The Things I Do For You (5 page)

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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Bailey said. “Brad loved you.” She could have said “We loved you,” but if there was an afterlife, Olivia would know she was lying.
“She would have made a fine grandmother,” Bailey said. She absentmindedly rubbed her stomach.
“Are you?” the nurse said.
“Not yet,” Bailey said. “But we’re going to start trying. As soon as he comes out of the coma. Well, not like the minute he comes out. Unless he wants to. And if the doctor says it’s okay. I certainly didn’t mean we’d start trying before he comes out of the coma. Unless the doctor thinks it would help him come around?” Oh God, what was she saying? She was talking a mile a minute, and the nurse looked as if she wanted to join Olivia on the table.
“Good-bye, Olivia,” Bailey said. The nurse gently took Bailey by the arm and guided her out of the room before she could say another word.
Chapter 5
“I
t’s all my fault,” Brad said. Bailey took his hands in hers and gently squeezed. Survivor’s guilt. It was astounding, the grip it had on him. Her husband was a changed man; a tortured one. So, following the silent agreement of every happy marriage, what tormented Brad, tormented Bailey. She thought they’d be over it by now, but no. It wasn’t like Brad to stay stuck. But besides his mother, whom he hadn’t spoken to in five years, Olivia had been his closest living relative.
“It’s not your fault,” Bailey reminded him again. “She wanted to drive.” More like insisted on it, begged Brad to let her cruise around in that Cadillac. Wifely anger surged up in Bailey, but she shoved it down.
“I shouldn’t have let her. You said so yourself, you always said it. She wasn’t fit to drive.”
“Accidents don’t discriminate,” Bailey said. “They happen every day, whether people are fit or not. Baby, please. Look at me. It wasn’t your fault. She would say it herself if she were here. And at least she died doing something she loved—with the person she loved more than anything.”
“She hadn’t taken the car out all year,” Brad said. “She only did it because I was with her.”
It had been a month since the accident. Brad had been in a coma for two weeks, then spent another week in the hospital, and finally, this past week he was back in their two-bedroom condo on the Upper West Side. Secured by a down payment from Bailey’s first and only sale, it was a modest apartment, but it was theirs. It had a nice-sized kitchen and living room, arched entrances, dark wood floors, and crown molding. It was old-school Upper West Side, and Bailey absolutely loved it. So much so that she could ignore the tiny bedrooms.
But Bailey’s favorite thing about the condo was the working fireplace. It brought the feel of a cabin to Manhattan, and she made Brad promise they would use it every year. Nothing spelled home more than the smell and sound and sight of a crackling fire. When she was a kid, some of her fondest memories were building fires with her father. Gathering wood and kindling, bunching up newspapers, helping him light it. Then sitting in front of it for hours, roasting marshmallows or seeing who could sit the closest to it the longest, or simply sitting back and staring into it, mesmerized by its magic. Fire, Bailey told Brad, was as primitive as you could get. Something about a roaring fire made her feel connected to the entire human race.
The mantel was from the fireplace in her childhood home. When her parents moved into a new house a few years ago, her father took the mantel with them and stored it. Then, as a surprise, he and Brad installed it in the condo. It was a beautiful dark oak, with decorative etchings along the side and top. Bailey couldn’t imagine anything more special. And although she didn’t dare say it out loud, it just felt wrong to set Aunt Olivia’s urn on top of it. Brad couldn’t stop staring at it. Bailey was the one who’d made the decision to have Olivia cremated.
A colossal mistake. Brad was beside himself. Supposedly Olivia made him promise once that she would “never be fried.” Bailey didn’t know; how was she to know? Neither did she know how long Brad’s recovery was going to take, so of course she decided cremation was the best option. She and Brad wanted to be cremated, have their ashes spread somewhere beautiful. But Brad was staring at the urn as if Bailey had murdered Olivia in her sleep.
“She had nightmares about that,” Brad said, pointing to the urn. He sounded accusatory, and angry. Would it help if she told him she put a lot of thought into picking out the urn? It was a deep blue cloisonné urn with copper inlay, and six flying doves etched into the highly polished ceramic. It stood on a hand-carved wooden base and it was called “Flying Home.” Looped around the neck of the urn was a gold chain with a metal heart. Olivia’s name and birth and death dates were etched into the heart. Underneath, it read B
ELOVED AUNT
. She really thought Brad would see how much thought she’d put into it.
