Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas

  She stayed at the Brown house through Saturday afternoon. She finally took the six o’clock train back to New York. Before she left, she told Lynn that she was pregnant. She was exhausted, but she also felt alive again, rejuvenated—better, anyway. She believed in small miracles. She had hope. She knew there were some happy endings in life. She believed in families.

  About halfway into the trip, Katie reached down into her bag and pulled out the diary.

  Five

  SHE GOT off the train from Westport at the gorgeously renovated and restored Grand Central Station, and she needed to walk some. It was a little past seven-thirty and Manhattan was filled with traffic, most of it honking taxis or cars returning from weekend and vacation homes, the drivers already on edge.

  She was on edge, too. The diary was doing that to her more and more.

  She still didn’t have the answer she needed to move on with her life. She wasn’t over Matt—and she wasn’t over Suzanne and Nicholas.

  She was thinking about something she’d read earlier in the diary, the lesson of the five balls: work, family, health, friends, and integrity.

  Work was a rubber ball, right?

  Suzanne had figured that out, and her life had suddenly become peaceful and manageable. She had gotten away from all of this: work, stress, pressure, deadlines, crowds pushing and shoving, road rage, life rage.

  Immersing herself in someone else’s reality had made Katie reexamine things that she had been doing on autopilot for the past nine years. She’d gotten her job at twenty-two, fresh out of the honor program at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She had been lucky enough to intern for two summers at Algonquin Press in Chapel Hill, which had opened important doors for her in Manhattan. So she had settled into New York City with the best of intentions, and loved so many things about it; yet she never felt that she truly fit, that New York City was where she was meant to be.

  She still felt like a visitor here at times—a tall, gawky tourist.

  Now she thought that maybe she knew why. Her life had been out of balance for such a long time. She had spent so many late nights at work or at home, reading and editing manuscripts, trying to make them as good as they could be. Rewarding work, but work was a rubber ball, right?

  Family, health, friends, and integrity were the precious glass ones.

  The baby she was carrying was a glass ball for sure.

  Six

  THE FOLLOWING morning at about eleven, she was in a yellow cab with two of her best friends, Susan Kingsolver and Laurie Raleigh. She was going to see her gynecologist, Dr. Albert K. Sassoon, in the East Seventies.

  Susan and Laurie were there for moral support. They knew about the pregnancy and had insisted on coming along. Each of them held one of Katie’s hands.

  “You feel okay, sweetie?” Susan asked. She was a grade-school teacher on the Lower East Side. They had met the one summer Katie had gone in on a summer house in the Hamptons, and had been best buddies ever since. Katie had been maid of honor at Susan’s wedding, then a bridesmaid at Laurie’s.

  “I’m okay. Sure. I just can’t make myself believe what’s happened in the past few days. I can’t believe I’m going to see Sassoon right now.” Oh, God, please help me. Please give me strength.

  As she got out of the taxi, Katie found that she was blankly staring at pedestrians and familiar storefronts on East Seventy-eight Street. What was she going to say to Dr. Sassoon? When Katie had been there for her yearly checkup, Albert was so incredibly excited to hear that she’d found someone—and now this.

  Everything was a blur, even though Susan and Laurie were chatting amiably, keeping her up, doing a great job, really.

  “Whatever you decide,” Laurie whispered as Katie was called into Dr. Sassoon’s examination room, “it will work out great. You’re great.”

  What she decided.

  God, she just couldn’t believe this was happening.

  Albert Sassoon was smiling, and that made Katie think of Suzanne and her kindly way with patients.

  “So,” Dr. Sassoon said as Katie lay down and fitted her feet into the stirrups. Usually, Albert asked Katie not to hit him in the head with her knees. A little joke to lighten the moment. Not today, though.

  “So. I was so much in love I stopped using my birth control. I guess I got knocked up,” Katie said, and laughed. Then she was crying, and Albert came to her and tenderly held her head against his chest. “It’s all right, Katie. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

  “I think I know what I’m going to do,” Katie finally managed to say between sobs. “I think . . . I’m going . . . to keep . . . my baby.”

