by Joan Cohen
“Your self-pity made you look for a way to help others. Mine made me look for chocolate.” She smiled and wiped her tears with a napkin.
“I think you’re giving me too much credit there, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want our friendship to be based on owing a debt to each other. Let’s put that behind us.” Jeanne raised her water glass. “To a fresh start in the New Year.”
Maggie raised her wine glass. “To a sensible diet, but not until we finish the moo shu pork.”
On Saturday, they visited Magic Beans to look at furniture. Armed with measurements of Jeanne’s guest bedroom, they scouted out infant seats, cribs, changing tables, car seats, and strollers. Jeanne was shocked at the equipment requirements for a person who would enter the world weighing half a dozen pounds. When Maggie pointed out they hadn’t even ventured into the part of the store displaying bottles, diapers, pacifiers, and the rest of the paraphernalia needed, Jeanne begged for a break.
“I guess that’s enough for now. They’ll probably throw you a baby shower at work. But if you think you’re tired now, wait till the night feedings start.”
“Those are the ones you’re coming over for, right?”
Maggie pointed at Jeanne’s chest. “What do you think those things are for? You’re on your own. I’m the come-over-and-play type of godmother.”
The following morning, Jeanne pulled on her fleece-lined boots and winter coat and crossed Route 30 to the Loker Conservation Area. Without a leash in her hand or Bricklin at her side, she felt incomplete. The biting wind that made her pull her chin farther into her coat would have invigorated him, providing scuttling leaves to chase.
Her obliging muscle memory led her along the trail, leaving her mind free to wander. Where Bricklin had eaten clods of moss, the spring would bring ground cover spreading unimpeded under the shade of the tree. Other dogs would race down the hill that Bricklin, even on three legs, loved to run. Puppies would trot, tired and contented, beside their owners after tearing through the woods, just as he had.
Near the frozen pond, covered with lily pads in summer, she reached the spot she’d been seeking. He had run happy circles in this clearing, played with other dogs, and chased his tennis ball. If no dogs appeared or Jeanne failed to bring a ball, Bricklin would find a stick, sometimes tossing it in the air, sometimes bringing it to her to throw.
Even on a frigid day, the spot was lovely. A mellow wistfulness settled over Jeanne. Her time with Bricklin was over, and much as she wished he weren’t gone, she had rich memories. She gained satisfaction from knowing she’d done right by him, saving him when he’d needed saving and letting him go when his pain so obviously exceeded his pleasure in living.
As accustomed as she was to making decisions about other people’s careers, she’d had no experience being responsible for their personal lives. God knows her mother had guarded her own independence to the end, giving Jeanne no say in matters of health, lifestyle, or finance. To Fay Bridgeton, this was privacy; to Jeanne, secrecy.
Ironic, she thought, that it was her dog who’d taught her how to love a living creature enough to make its life-and-death decisions. In a way, he’d helped ready her for motherhood. He seemed present at that moment, and Jeanne offered him silent thanks, wiping her moist eyes with her mittens.
CHAPTER 14
The atmosphere around the table was more amicable than it had been for many weeks. Although the sales conference was only days away, Mariana had done a great job of chasing down every detail, which had eased Bart’s concerns; Bart had done a great job of bringing in revenue by year end, which had eased Jake’s concerns; and Lou was on top of Version Two testing, which had eased everyone’s concerns, except perhaps for Parker’s, since Jeanne guessed he still sought reasons to complain to the board about Jake.
At the end of the meeting, Jake asked Jeanne to stop by his office. When she arrived, he closed the door behind her. “I wanted to thank you,” he said, as he settled into his desk chair, and she sank into the one opposite. “Taking a week off gave me a chance to catch up on my rest. Didn’t realize how badly I needed that.”
“Were you able to get some help from the VA?”
“Nah.” He swiveled his chair back and forth. “Been there, done that. Just needed a break.” He smiled broadly and nodded in her direction. “That must be some big baby. You should get plenty of sleep while you still can.”
