A Little Help from Above

by Saralee Rosenberg

  For a brief moment on her return flight to New York, Shelby wondered if she’d left Chicago too hastily. In her younger days she would have marched back into the Trib’s executive offices and demanded to be reinstated. Afterward, she would have driven over to David’s place, made love to him, and convinced him he was better off with her than his fickle, headachy wife.

  Unfortunately, both scenarios made Shelby want to search the seat pocket for the airsick bag. She would rather open the emergency exit door at thirty thousand feet than have to grovel at work. As for David, who was she kidding? Sooner or later she would have broken up with him for health reasons…she was sick of him.

  So here she was, back in Manhasset, just a tad shaky on why. Having spoken to Scott Rosenthal by phone every night, she knew her father had survived the operation to remove the blood clot in his brain, but remained in a coma. Aunt Roz was in great pain, but showed real staying power. Amazing that both had been at death’s door and somehow managed not to answer.

  Still, Scott was not one to sugarcoat their odds. “Each day is going to be just another crapshoot,” he warned. “Another day of weighing possibilities versus risks.” It would be weeks, possibly months, before either was well enough to be released. Not that Shelby envisioned herself playing Nurse Nancy while they convalesced from reconstructive surgery.

  Maybe she’d look for a new job, not for the money, but to have a ready excuse in case Lauren felt she couldn’t handle the burden of caring for Daddy and Aunt Roz alone. Besides, it would be foolish for Shelby to waste her first-class credentials when she was in the media capital of the world. And hadn’t Ian McNierney been positively ecstatic when she called? He’d begged to meet for drinks so they could discuss exciting opportunities at the Informer. But was that what she really wanted? To be subjected, again, to the infantile whims of a crazy, maniacal editor?

  One day at a time, she thought as she logged on to her father’s computer, feeling a little like a Pavlovian cyberdog, salivating at the prospect of hearing the voice announcing she had e-mail. But alas she hit a snag. No password? No signing on. Good thing her father wasn’t the creative type. He’d likely chosen something as obvious as his birthday or the name of his business. But when those failed to unlock the computer vault, Shelby grew anxious that he might be hiding something clandestine. Why else did one need a top secret password?

  After trying dozens of combinations, Shelby had one last idea. He used to use her mother’s birthday whenever he needed to create a code. “I need all the reminders I can get,” he’d laugh. But it was such a long shot, she was completely thrown when she suddenly found herself logged on. Not that her breaking and entering effort had been worth the aggravation. She had only two e-mails, both from Walter, both a continuation of his ranting.

  So much for getting him as a reference, she thought. Or any of her other former colleagues, either. Upon finding a number of her Trib buddies on-line, she sent them instant messages and didn’t receive a single reply. Which meant they’d already removed her screen name from their buddy lists or just didn’t care to reply. The digital version of the proverbial slap in the face.

  “The hell with them if they want to think I knew about this,” she cried out. “I did not betray anyone.” Still she was smarting. Not from the rejection, which was old news, but from the realization that computers could no longer be viewed as harmless hardware. At the touch of a button, they were more masochist than machine, able to inflict pain on relationships sans the guilt.

  On the other hand, her father and Aunt Roz hadn’t needed technology’s help to destroy their relationship with her. They’d done permanent damage the old-fashioned way. By being thoughtless and selfish. But wait. Perhaps the computer could help patch things up. If she explored her father’s files, discovered his memoirs with a special section on the worst decisions of his life, she might find it in her heart to forgive him. Wishful thinking? Perhaps. Violating his privacy? Definitely!

  But what the hell? It would be fun. So fun in fact, one might not hear a car door slam.

  “Shelby?” Lauren called from downstairs. “Is that you?”

  Shelby froze. Did she have enough time to cover her tracks before Lauren found her? “No, it’s the pope,” she yelled back. “I’ll be down in a sec.”

  But before Shelby could sign off, Lauren bounded into the room and hugged her. “I saw your suitcase in the kitchen. I can’t believe you came back!”