  “That’s great, Katie,” Dr. Sassoon said, and patted her back gently. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. You’ll have a beautiful child.”

  THE DIARY

  Nicholas,

  Today I came home from the hospital, and it’s so unbelievably good to be here. Oh, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

  The familiarity of the rooms, your perfect nursery, the way the morning light comes spilling over the windowsills and lights all the things in its path. What a thrill to be here again. To be anywhere, actually.

  Life is such a miracle, a series of small miracles. It really is, if you learn how to look at it with the right perspective.

  I love our little cottage on Beach Road. More than ever, Nicky. I appreciate it more, every little crevice and crease.

  Matt made a beautiful lunch for us. He’s a pretty good cook—as handy with a spatula and skillet as he is with a hammer and nail. He laid out a picnic in the sunroom on a red-and-white-checkered blanket. A salad niçoise, fresh, twelve-grain bread, sun tea. Fabulous. After lunch the three of us sat there, and he held my hand and I held yours.

  Nicholas, Suzanne, and Matt.

  Happiness is this simple.

  Nick, you little scamp,

  Every moment with you fills me with such incredible wonder and happiness.

  I took you into the Atlantic Ocean for the first time yesterday. It was the first day of July. You absolutely loved it.

  The water was beautiful, with very small waves. Just your size. Even better was all the sand, your own private sandbox.

  Big smiles from you.

  And from me, of course.

  Mommy see, Mommy do!

  When we got home, I happened to show you a picture of two-year-old Bailey Mae Bone, our neighbor just down Beach Road. You started to smile, and then you puckered your lips. You’re going to be a killer with the ladies. Be gentle, though, like your daddy.

  You have good taste—for a guy. You love to look at pretty things—trees, the ocean, light sources, of course.

  You also like to tickle the ivories on our piano, which is so cute.

  And you love to clean. You push around a toy vacuum cleaner and wipe up messes with paper towels. Maybe I can take advantage of that when you’re a little older.

  Anyway, you are such a joy.

  I treasure and hold close to my heart every giggle, every laugh, every needy cry.

  “Wake up, beautiful. I love you even more today than I did yesterday.”

  Matt wakes me this same way every morning since I got home from the hospital. Even if I’m still half asleep, I don’t mind being awakened by his soothing voice and those words.

  The weeks passed, and I was getting my strength back. I began taking long walks on the beach in front of the cottage. I even saw a few patients. I exercised more than I ever had in my whole life.

  A few more weeks passed, and I was even stronger. I was proud of myself, actually.

  Matt was hovering over my bed again one morning. He was holding you, and smiling down on me. You both were grinning. I smelled a conspiracy.

  “It’s official! The three-day-long Harrison family weekend has begun. Wake up, beautiful. I love you! We’re already late for today, though!”

  “What?” I said, looking out the bedroom window. It was still dark outside.

  You finally looked
at your father as if he had gone completely bonkers.

  “Down, pup,” Matt said, putting you on my bed, beside me.

  “Pack your bags. We’re going away. Take whatever you need for three glorious days, Suzanne.”

  I was leaning on one elbow, staring curiously at Matt. “Three glorious days where?”

  “I booked us into the Hob Knob Inn in Edgar-town. King-size beds; full country breakfast, and afternoon tea. You won’t have to lift a finger, wash a dish, or answer a telephone, Suzanne. Sound good?”

  It sounded wonderful, exactly what I needed.

  This is a love story, Nicholas. Mine, yours, Daddy’s! It’s about how good it can be if you find the right person. It’s about treasuring every moment with that special one. Every single millisecond.

  Our three-day adventure began at the Flying Horses Carousel, where we mounted the enchanted horses and circled the high hills of Oak Bluffs. There we were, riding the painted ponies under the bright umbrella, just like old times. What a rush!