Jake’s humor seemed forced. She felt her earlier equanimity evaporating and decided to press him on counseling. If he lashed out, she’d deal with it, but she was unwilling to let him off the hook completely. Though his improved mood was heartening, without help it would be temporary. “I’m glad to hear you feel rested, but don’t you still need help with those painful memories? I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I thought there was a lot the VA could do. What do you have to lose?”
Jake’s smile faded into a pinched line. “What you don’t understand, Jeanne, is that experience and memory aren’t the same. Even if some shrink was able to hit the delete key on my wartime memories, I’d still be me. I’d still be the person shaped by those experiences.”
His point was valid, and she didn’t have the training to respond. Though Jake had turned his eyes to the windows, Jeanne could see they were damp. He was not better. He had merely come back from his vacation determined to soldier on.
Walking back to her office, head lowered, she considered his words. Jake saw his brain as an operating system, irrevocably corrupted. People were as much a product of their choices and experiences as of the programming they arrived with at birth. Those choices and experiences shaped them. For Jake, the past—his past—could never be absent from the present.
What of her own memories? Was the source of Jake’s despair a source of hope for her? If Alzheimer’s erased her memories, she’d still be the person her choices and life experiences had shaped. The disease could cause behavioral change, but surely she’d hang on to her essence, at least till the late stages. The past would always be with her, for better or worse. She had been ready to urge Jake to live for the present, but that was an oversimplification, another self-help cliché.
Lou grabbed her arm. She hadn’t even seen him approaching. “Look where you’re going, Mom. You and that baby are going to mow someone down.”
As deflated as Jeanne felt, she willed herself to put on a pleasant face. Teasing was inevitable at this point, though Lou took up more room in the hallway than she did. “Sorry, we were lost in thought.”
“Since a certain someone is back to his old self, I thought I’d see you with a big smile.” Jeanne was still processing Jake’s words and wasn’t ready to share her renewed concerns, so she forced a smile and asked about Lou’s holidays. “Too good, I’m afraid,” he said, rubbing his belly. “My wife says she’s putting me on the grapefruit diet for a month. Hey, I’m actually glad I bumped into you. Was going to stop at your office later to give you a heads-up.”
Something in Lou’s tone made Jeanne’s stomach flip. “Headed there now. Walk with me.”
When they reached her office, Lou pulled a chair up close to hers and lowered his voice. “Parker’s going back to the board.”
“But Jake is better.”
“Precisely. He’ll claim Jake needed to be packed off for a vacation at a critical time—end of the fiscal year—because he was teetering on the edge. Too much is at stake for Salientific to have an unstable CEO running the show.” He took in Jeanne’s narrowed eyes and tightened mouth. “Stop and think, Jeanne. He has a point. Loyalty has its limits.”
Jeanne was already on her feet. “Thanks for the heads-up, Lou—really—but I have to have it out with Parker. He’s wasting senior management’s time with these endless mutinous episodes.” She left Lou in her office and strode quickly to Parker’s.
He was jotting numbers on his whiteboard when Jeanne’s knuckles hit his door with a peremptory knock. He looked over his left shoulder at her. “I figured you’d be showing up soon.”
“I understand from Lisa Sculley that you know Milton Cox.”
He put down his marker and turned to face her. “Knew. He was my gymnastics coach.” Jeanne noted he puffed out his chest. Probably wants to remind me how buff he is, she thought. “Haven’t seen him in years. Not sure he’s still alive.”
“Alive enough to crash into Salientific’s front window. You must have known that. You were in the reception area right after it happened.”
“I didn’t recognize him. The guy who drove through the window was an old geezer.” Parker looked at his watch. “I have a couple of meetings to prepare for this afternoon, and you interrupted me. Is there a point to these questions?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Just wondering about the accident. That crash made Jake flip out. His PTSD came back. Kind of a coincidence it happened just as you started lobbying to replace him.”
“What are you, a conspiracy theorist? Lisa Sculley knows Cox too. Maybe she recruited him. Maybe she wants to be queen of documentation. Makes about as much sense as what you’re suggesting. Maybe you’re the one with the problem, Jeanne. You really haven’t been yourself lately.” His face wore an insufferable smirk.