  “I said I would, and I did.” She made the mouse dance as fast as it could.

  “Oh God,” Lauren studied her face. “You look awful. Have you slept?’

  She shook her head. “I had to get a skycap for the bags under my eyes.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I would have had Avi pick you up at the airport.”

  “No thanks.” Shelby was almost signed off. “He drove me to La Guardia, remember? And one trip with him was plenty. Apparently in Israel a red light is only a suggestion. Besides, didn’t you tell me if I left, we’d never speak again?” Phew. Done.

  “Oh. Right. Look, I’m sorry about all that. You have your own life. What did I think? That you’d just drop everything and move back here?”

  Shelby flinched. The only time Lauren was this understanding was when she wanted something. “You need a favor, don’t you?”

  “No.” Lauren’s right eye started blinking.

  “I knew it.” Shelby wagged her finger. “Let me guess. They need my kidneys.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing like that. We’ll talk later.” Lauren hugged her again. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

  “Oh my God,” Shelby groaned. “It must be huge!”

  “We’ll discuss it later. First, I have something important to tell you. Come downstairs and I’ll make us lunch.”

  “No thanks. I just had a yogurt.” Which sure beat the last few days of gorging on Slim-Fast over ice. “But I will gladly take some of your famous tea.” She trailed Lauren into the kitchen.

  “Okay. First the good news.” Lauren began to heat the kettle. “Daddy’s vital signs have stabilized, and now all of Mommy’s broken bones have been set.”

  “I know. I spoke to Scott Rosenthal several times. He kept me up to date.”

  “Really? I didn’t know he called you.” Lauren seemed genuinely happy.

  “He didn’t.” Shelby cleared her throat. “I called him.”

  “That’s great, Shel.” Lauren beamed. “Anyway, I have to tell you something important I learned about Mommy. Something that came as quite a shock to me.”

  “Let me guess. You finally figured out she’s not a nice person.”

  Lauren slammed the freezer. “I like her, okay? But I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about our real mother,” she said quietly. “How she hated to betray Roz for her years as stand-in.”

  “Yeah, well. I bet I can top that,” Shelby said excitedly. “I just found out something about Daddy that shocked me.”

  “Really? What?” Lauren tossed a package of frozen lasagna in the microwave.

  Suddenly Shelby realized it might be a big mistake to tell Little Miss Goody Two Shoes what she’d done. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “Okay, but you have to promise not to get all crazy.”

  “Me?” Lauren pointed at herself. “I’m cool.”

  “Good.” Shelby clapped. “Guess what Daddy’s password is on his computer?”

  “I have no idea. Dri-Kleen? His birthday?”

  “Nope. Mommy’s birthday.”

  “So? They’re together almost thirty years. Why does that surprise you?”

  “No, not Aunt Roz’s birthday. Our real mother’s.”

  “You’re kidding. Who told you that?”

  “No one. I figured it out myself. See, first I tried the usual stuff. Birthdays, anniversaries. Twenty-two different commonly used golf terms. But when those didn’t work I suddenly heard a little voice say, 9-27-31. And voilà, I was in. Don’t you think
it’s sweet he still thinks of her?”

  “Yes. But I hate the fact you broke into Daddy’s computer. How could you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I was bored. But wait. I discovered something else that was interesting.”

  “I don’t care. It’s wrong to invade another person’s privacy.”

  “Oh please. Like Daddy’s got such a high moral code?” Shelby waved as she sat down at the table. “Anyway, here’s what blew me away. He has the Tribune on his list of favorite places.”

  “So?” Lauren placed a piping hot cup in front of Shelby.

  “So, it has to mean he was reading my columns.” She dunked the tea bag.

  “Well, duh,” Lauren said. “You don’t think Daddy’s proud of you? He subscribed to practically every paper you ever worked at, even though Mommy would get all crazy because they’d just accumulate and make this huge mess.”

  “Are you serious? He had the out-of-town papers delivered?”

