The Life You've Imagined (11 page)

I
wake up with the sunshine pouring through my bedroom window. I look up at the glass and I have to smile because the pane is still wet and the sun shooting through the drops makes my window look spangled.

I sit up in bed and take a deep breath from my abdomen, in, out, and whew! Just like that I expel yesterday, expel the whole rotten week, including my hangover and last night’s awkwardness, when it took until nearly ten o’clock for me to get a laugh out of Paul and at least a kiss or two before he went home. Early meeting, he said.

But wait, I just expelled all that.

I take my temperature and record it, though it’s just a formality because I already ovulated this month. I’m just staying consistent. Though I miss snuggling with Paul in the mornings when he’s not here, it’s so much easier to take my temperature without having to be all sneaky and hide under the covers and try to muffle the thermometer’s beeping.

He’d never understand and probably get all freaked out, which is why I haven’t shared my plan with him. See, I figure since we’re getting married in August, that would make for a May baby, which is perfect, because with that jogging stroller I’ve been eyeing at Babies “R” Us, I’d be able to get my figure back in no time.

By charting my temperature for a few months, I’m figuring out my most fertile time, so as soon as we’re married I can throw away my Today sponges and we can get down to business.

See, I’m already thirty-five. They call that advanced maternal age and I haven’t even conceived.

I let Frodo out of his crate and pull my hair into a ponytail. E
very thin day is a good day,
the sign on my mirror says, and yes, by God, it is. I throw on my jogging shorts and running shoes, and we’re off.

Everything sparkles this morning. The leaves are still beaded with the storm rain and it’s like the sun is trying extra hard to shine, making up for its absence yesterday. I might run a little longer this morning, speaking of making up for lost ground. It wasn’t my best week last week.

But I’m not thinking of that anymore.

Frodo starts hauling me off stride and suddenly it all comes back to me, though, my hangover on Sunday when I almost lost my dog and that guy, what was his name? And that little scruffy dog. Because there they are.

We’re going to meet where two sidewalks join together into a single path, and if he hadn’t already seen me, I’d turn around to avoid it. He’ll want to chat and I can’t slow down, and he for sure can’t keep up. He’s not even wearing jogging shoes, but floppy man-sandals. He obviously doesn’t have a girl in his life because she’d never let him out looking like that.

“Hi,” I say breathlessly as we meet up, preparing to trot on by. Frodo has other ideas, though, and pulls me back to the scruffy dog. “Dammit, Frodo, come on!”

If this guy had any manners, he’d get his dog out of here and let me run. I mean, at least he can pick up his dog if he has to. The thing is no bigger than a medium-sized cat.

“Feeling better?” he says.

“I’ve really gotta go,” I tell him, pulling on Frodo.

“Oh,” says the guy. Ed! That’s it. Ed looks down and then he does scoop up his dog. “Sure. I don’t want to slow you down. That’s enough, Lucky.”

Lucky whines and Frodo goes into his “play with me” crouch, and darned if Ed doesn’t look a little crushed.

I remember when I first started jogging and all I ever saw was the backs of fit people zooming by.

“Oh, I suppose I can walk for a bit,” I tell him. “Give our dogs a chance to be friendly.”

“Yep, we’ve got to socialize them, don’t we?” Ed says, squinting into the sun as we move on down the sidewalk. The dogs fall into step, Lucky’s legs going about twice as fast as Frodo’s.

For a few moments we just listen to the dogs pant, and then Ed says, “I really admire you.”

“Huh?”

He glances briefly at my body—not leering at all, just a look—before he looks back at his dog. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“Oh, geez, it wasn’t anything special—”

“The hell it wasn’t. Believe me, I know.”

“Well, I just . . . I always get embarrassed when people talk about it.”

“What’s to be embarrassed about? You could just say thank you.”

“Okay, then. Thank you.”

“But I guess you probably are sick of hearing about it, too.”

At this I shrug, and look down as if I have to concentrate on my footing, like I’m climbing a mountain and not strolling along a level sidewalk. I find myself noting with surprise that Ed is actually keeping up a pretty good pace. It’s walking, but his stride is long and we’re really moving.

“Well, how about this,” Ed says again. “I’ll never mention it again. You can just remember that I believe it.”

“Oh! What time is it?”

Ed tells me it’s 8:45.

“Shit, I’ve gotta go; I’m late for work.” The dogs entangle each other for a while until Ed picks up Lucky and Frodo finally relents, and I run off back to the apartment complex. Ed calls out, “See you tomorrow maybe?” and I say, “Sure!” and I actually mean that.

Chapter 16

Anna

M
y mom’s face is so white it seems to glow against her coppery hair.

“I’m so sorry, this is all a lot of fuss for nothing.” She kneads the edge of her hospital sheet in her hands. I put my hand on top of hers to still them.

“I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

I’m startled by how much our hands look alike. Our veins and tendons stand out so clearly. My nail polish is chipped completely off, and one nail tore down to the quick the other day when I was trying to scrape some gum off the Nee Nance floor.

“I called the office,” I tell her. “I’m not going back on Monday.”

She gasps and sits up. “No! Anna, you can’t do that. I won’t have you put your career in jeopardy over me. You’ve worked so hard . . .”

I try to ease her back down to the pillow, but she resists me. “It’s fine; they understand about family crisis. Things on hold will hold a little longer. I’m not trying to get anyone off death row or anything. Dorian can fill in on things that can’t wait.”