Jeanne stiffened. Parker couldn’t know about her Alzheimer’s fears. Had her behavior changed enough to make him suspect? “Lisa had no motive. You, on the other hand, want Jake out.”
Parker’s anger was obvious from his rigid mouth and the rapid tapping of his fingers on the side of his leg. A minute went by before he regained his composure. “Accusing me of excessive ambition? Everyone knows you’re the heir apparent in Jake’s eyes.” His smug look returned. “You should really see someone about this paranoia. That’s not a symptom of pregnancy. Maybe you’ve got something else going on.” He paused for effect. “Perhaps I need to expand the subject of my conversation with the board. What I’m seeing is not good for this company, not good at all.”
He must be talking about what Maggie calls my “pregnancy brain.” He can’t mean Alzheimer’s. She felt her confidence slipping away. Hadn’t the test of her mental acuity and memory been normal—so far? She couldn’t let him psych her out.
Jeanne stood and edged toward the door. “You’re the one tearing apart the management team, not me or Jake, and you’re connected to that crash somehow.”
Her declaration and move to the door were intended to prevent Parker’s getting in the last word, but he wasted no time in delivering a parting shot. “Why don’t you take all your evidence to one of your boyfriends? Is it Vince now, or are you back with Jake?” He laughed and turned his back on her.
Fuck. Jeanne stomped into the hall, then caught herself and looked around warily. He was right. She couldn’t prove anything she had said, and, yes, Jake needed to step down. Her hand rested on her belly where a kick-boxing baby seemed as angry as she was.
By the time Jeanne returned to her darkened condo, she was tired, hungry, and in a lousy mood. A glass of wine and a meal of comfort food were what she needed, but the contents of her refrigerator were meager. She and Maggie had polished off all the Chinese takeout except some fried rice and a lonely dumpling. Wine, at least more than a couple of sips, was not allowed on her pregnancy regimen, and no loving dog greeted her at the door.
After entering the kitchen from the garage and flipping on the lights, she continued to her front door, where she peeked through the side glass to check for packages. With so little time to shop, Jeanne used the Internet for her routine purchases. The box she saw had no official-looking FedEx, UPS, or USPS label. She opened the door and picked up the carton. Its top flaps were interleaved, and a handwritten “this side up” appeared on each side.
She set the box on the kitchen table and opened it with trepidation. Since the Unabomber attacks and the anthrax scare, it was hard not to feel more anxiety than anticipation when anonymous packages appeared on one’s doorstep.
“What the . . . ?” She lifted the still warm casserole out of the box and tilted the lid. “Ummm.” She didn’t need to look at the note to know it was from Vince. He was the only one she had told she considered simple mac ’n cheese the ultimate comfort food. Her mother had made the rich pasta whenever anything went wrong in Jeanne’s life—it was comfort by proxy.
There had been mac ’n cheese for lunch the day after Jeanne lost the sixth-grade spelling bee and when she lost out on the role of Clara in the dance academy’s performance of The Nutcracker. The last time her mother made mac ’n cheese, Jeanne’s high school varsity softball team had lost the county championship.
In college, the cheesy dish wasn’t hard to find, given the average student diet, but the cheese was pasty and the macaroni eons beyond al dente. Jeanne didn’t seek it out. As her career progressed, she became accustomed to more sophisticated fare. Why Vince would leave this was beyond her, especially with their last exchange so bitter.
A warm folded sheet lay beneath the casserole. The eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch lined page had a few grease spots, but she could see the note was carefully written. Vince must have wanted her to open the dish before she read the note:
Jeanne, I know we’ve had some major differences of opinion, but I don’t want us to leave things as they were at the end of our last meeting. I wish I had heard about Jake’s problems from you rather than Parker, but, knowing you, I’m sure loyalty to your CEO and a desire to keep Salientific and our relationship separate were two of the reasons you were silent.