  “Yes, but then after he bought a computer, I showed him how to get everything on-line, and now he’s like this addict. We just started calling him Computer Butt…”

  Shelby was floored. The man who wouldn’t pick up a phone to make amends after she told him she hated his guts still cared enough to follow her career?

  Lauren smiled. “Does this mean you forgive him?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Shelby, what did he do to you? He has no idea…”

  “Like hell.” Her pulse raced. “Just forget it, okay? What did you want to tell me?”

  Lauren sat quietly at the table, poking the steam out of the lasagne. “It’s very important, okay? So don’t say a word until I’m done. Do you promise?”

  “Whatever.”

  Lauren took a deep breath. “I found out what my problem is.”

  “No offense”—Shelby eyed Lauren’s heaping plate—“but you have more than one.”

  “Stop it, Shelby.” Lauren put her fork down. “I was referring to my fertility problems. Why I can’t have a baby.”

  “That’s easy.” Shelby yawned. “First thing you need is a husband who’s home at night.”

  “Would you please? My problem is not Avi. It’s Mommy. The one who gave birth to me.”

  “You lost me.” Shelby leaned in.

  “I know. So let me explain.” She wiped her chin. “I found out that she took DES when she was pregnant, and that’s the reason my periods are so painful and why my uterus is T-shaped, and worst of all, why I keep having miscarriages. I’ve got the classic symptoms of a DES daughter.”

  Shelby felt faint. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you known? How did you find out?”

  “It was weird, actually. See after you left, this Mrs. Weiner, one of the social workers at the hospital, was looking for you, and we got to talking, and one thing led to the other, and I mentioned this infertility specialist I was seeing because of my miscarriages, and she told me how her husband was Mommy’s doctor, and how Mommy had several miscarriages, too, and how back then they thought DES was a good preventative for that. Then, when I told her about my other medical problems, she immediately got on the phone with this big muckety-muck DES specialist in Manhattan, and I ended up spending four hours in the guy’s office, and after a zillion tests, he said, ‘Lauren, unfortunately you’re a textbook case.’”

  “Unbelievable.” Shelby fell back. “Where is the justice? We lose our mother to cancer, and now we find out thanks to the same asshole Dr. Weiner, we’re DES daughters.”

  “Not you, Shelby. Me. Mommy didn’t start taking DES until after you were born.”

  “Oh.” Shelby resumed breathing, uncertain what had just scared her more. The idea she might never be able to have children, or the idea she most certainly could.

  “Not that it should matter to you,” Lauren continued. “You don’t want to have kids.”

  “Excuse me, but just because I chose to pursue a career over a family doesn’t mean that one day I won’t want to experience the drudgery of motherhood.”

  “Well when would be good for you? When you’re on Medicare?”

  Shelby froze. It was true the years had gone by faster than she would have ever imagined, but plenty of women today had babies later in life. Certainly she still had a window of opportunity if Matthew Lieberman or an equivalent came along. Didn’t she?

  “Look.” Shelby hesitated. “I know how much you want a baby…”

  “Do you?” Lauren perked up.

  “It’s all you’ve ever talked about, so believe me I feel for you. I really do.”

  “Please don’t pity me. I’m just happy to finally know what’s wrong with me. All these years I felt like a freak. Remember how I’d catch every cold that went around, and you’d make fun of me for being such a weakling?”

  Shelby didn’t answer. Hopefully Lauren wasn’t fishing for a soppy apology.

  “See, I found out the reason I was always sick was because I had such a low immune system, which is one of the most common symptoms of DES. But that’s not why I’m telling you this. Remember how well I took it after my first miscarriage?”

  “Actually, if I recall, you lived on Absolut and Doritos for about two weeks. I’m not sure that qualifies as keeping it together.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.” Lauren blew the bangs out of her eyes. “But after I was done moping I thought, okay, no big deal, we’ll just try again. And I was really upbeat. Really hopeful. Then a few months passed, and every time I got my period I’d freak out. Poor Alan didn’t know what to say to me anymore. I mean we were trying all these fertility drugs, and I was blowing up like a balloon in the Macy’s parade, and still nothing. After a while, neither of us could take it, and by the time he left me, I couldn’t blame him. I was so crazy I wanted to leave me, too.”

