The Charm Bracelet (25 page)

The doors of Cristina’s closet loomed in front of Jeff, and it was with a tentative hand that he reached out and opened the French doors protecting his wife’s worldly possessions.

He swallowed hard, hearing a small squeak as he pulled the doors towards him.

‘Going to have to get some WD-40 for that,’ he muttered under his breath. Cristina always complained about that squeaky door but he had never done anything about it. He felt bad about that now.

Jeff slowly walked into the closet that served both as a dressing room and a home to all her clothes, jewellery, handbags and other treasures. As beautiful as Cristina’s things were, nothing compared to the luminescence that she gave off when she walked into a room.

Feeling weak, Jeff sat down on a velvet-covered stool where his wife used to put on her jewellery while taking in her reflection in mirror atop the small vanity. Jeff turned around and opened a bottle of her perfume, still where it was since she’d last touched it, and breathed in its scent. A small, almost invisible breeze ruffled the silk robe near to where he sat and he closed his eyes.

He felt a tear leak from his right eye.

He turned his back to the vanity. ‘It’s hard you know, sweetheart, so hard. Especially now. With the holidays, with Greg … It’s just not fair, and I know, I know you would say: “Life’s not always fair.” But it can be so hard sometimes … ’

Jeff withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

‘You know, I had a dream last night about that Christmas we spent in Paris. Do you remember?’ Jeff smiled to himself through watery eyes. ‘That was the Christmas that you gave me the best gift ever. You told me at the Eiffel Tower on Christmas Eve that you were pregnant, that we were going to have Greg. Oh, we were so lucky. Our whole lives in front of us.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m pretty sure you would tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself now.’ He looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

‘Greg asked for your mother’s ring, but I suppose you know that already. I’m so proud of him, so nervous for him, but I think that he and Karen will do well by each other. He’s going to propose soon, some grand gesture in the
New York Times
of all places.’ Jeff paused, as if waiting for a response, and then he shook his head. ‘I know that wouldn’t be your style, but I bet Karen will like it.’ There was another silence before Jeff continued. ‘Now, I also know that you’ve always had your concerns about Karen, but I hope that you will wish him well. Every marriage needs good wishes, after all.’

Jeff reached out a hand and touched the silk of the robe. ‘Help your son out, OK? Sprinkle a little bit of fairy dust on him. I think he’s been having a rough go of it lately.’

Jeff paused again and considered his next words. ‘I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried for him. I know you were always a bit more protective of him than I was, but there is something, oh, I don’t … off … about what is happening, I guess. I give him my blessing of course. I only ever want him to have what you and I did.’

Jeff looked around the space once more before
blowing his nose again and standing up. He turned around to where his wife’s jewellery box sat on her vanity and gently opened the lid of the wood box. She had had quite an array of jewellery and, as their income had grown, some of the pieces had become more ornate and elaborate. Nevertheless, and no matter what type of wealth they might have acquired, Cristina had always stayed true to her roots. She might have associated with society types in her life, but never once had she asked for an upgrade on her engagement ring, and she had loyally worn her heart, so to speak, around her wrist for as long she could.

Jeff easily found her the ring and picked it up, along with a velvet box to give it to his son in. Then, something about the appearance of the jewellery box struck him as funny, and he began to paw through the rest of the items.

He found the diamond necklace he gave her three Christmases ago, as well as the sapphire pendant that she had loved to wear on their annual outing on New Year’s Eve, but something was missing.

‘Now where did you put it?’ he said in frustration, wishing she would answer.

Jeff thought back quickly, when did he last see her wear it?

Getting to his feet, Jeff frowned, perplexed. ‘Sweetheart, where on earth is your charm bracelet?’

I could barely handle how excited I was. I just hoped that the sheer pride that I felt was written all over my face. I couldn’t believe it; my son had sold one of his photographs. To an art collector!

I didn’t care that it was only one picture, I felt as if I had been responsible for raising an artist of the likes of Steve McCurry. I also knew that this would be the first of many. As his mother, of course, I felt as if he had talent. Real talent. In fact, I
knew
he had talent, but I felt buoyant that others had recognised this spark in him too.

It made me hopeful for his future. He was too good, too imaginative and full of wonder to be stuck in some cramped office. He was of a different breed, not some stiff corporate type, and this was simply another recognition of this fact.

‘Darling, ask the driver to stop here. I want to walk the rest of the way. I like to look in all the windows on Gallery Row,’ I said, tapping my husband on the shoulder.

He turned to me with a concerned expression. ‘Are you sure you are up to it? You feel OK?’

I waved a hand at him. ‘Oh, I’m fine, some walking will do me good.’

Understandably, I knew why he was concerned about me; after all, I had started chemo just recently, and admittedly, it was wearing on me just a bit.

But I knew that it was nothing that I couldn’t get through. After all, I still held to the belief that I had a lot of living to do. A lot of dreams that I still had to accomplish and things I wanted to experience.

‘OK, if you insist.’ He turned to the cab driver. ‘Excuse me, could you pull over here? You don’t have to pull down Twenty-Fifth
; we will walk the rest of the way.’

The cab slowed and then stopped. We handed the driver a twenty, and told him to keep the change. It was a warm summer night, and you could tell that
Manhattan was just turning its attention to summer. There seemed to be an influx of tourists and the locals hadn’t yet abandoned the city for the sea breeze and cooler air of the Hamptons. Right now the bars and the restaurants lining the streets had thrown open their doors and opened the windows, as happy diners and drinkers pulled out their summer wear and indulged in the warm nights and the joviality that went with it.