  We visited the beaches that we had been away from for as long. Lucy Vincent Beach off South Road, Quansoo and Hancock Beaches . . . private beaches that Matt, somehow, was able to get a key to gain entry.

  We walked hand in hand in hand along Lighthouse Beach and Lobsterville Beach—and my very favorite, Bend in the Road Beach.

  How invigorating it was to see those beaches again with Daddy and you. I can still see them now, and I can even see the three of us.

  We took a carriage ride at Scrubby Neck Farm, and you couldn’t stop laughing. You fed carrots to the horses, and you laughed so hard that I was afraid you might get sick. You glowed under the manes of the magnificent Belgian giants.

  We ate at all the nicest restaurants, too. The Red Cat, the Sweet Life Café, L’Etoile.

  You looked like such a big boy in your high chair, sitting with us, so grown up, smiling in the candlelight.

  We saw Rumpelstiltskin at the Tisbury Amphitheater and went to storytelling night at the Vineyard Playhouse. You were such a good boy at the theater.

  Not far from where we were staying, there was a craft store called Splatter. We made our own cups and saucers.

  You painted your plate, Nickels, drawing little splotches we took to be me and Daddy, and yourself, in bright blues and soft yellows.

  And then it was time to go home.

  Nicky,

  Do you remember any of this?

  I noticed cars parked helter-skelter all along the side of Beach Road as we turned the last curve to our house. Several more cars, SUVs, and trucks were leading up to the driveway, but the strange thing was that the driveway was no longer there.

  Instead, a new addition covered its place, and a new driveway lay on the far side of the addition, just as your daddy had promised.

  “What,” I asked Matt, shocked, “is all this?”

  “A little extension, Suzanne. At least the humble beginnings of one. It’s your new home office, and it has everything your old office didn’t have. Now you can make less house calls, or no house calls. It’s all right here in our backyard. Your office even has an ocean view.”

  Dozens of our friends and Matt’s worker pals were on the lawn, applauding as we climbed out of the car. You started to clap your hands, too, Nicky. I think you were clapping for yourself, though.

  “Suzanne! Matt!” our friends were chanting in sync with the clapping. I was in awe, speechless, struck dumb. For three days Matt’s coworkers and friends must have hammered day and night to create this unbelievable space.

  “I still have to do the electrical work and plumbing,” Matt said in an apologetic tone.

  “This is too much,” I said as I hugged him tight.

  “No,” he whispered back, “it isn’t nearly enough, Suzanne. I’m just so happy to have you home.”

  Nicholas, sweet Nicholas,

  Everything seems to be moving in the right direction again. The time is really flying. Tomorrow, you will be one! Isn’t that something? Dang!

  What can I say, except that it is a godsend to watch you grow up, to see your first tooth, watch you take your first step, say your first word, make a half sentence, develop your little personality day by day.

  This morning you were playing with Daddy’s big, bad work boots that he keeps at the bottom of the closet; when you came out, you were standing in them. You started to laugh; you must have thought this was the funniest joke anyone has ever played. Then I was laughing, and Daddy came in, and he started laughing, too.

  Nicholas, Suzanne, and Matt! What a trio.

  We’re going to celebrate your first twelve months tomorrow. I have your gifts all picked out. One of them is the pictures from our vacation. I selected the best couple of shots, and I’m having them framed. I won’t tell you which picture I like best; that’ll be a surprise.

  But I will tell you that it will be in a silver frame with carved moons and stars and angels all around it. Just your style.

  It’s almost time to sing “Happy Birthday!”

  Nicholas,

  It’s late, and Daddy and I are being silly geese. It’s a little past midnight, so it’s officially your birthday. Hooray! Congratulations, you!

  We couldn’t resist, so we sneaked into your room and watched over you for several moments. We held hands and blew you kisses. You know how to blow kisses, too. You’re so smart.