It hadn’t been cheap either, although Bailey certainly wasn’t tacky enough to mention that. It was probably the most decadent and beautiful thing she had ever associated with Olivia. She was secretly proud of herself for finding exactly the right thing. But Brad didn’t seem to notice or appreciate its exquisite beauty.
Patience, Bailey reminded herself. The doctor warned Bailey that Brad might be on edge. Brain injuries were mysterious things. He told Bailey that her husband might not ever be exactly the same man he was before the accident. Luckily, the only changes Bailey noticed, besides his survivor’s guilt, was that he was a little quicker to say hurtful things—as if he no longer had a filter between his thoughts and his mouth. Childlike at times. She wasn’t going to take it personally.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Bailey said. She slid down to the floor and put her head in Brad’s lap. After a few seconds, he began to stroke her hair. “Olivia’s executor called again this morning,” Bailey said. “He wants to meet with you for a reading of the will.”
“I know,” Brad said. That was hours ago. Brad hadn’t gone near his phone.
“Do you want me to call him back?”
“No,” Brad said.
“Is there any reason you don’t want to call him back?”
Brad sighed. “The Cadillac is totaled, and her apartment was a rental,” he said. “Besides her furniture, what’s there to discuss?”
“Social Security? Teacher’s pension?” Bailey guessed.
“God. It’s so, so sad.”
“I know.” Bailey squeezed Brad’s hands again and tried not to take it personally when he pulled them away. She got up from the floor and looked around for something to tidy. Everything was neat and clean, so she headed for the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. Personally she loved the fact that their place was so small that she could talk to him from any room. If they had a bigger place, she would just be some crazy lady shouting down a hallway. “She loved you, Brad. You were her only family.”
“I wouldn’t have been if my mother hadn’t flipped out on us.”
“I know.”
“I tried to call her, you know. She hasn’t even bothered to call back.”
Ah, that’s why he was mad at the phone. “I know.”
“Her only sister is dead and she doesn’t call.”
Not to mention her only son had been thrown from the car, died, come back to life, and had been in a coma. But even now, it wasn’t himself Brad was feeling sorry for. “I know,” Bailey said. “I’m sorry.”
“I should leave her another message. Hint that Olivia left her millions. See how fast the phone rings then.”
Bailey wanted to tell Brad to calm down, but that would just upset him even more. As much as Olivia Jordan’s life had saddened Bailey, Elizabeth Jordan’s infuriated her. How could such an amazing man come from such an awful mother? Beautiful, and selfish, a drug addict, alcoholic, and magnet for abusive men, including Brad’s father—
that
was Brad’s mother. Brad’s entire childhood revolved around trying to keep his mother safe, and Bailey hated the woman for it. Bailey hated to admit it, but she saw some of the same impulsiveness and selfishness in Brad. Had he not spent his entire childhood taking care of her, maybe he wouldn’t be so afraid to settle down and have a family. Instead, they were always on the move, always scouting out the next “adventure.” At least now they were finally in a stable home.
“Speaking of Olivia,” Bailey said, “the landlord also called. He wants to know if we’ll be clearing her stuff out or paying for another month.”
Brad threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t want any of her stuff,” he said. “And I know you don’t.”
I want the calendar,
Bailey thought.
I’m going to write all over it.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll donate it. I can contact Goodwill and go over and pack her things. She might have some pictures or something you might want to keep.”
“I hate lying around,” Brad said. “I want to help.” And that was another reason Brad was so irritable. He was a man on the move. Whereas Bailey would have convalesced with a jar of peanut butter, chocolate, paperback thrillers, and a constant stream of shows off Netflix, Brad hated lounging around.
“You need rest. Doctor’s orders. Jesse said she’d help me.” Jesse was Bailey’s closest New York friend. They met in a book club. It still thrilled Bailey that she actually had been in a place long enough to make a friend. Before that they’d always been on the move as Brad tried one start-up business after another.