I was happy to feel among them. Recent months had been stressful and I was in dire need of a night out. And the mere fact that our son’s work was being exhibited at a gallery was exciting enough in itself.

We walked slowly, hand in hand down Twenty-Fifth Street, and I was content taking in the sights and the smells. Smells of garlic and pizza and other things cooking at the host of restaurants around me drifted through the air and I took a deep breath. I knew, though, that my husband was keeping a careful and watchful eye on me.

‘You OK sweetheart?’

I smiled and playfully rolled my eyes. ‘Yes, doctor, I’m fine.’

‘Hey, don’t fault me for worrying about you. I happen to love you and all that jazz.’

He pulled me close and placed a kiss on my lips. As he pulled away I put a finger to the side of his mouth and wiped away the lipstick.

‘That colour looks good on you … ’

He laughed and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘You know, I was thinking … you and I, we could take a trip to the Mayo Clinic. And get another opinion on what we should do.’

I stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face him. ‘Sweetheart, we have already gotten three opinions, here in the city, by some of the top oncologists on the planet. I trust what they are telling me.’

‘I just don’t want to do anything too hasty, or flippant … ’

I shook my head. ‘I would do neither, with my life, yours or any other. I promise. But I think that right now we should be taking heed of what my doctors are saying. And if they think that chemo is the right course of action, then I will do that.’

‘But it’s making you so tired, and sick. I’ll never understand a form of medicine that doubles as poison. Future generations are sure to think we were insane.’

I shrugged, agreeing. After all, people of our age look back two hundred years and think that the idea of bloodletting is absolutely barbaric. ‘Well, with each generation comes new development, and we can only trust in what we have right now.’ I put a hand to his face. ‘I’m not so vain that I am worried about losing my hair, and I have faith in the idea that the doctors know what they are doing. So let’s just try to let this work, all right?’

We started walking again in silence, but his grip tightened, as if he was afraid that I might disappear in front of him.

I knew that all of this had been tough on him. It had been tough on both of us. After all, no one ever liked the idea of being faced with their own mortality. Each of us walk around with the understanding that we were not permanent fixtures on this earth, but at the same time, being stared in the face by possible doom
isn’t an easy thing to handle.

However, I had to stay strong. It would do no good to anyone if I fell to pieces. Even in my most private moments, when I did have to admit that I was scared, frightened even, of the future, I tried to focus on the good as well. In many ways, we were so fortunate, more fortunate that many people who faced this. I had access to great doctors and some of the most skilled surgeons in all of
New York. And we had the funds to pay for what was very expensive treatment. Many times, I thought that this disease was also a blessing, as it had opened my eyes and made me realise that my own experience could assist in increasing awareness about the condition and its challenges. I was happy to get involved in many different charities around the city, and taking part in these events allowed me to hear the stories of others – the success, sometimes the heartbreak. It helped me keep a healthy perspective that I was not, nor would I ever be, alone in my battle. I glanced down at my bracelet, and instinctively picked up the pink ribbon.

But for tonight at least, I wanted to put some of those things out of my mind, and enjoy my son’s success.

‘I think this is it.’ He stopped as he looked at the gallery’s address.

‘Fantastic.’

‘I wonder if they’re here yet?’

I sighed a little. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if it was just us tonight – just our family, I mean.’

He looked sideways at me. ‘Now, now, behave.’

‘Oh, you know me.’

He followed me inside. ‘Yes, I do. That’s what I’m worried about.’

Moments later, we entered the gallery. It was a beautiful space, all rich, dark wood and vivid red walls. The high ceilings exposed the original brick of the building and, even though there wasn’t an Italian
corno
in sight, there was something about this place that sent me back almost forty years to a memory I had held fondly in my heart all throughout the course of my marriage.

‘Doesn’t this space remind you of that store in
Florence where we got my
corno
? What was that man’s name?’ I searched my memory banks looking for the answer, but Jeff spoke first.

‘Giovanni.’

‘And his little boy.’ I smiled, remembering the young child. ‘Wow, he must be in his forties now. At least.’

‘Probably closer to fifty actually.’ He put his hand around my waist and ushered me farther into the gallery. ‘Time flies.’

‘It sure does,’ I said wistfully.

Suddenly we spotted the rest of our party. ‘Look, there they are.’

Making our way through the considerable crowd that was forming in the gallery, I realised that my handsome son was camped out in front of the photograph that the gallery’s owner had bought from him. It was a beautiful shot of the Flatiron.

I greeted my son and pulled him close for a hug. ‘Hey darling. Congratulations, it looks amazing. All this is amazing! I am just so proud of you.’

He kissed my cheek and returned my embrace. ‘Thanks, Mom. Dad. Thanks for coming. I’m just so incredibly excited.’

‘As you should be. It’s quite an accomplishment for an amateur.’

His girlfriend, who had stayed silent up until this point, finally said hello. ‘Jeff, Cristina … how are you?’

I greeted her with a small hug and a kiss to the cheek, but if I was being honest, I had to admit that Karen and I weren’t terribly close. As much as I wished the opposite were the case, we had never truly warmed to each other.

In the beginning, much effort had been made, at least on my part, but privately (and only to Jeff), I had taken to calling her ‘the ice queen’.

She seemed to make Greg happy, but there
’s  something about her cool, calm and calculated exterior that I can’t get around. It not that she is emotionless, but something in the way she always seems to be thinking of her next move, or sizing a situation up and trying to determine how it could be used to her advantage.