that she was sleeping with her mommy each night so she could be close to her. After her father fell asleep beside his wife, Laura would sneak into their double bed to snuggle next to her mother, to feel the warmth of her thin body, to listen to the sound of her breathing.

Mommy didn't sleep that well, but she never minded that Laura wasn't acting like a big girl and sleeping in her own bed. She would gather her daughter in her arms and stroke her golden hair and whisper that everything was going to be all right. And in those moments in the dark, safe and warm next to her mother, Laura felt that everything would.

But the last night, Laura wrote, Mommy didn't wake up when Laura came in to curl beside her. Mommy's breathing sounded funny as her chest moved up and down. She tried to wake Daddy, but he didn't budge. She knew that he had been drinking a lot of beer after dinner, and when he did that, it was useless to try to wake him.

So she had lain there, her arms wrapped around her mother, clinging to the person who made her feel safe, the person she loved most in all the world. And Laura prayed that God would make her mother well.

She heard the cuckoo clock chirp in the downstairs hallway and she lay there in the dark, praying. And then she heard the bird sing again. Right after that, Mommy's chest rose one last time.

Maxine's heart had ached as she followed Laura's story and she had tried to do what she could to help the little girl. She had put her arm around the child and told her, “We're always here.” Laura had cried in her teacher's arms.

In that first Christmas season after Mrs. Walsh's death, with all the hurt so fresh, it had taken all Maxine had not to cry herself in front of the child. The school Christmas concert went on, the kids sang Christmas carols, Santa Claus came to the classroom and gave out candy canes to each child and Laura had participated as best she could. A brave little soldier in front of the other children.

When the school bell rang out signaling the end of another day, Laura would linger in the classroom. She did not want to go home to the house she had lived in all her life, the house on Grant Avenue, the house without Mommy. Daddy was home, but that was little comfort. She was afraid of how she would find him.

So she stayed after school, and Maxine would find jobs for Laura to do. Erase the blackboard, help decorate the bulletin board, tack class projects on the wall. As the last days before the holiday vacation approached, Maxine got up the courage to ask Laura what she and her dad were doing for Christmas.

Laura hung her head. “Daddy says we aren't having Christmas this year.”

“Because of Mommy?”

Laura nodded.

“Do you think Mommy would want you to have Christmas, even though she isn't with you?” asked Maxine gently.

Laura thought about it for a minute. “I don't know,” she answered uncertainly.

“Well, Laura, this is a very difficult time for your father. I can understand that he doesn't want to celebrate now. But how would you like it if I asked him if you and he could come over to my house on Christmas Eve? We have a special celebration and we do many things that my family have done for years and years. It would be a different kind of Christmas for you.”

The little girl brightened.

That night, Maxine called Emmett Walsh. She could tell by his slurred speech that he had been drinking, but when she extended the Christmas Eve invitation, she was encouraged, in a way, by his response.

“I know Laura should have a Christmas, but I just can't make one for her. I don't deserve one. But she does.”

“Of course you deserve one. You aren't responsible for your wife's death.”

“She didn't die peacefully. That was because of me.” Over the phone line, Maxine could hear him slurp another swig of beer.

She did not know what he meant, but she did not feel it was her place to ask more.

“Mr. Walsh, perhaps you should talk to Father Ryan. Maybe he could help you come to terms with everything that has happened.”

“I'm not too big on religion right now, Mrs. Bronner. In fact, I'm quite pissed off at God.”

“Well, that, of course, is up to you, Mr. Walsh. But Laura is an innocent child and I know you want what is best for her. Won't you please come for Christmas Eve?”