“That can’t be good for you. You’re always going on about how competitive it is. The doctor says I’ll be fine—”

“So far it seems that way, but we still have to get your pressure down with pills, not the IV meds, before they’ll let you out of here.” The doctors had performed all kinds of tests—blood tests, chest films, even an MRI—to make sure she hadn’t had a stroke or suffered organ damage. “Your pressure was 200 over 110, for God’s sake. I picked up three months of your prescription. I can’t believe you weren’t taking it.”

She looks down and away from me, and I’m chewing the inside of my cheek to stop myself from continuing the scold.

“You’re a good daughter,” she tells me. “I wish they’d get me out of this stupid bed.”

“Cami will be fine at the store until we get back, and by the way, you’re not working at all this week, and I don’t want to hear any argument.”

My phone trills.

“I’ll be right back, Mom.” I hand her the television remote and take the phone out of the room.

I walk down the hall to a distant corner. “Hi, Beck,” I say when I answer.

“What’s wrong? You sounded awful in your message.”

“It’s my mom. She fainted at the store. Her blood pressure was through the roof.”

“Is she okay?”

“For now, yes. But I’m worried. My father’s writing her and now I find out she’s being evicted. And frankly I’m surprised you didn’t give me a heads-up.”

“Why would . . . How would I do that?”

“It’s your company doing it. Paul is doing it.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit, Beck, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I’m serious. Paul never tells me anything. He thinks my job is to sink every project he wants to do. He’s still pissed off about Golden Valley. He won’t believe me that the project would have failed anyway, the way he drew it up, without any runoff or drainage and—”

“I don’t want to talk about drainage.”

“Sorry.”

“You really didn’t know?”

“I swear, Annie. On my daughter, I swear.”

I exhale and I feel my strength slicking off like melting springtime ice. “Beck, she collapsed right in front of me. I thought I was orphaned.”

“Where are you?”

“The hospital.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t . . .” I picture his wife’s stony face.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming.”

“Okay,” I whisper into the phone. “I won’t.”

W
hen I see Beck trotting down the hall toward me, he opens his arms and I let him fold me in, pressing my face against his shirt. He puts one hand on the back of my head. I pull away and he puts one arm around my shoulder, and together we walk into my mother’s room.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Geneva?” he asks, and if my mother is surprised to see him here she doesn’t show it.

“Oh, Will, I’m going to be fine. Nice of you to come.”

He asks if we need anything, and I realize just then I’m ravenous. So he goes off to find me a sandwich.

“He was always such a nice kid,” my mom says, settling back on the pillow and flipping the television to mute. “It’s too bad he couldn’t have gone to Michigan, too.”

I settle into the chair next to the bed and try to roll some knots out of my neck. “Going to the same school wouldn’t have guaranteed anything, Mom. We were just kids. Who marries the man they date in high school?”

My mother smirks and says, “I did.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Will is nothing like your father.”

“That’s true.”

It’s the first time my dad has come up since I found the letter. I sneak a look at my mom and find she’s staring directly at me. “What?” I say.

“Nothing. Can’t I just look at you?”

“Mom, I need to ask you something.” She nods and I think back to seeing her fall to the floor, that moment when my first feeling was nothing more than a panicked scream in my head followed by a storm of possible actions to take, anything to keep her safe. In the midst of that I noticed something that swims back to the forefront of my mind only now that my mother is physically stable.

“Mom, why do you still wear your wedding ring?”

Her hand goes to her chest, then her eyes widen as she pats the space under her gown where the ring was hanging from a chain. “I have it,” I tell her. “The nurses gave it to me. It was getting in the way.”

She relaxes, then seems to shrink on the pillow. “If you’re just going to scold me for it, save your breath.”

“I was just asking.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Try me!
is the retort that comes to mind, but I bite my lip. She’s so vulnerable in that flimsy cotton gown speckled with polka dots and her hair a tangled mass. “Why don’t you think I’d understand?”

She looks at me a long moment before answering, her eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to see something clearly. “You’ve never loved like I loved your father.”

“You think I’m so cold-hearted?”

“I don’t want to fight.”

I reach out for her hand, but she pulls it away, slowly, as if trying to sneak it out of my reach. I put my hands back in my lap. “I don’t want to fight, either; I just don’t understand what you can still feel for him. What he did was unforgivable.”

“It’s a memory,” she says, her voice raspy now. “Just a memento. Of better times.”

“So you’re not writing him anymore, then?”

She turns fully to face me and her cheeks are bright pink. “I knew this would get around to that. Do you have to cross-examine me?”

I flinch.

Mom is breathing hard and I shake my head, wishing I could roll back time, because she doesn’t need this now. There’s more I want to say, more I want to ask, but I can’t. Not now.

“I’m sorry—” I begin, but Beck comes through the door.

“Okay, I’ve got a tuna salad on rye and coffee, which I know you take black, but I grabbed creamer . . .”

He prattles on, organizing my lunch on the bedside table. I’m trying to catch my mother’s eye, but she’s turned away from me, toying with her hospital gown where her ring had been hanging.

“Maeve Geneva! What the hell is wrong with you!”

We look toward the door as Aunt Sally comes in, wearing her black Cher wig again. “Wasn’t anyone going to call me? Mailman Al drove all the way out to my trailer to tell me. He heard from Doreen, who . . .”

My mother waves her hand at Sally and shifts on the bed. “Yes, yes, I get it.”

I tell her, “We tried to call you but couldn’t get through. It just kept ringing.”

“Oh, right. I got a prank call and unplugged it from the wall so they wouldn’t call back. Guess I should fix that.” Sally stared into space for a moment. “Come to think of it, that call was a week ago. Anyway, sister dear, haven’t I told you that rock ’n’ roll lifestyle of yours would catch up with you?”