  “Oh please.” Shelby waved her hand. “He did you the biggest favor of your life. I mean he was a nice guy and everything, but c’mon. He turned out to be gay.”

  “I know, but he was such a gentle soul, Shel. And he taught me so much.”

  “About what?” Shelby snickered. “Coordinating your shoes with the right handbag?”

  “Enough.” Lauren got up to rinse her plate. “He happens to be a decent, thoughtful human being who still remembers my birthday every year, which is more than I can say for my only sister. Did you know last year he gave Avi and me theater tickets for our anniversary? Orchestra seats!”

  “Really? That was generous.”

  “I guess.” Lauren cleared her throat. “I think his boyfriend was in the cast.”

  Shelby bent over in laughter and clapped her hands.

  “I really don’t appreciate this right now,” Lauren pouted. “So he was gay. He was a very good husband.”

  “Oh fine.” Shelby tried to wipe away her smirk. “Keep going.”

  “Okay. Anyway, then I met Avi, and he was so understanding about my problems. He even learned how to give me the Perganol injections, and when I finally got pregnant we were so happy, but then I lost the baby after forty-two days, it was ectopic, and they told me then I might have difficulty conceiving again, but they couldn’t tell me why, and I thought I would die.”

  Shelby felt a twinge of nausea for having teased Lauren mercilessly. “I had no idea.”

  “Of course not. You were too busy ignoring me.”

  “Listen…”

  “No! You listen. Did you know I flew to Chicago to see you last year? And when I got to your office they said you were out of town, so I wrote you this whole long note?”

  “I know.” Shelby picked at a hangnail. “I just didn’t see the point of answering you. The last thing I needed was to get involved in all the family mishegas again.”

  “So we’re slightly dysfunctional. Name one family that isn’t?”

  “Sorry, but how many people do you know have a stepmother who’s also their aunt, a half-brother who’s also their first cousin, an uncle who’s s
o cheap he won’t spend six bucks to visit his sister in the hospital…”

  “Whoa. You mean stepbrother. You said half-brother. We love Eric, but he’s not really related to us.”

  Shelby blushed. “Half-brother, stepbrother. What the hell difference does it make what we call him? He still fucked up the family tree!”

  “Don’t say that, Shel. He’s trying very hard to turn his life around. In fact Dr. Glavin told me she called a colleague at Betty Ford and found out he’s cleaning up very nicely this time.”

  “Well yippee.” Shelby rebounded from her little slip of the tongue. “At a cost of $1500 a day, he damn well better be responding to treatment.”

  “You’re just being mean because you’re tired.” Lauren stared out at the shimmery, blue pool. “I’m tired, too. Yesterday Maria found a half gallon of milk in the cabinet. I couldn’t even remember taking it out of the fridge, let alone putting it away.”

  Shelby nodded. She understood the perils of sleep deprivation. Yesterday she’d gone for a run, completely forgetting she’d called Mr. Sushi for California rolls. Nothing worse than being greeted at the door by a delivery man who’d waited over an hour for his tip.

  She was about to share this little anecdote when she looked over and noticed tears in Lauren’s eyes. Oddly, she never looked more beautiful, with those exotic, baby browns glistening, and the sunlight jutting off her golden skin. In another era they would have called her a goddess. But by today’s standards she would be written off as another fat Jewish girl not worthy of a second look. It was the media’s fault. And, okay, obsessive women like me, she thought.

  Regardless, she wanted to offer Lauren words of comfort, if only she knew any. Perhaps Lauren would just take solace from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact Shelby was ripping apart her napkin into hundreds of little pieces, just as they had done as kids. What fun it was to make this huge mess on the table, then walk away so Aunt Roz would have to clean up after them. Which she always did.

  Honestly, Shelby thought. What was the point of rearing children if you were going to create indulged little monsters who had no sense of their limitations?