Surfs Up in Santa Monica, Sweaters in Seattle, and the Coffee Clutch in Colorado, where Brad spent their entire three-month stint whistling “Rocky Mountain High.” All of his business ventures failed. It didn’t stop until Bailey put her foot down, said that’s it—they both had aunts in New York City, and Faye had offered to train her in real estate. Bailey said they were moving to Manhattan, and she didn’t know about Brad, but Bailey for one wasn’t moving again for at least a decade. To her enormous relief, Brad agreed. He still hadn’t found a job, but Bailey was making enough to support them both. They were settled. They were happy. At least, they were before the accident. Weren’t they?
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Brad said. “About the day I died.” Bailey took a seat across from Brad so that he would know he had her full attention.
“Tell me,” she said.
“I had this experience. I was floating above my body. I didn’t even realize it was me! I thought—who is this dead guy lying on the sidewalk and why am I floating over him? Then I saw this light, Bails. I know—it’s so clichéd—but it happened—I can’t even describe it to you—only that I wanted to stay in it so bad.”
“Oh, honey,” Bailey said. She left her chair and settled on the floor next to Brad once again. “I’m so glad you didn’t,” she said. She hadn’t brought up having a baby yet, she’d been waiting for the right time. Maybe it was now.
“You believe me, then?”
“Of course I believe you.” Well. She believed that he believed it. And who was she to say what the mind experienced when you went through that kind of trauma? She certainly wasn’t going to cast any doubt on it, not in his condition.
“I’m so relieved,” Brad said. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“Then what happened?”
“I remembered you,” Brad said.
“Me?” Bailey said. “You remembered me?”
“I was just about to go into the light, and I felt like I was forgetting something—like you with your straightening iron—that’s when it hit me—I had a wife—I was that dead guy on the sidewalk!”
“Oh my God.”
“And the next thing I knew I woke up in the hospital.” Bailey clutched onto Brad’s hand, then leaned up and kissed him.
“I’m so happy you came back,” Bailey said. She ran her hands up and down Brad’s arm. “I love this body. I never want to lose it.” Brad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, babe?” Bailey said softly.
“I didn’t see Olivia in the light,” Brad said. “I don’t think she made it to the light.”
“Oh, babe.” She could tell, by the way he turned from her, that she’d said the wrong thing. She hated seeing him like this. Her vibrant husband, broken. A lost child. She wanted Brad back even if it meant he wanted to uproot them and start a dude ranch in Utah. Bailey tried again. “Maybe—it was just too bright to see her.”
“It wasn’t a blinding light, Bails. I could still see. It was . . . bright. And so warm.” He wrapped his arms around himself. For a brief second his face shone. He looked like a man who had just fallen in love.
“Maybe every individual goes into the light alone,” Bailey said.
“Maybe,” Brad said. He didn’t sound convinced. She still felt as if he wanted her to say something, but she didn’t know what it was. It was as if her reaction had disappointed him somehow. Whatever he experienced was a result of trauma. Clinically dead, her ass. He’d been alive, and the experience he’d just described had been a dream. All of it was one horrible dream. But it was over now. They had been given a second chance. A miracle.
Let’s make a little miracle of our own,
she wanted to say. But there was no use bringing up babies now, not when he was so out of it.
“You should lie down and take a nap,” Bailey said. “The doctor said you need a lot of rest.” Brad nodded, and this time, he didn’t argue. He simply followed her to the bedroom, and by the time she had finished tucking him in, he was fast asleep and gently snoring.
 
Three months passed before they knew it. Brad’s recovery forced them into a quiet summer. Bailey gave up all the secret plans she had for them—getaways to the Hamptons, free concerts in Central Park, movies in Bryant Park. Instead, she allowed Brad time to heal. Which really just meant he sat and stared at things a lot. But fall was here, a time of changing leaves, tangerine skies, sweaters, and back to school. And Bailey was more than ready for a new start. She hoped Brad was too; he needed to embrace life. Hopefully, this would do for a start, Bailey thought, taking in the martini bar from their perches at the head of the bar. It was crowded, and dark, and noisy. In other words, it was hip. Brad rested his hand on his heart and for a moment, Bailey felt hers tighten up in sympathy. Was he having an attack? He leaned forward.

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