You’ve continued your pregnancy in spite of your Alzheimer’s risk, and I believe that was the wrong decision. I can’t help how I feel, but I don’t want us to be at war either. We have a business relationship that needs to be professional and cordial at a minimum. I’d like to remain friends. Please accept this peace offering.
Vince
Jeanne sank into a kitchen chair and reread the note. It was an apology of sorts from a distance, delivered not in person but by letter. He hoped for “professional and cordial” relations, yet he wanted friendship. He mentioned her pregnancy but never made reference to the baby that was coming. As a peace offering, it was as distancing as it was personal.
Jeanne had no idea how to respond, but that didn’t stop her from turning on her oven to reheat the casserole. She especially needed the comfort food after reading Vince’s note. He was a puzzle—always had been—coldly analytical about the businesses he deemed worthy of investment, but warm and charming outside work.
When Vince cooked for her, he was more than skillful, joyfully singing to himself as he measured, poured, and stirred. Although he needed no one to endorse his decisions at work to feel confident, when he cooked, he waited breathlessly for her to signal her approval with a thumbs-up. He’d be waiting the same way for her response to his note.
After such a satisfying meal, Jeanne felt mellow and kindly disposed toward Vince. She missed him. When she thought about their last meeting, though, the feeling evaporated. There was no way she was ready to talk to him. Calling was out. She opened her laptop and composed a short note of thanks. She was impressed and pleased that he remembered her favorite comfort food, and while she’d seen him tackle dishes far more challenging than mac ’n cheese, she couldn’t remember enjoying anything more.
Thanking Vince was the easy part. What could she say about how they would deal with each other when he himself was ambivalent? “I look forward to putting our relationship on a normal footing.” She clicked “send,” not allowing herself time to rethink the message. “Normal” was such a weasel word, but she didn’t know her own mind well enough to be more precise. It would have to do.
She moved to her living room couch and lay down. With a throw pillow stuffed behind her head and the remote in hand, she turned the TV on to a light classical music cable station. Chopin filled the room with familiar piano chords while Jeanne stared at the ceiling wondering what to do about Parker.
If she and Vince were still together, she could tell him her suspicions, but she no longer had his full loyalty or confidence, mac ’n cheese notwithstandi
ng. Believing Parker was involved in some way with Milton Cox was one thing, but saying it out loud might convince Vince and the rest of the board she was losing it. Parker would be happy to capitalize on their doubts.
Stepping into the presidency of Salientific or whatever company came next had long been a goal, but with the baby coming, that goal had receded into a future she couldn’t visualize. Becoming a mother was an event of such magnitude that she couldn’t see around the bend.
If she’d had a child when she was younger, she would have expected it to adjust to her life, and daycare would have been a financial necessity. Her hands massaged her belly. I want my life to revolve around yours, little one, but I don’t want to become the opposite of my own mother and smother you with my constant presence.
The box from her mother’s attic was still in the corner of the living room, a reminder of how much more complex the relationship between her mother and her had been than she had ever imagined. If only raising a child were as simple as the story of The Runaway Bunny. Love was a necessary but insufficient condition for successful childrearing.
Jeanne had disposed of her mother’s entire household, yet this one carton had been here for months, its contents revelatory. Would she be even as good a mother as Fay Bridgeton had been? Perhaps it was time to cut her mother some slack.
Boxes and bags filled the marketing conference room. Mariana had made the room sales conference central, and everything would be transferred to the Marriott in the afternoon. There were khaki backpacks for all the reps, and each held a pad, pen, camouflage vest, and flat-topped patrol hat, all with the Salientific logo and QRF for Quick Response Force.
Jeanne and Mariana had collaborated on her costume. Although Jeanne had joked about wearing a tent, she’d settled on a rain poncho, which made ample allowance for her growing silhouette. She’d also chosen a helmet with leaves and twigs affixed to the top, a tongue-in-cheek acknowledgment of her occasional need to hide from Bart. Sales reps had a way of blaming marketing when their pipelines weren’t full of leads.