  Daddy brought along one of your birthday presents, a bright red Corvette convertible. He placed it carefully at the foot of your crib. You and your dad are both caraholics: you boys live for cars; you feel the need for speed.

  Matthew and I hugged each other as we watched you sleep—which is one of the greatest pleasures in the world—don’t miss watching your child sleep.

  Then I got a little playful, and I pulled the cord on your music box. It played that simple, beautiful song “Whistle a Happy Tune,” which I know I will always associate with you sleeping in your crib.

  Matt and I held each other and swayed to the music. I think we could have stayed there all night. Holding each other, watching you sleep, dancing to your music-box tune.

  You didn’t wake up, but a little smile crossed your face.

  “Isn’t it lucky?” I whispered to Matt. “Isn’t this the best thing that could ever happen to anyone?”

  “It is, Suzanne. It’s so simple, but it’s so right.”

  Finally, Daddy and I went to bed, and experienced the second best thing. Matt eventually fell asleep in my arms—guys do that if they really like you; and I got up to write this little note to you.

  Love you, sweetie. See you in the morning. I can’t wait.

  MATTHEW

  Hello, my sweet Nicholas, it’s Dada.

  Have I told you how much I love you? Have I told you how precious you are to me? There—now I have. You are the best little boy, the best anyone could ever hope for. I love you so much.

  Yesterday morning something happened. And that’s why I’m writing to you today instead of Mommy.

  I am compelled to write this. I don’t know anything for sure right now, except that I have to get this out. I have to talk to you.

  Fathers and sons need to talk more than they do. A lot of us are so afraid to show our emotions, but I never want us to be like that. I always want to be able to tell you what I’m feeling.

  Like right now.

  But this is so hard, Nicky.

  It’s the hardest thing I have ever had to say to anybody.

  Mommy was gong to the store to pick up your birthday present, your beautiful framed pictures. She was incredibly happy. She looked so pretty, deeply tanned and toned from all her walks on the beach. I remember seeing her leave, and I can’t get that image out of my mind.

  Suzanne had such a beautiful smile on her face. She was dressed in a yellow jumper and gauzy white blouse. Her blond hair was full of curls and swung with her body as she walked. She was humming your song, “Whistle a Happy Tune.”

  I should have gone to her, should have kissed Suzann
e good-bye, should have hugged her in my arms. But I just called, “Love you,” and since her hands were full, she blew me a kiss.

  I keep seeing Suzanne blowing me that kiss. I see her walking away, looking back, giving me her famous wink. Imagining that playful wink of hers makes me tear up as I try to write this.

  Oh, Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. How can I say this? How can I write these words?

  Mommy had a heart attack on the way into town, sweet baby. Her heart, which was so big, so special in so many ways, could no longer hold out.

  I can’t imagine that it really happened; I can’t get it into my head. I was told that Suzanne was unconscious before she crashed into the guardrail on Old Pond Bridge Road. Her Jeep dropped into the water, landing on its side. I haven’t gone to look at the actual scene of the accident. That is an image I don’t need inside my head. What I can see already is too much.

  Dr. Cotter says that Suzanne died instantly after the massive coronary, but who really knows about those final seconds? I hope she didn’t feel any pain. I hate to think that she did. It would be too cruel.

  She was unimaginably happy the last time I saw her. She looked so pretty, Nick. Oh God, I just want to see Suzanne one more time. Is that too much to ask? Is it unreasonable? It doesn’t seem so to me.

  It’s important to me that you know it wasn’t Mommy’s fault. She was such a safe driver; she would never have taken any chances. I always teased her about her driving.

  I loved Suzanne so much, and I can’t begin to explain how lucky it is to find someone you can love that much and who, miracle of miracles, loves you that much back.

  She was the most generous-hearted person I have ever known, the most caring and compassionate. Maybe what I loved best about her was that she was a great, great listener. And she was funny. She would make a joke, right now. I know she would. And maybe she is. Are you smiling now, Suzanne? I’d like to think that you are. I believe you must be.