Emily and Einstein

by Linda Francis Lee

  She laughed. “Fine, what is it?”

  “Why did you give me a chance to publish my sister’s book in the first place, then give me the time to fix it once it turned into a disaster?”

  “Caldecote Press couldn’t afford—”

  “Tatiana, please. Why really?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I told you. I knew your mother.”

  “There has to be more to it than that.”

  She debated, then after a moment she shrugged. “When I was twenty-one, I was your mother’s assistant at WomenFirst.”

  I had expected many things, but not this. “You?”

  “Yes, me. I was like so many young women straight out of college, wanting to make a difference. I was going to be a new era’s Gloria Steinem. And let me tell you, I was damned good at my job.”

  “No surprise there.”

  She smiled for a second, then grew serious. “I should clarify. I was good at my job when I wasn’t falling apart over some guy.” She scowled. “I was a walking cliché, a slave to a series of bad boyfriends. Then one day your mother took me aside and told me I had everything it took to be successful, everything but belief in myself.” She shook her head. “Saying it out loud now makes it sound so kind of her, so helpful. But she ended by telling me to buck up, stop selling myself short. Quite frankly, I was angry and I quit, dismissing her as an old woman who didn’t know the first thing about being young and living in the city. Then one day I found myself between jobs and boyfriends, sitting on a bench in the Village, lost, with no idea what I was going to do next, and I remembered what she said.”

  Tatiana walked to the window, looking out over a world she had since conquered. “I got my act together, and now here I am.” She turned to face me. “I hadn’t thought of your mother in years, not until Charles Tisdale was giving me a rundown of everyone at the company, telling me who was doing what, the potential each person had. He told me you had been a rising star, but hadn’t been able to recover after your husband’s death. He said you were circling down the drain. His words, not mine.”

  I grimaced, but Tatiana didn’t let up.

  “When I walked into that deli and saw you with a plastic container filled with mashed potatoes, your clothes a mess, your hair worse, I realized you were me when I was sitting on that park bench.” She shrugged. “Since I’m not one for mothering, I settled on pushing you. When you pitched My Mother’s Daughter, you handed me the perfect means to help you … and in a strange twist of fate, to thank your mother for what she had done for me.”

  We stood for a second, and this time I really did feel like hugging her.

  “Don’t you dare,” she said, though she smiled. “Any more questions?”

  “No. Thank you for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I started to leave.

  “And Emily.”

  I looked back.

  “I have no doubt that whatever you decide to do you will make your mother proud.”

  I practically flew out of the offices of Caldecote Press understanding that my mother had done the best she could with her life, living in a world not quite at ease with her, or she with it. She had tried to do something important, but in the end felt she had failed. She hadn’t gotten to see what she had achieved, the lasting effect, but I had. I had seen it in Hedda wanting to make a difference through books; in Tatiana, whom Lillian Barlow had helped become more than a young woman living at the whim of men; in Jordan’s desire to tell the story of what she had accomplished; even in myself. None of us had given in to an ordinary world. We all, in our own ways, had tried to be extraordinary. Lillian Barlow had made a difference in the world.

  Now I would use the strength she had always seen in me and start over.

  *

  When I got home, Einstein was lying in the gallery, panting hard.

  “E?”

  Kneeling next to him I stroked his fur. “What’s wrong, boy?”

  He groaned, trying to get up. Since he had come home with me, he had been bossy and energetic, commanding. It had been easy to forget that when I found him at the clinic he had been old, tired, more dead than alive.

  “You’re going to be okay, E. We’re going to be okay. I’m going to find us a perfect apartment. No stairs, close to the park. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  He went stiff, a moan rumbling low.

  “I know, I know. It won’t be the Dakota. But no way was I going to use that journal to blackmail Althea. I’m plenty young enough to start over.”

  I sank down beside him, smiling ruefully. “Okay, so I’m thirty-two. But it’s never too late. You and me, buddy. Emily and Einstein. You’ve just got to hang in there.”

  sandy

  chapter forty-four

  It is regret that kills, the if onlys that leave the mortal wounds.

  If only I had seen myself clearly while I was still a man.

  If only I had learned back then what I know now about how to live a life worth living.

  If only I had understood that my wife couldn’t accept the apartment before I revealed my mother’s secret.

  I experienced a moment of frustration that I had proven my lack of honor, all for naught. But the feeling didn’t last. I hardly recognized the thought that it had happened as it should. I had done everything I could to help Emily, and with each shuddering breath I took I felt my body diminish. I didn’t panic. I accepted that this was the end. And for once in my life I was ready to face the consequences of my actions.

  At some point, the sounds of the city blocked out by the thick apartment walls, Emily and I were surprised when my mother arrived unannounced.

  “Mrs. Portman?” Emily said when she pulled open the door.

  “Emily.”

  My mother walked in without being asked. She stopped when she saw me lying on the floor.

  “Einstein,” she said simply.

  I managed to lift my head and sniff. My eyesight was nearly gone, my sense of smell barely there. But I recognized the French milled soap she preferred, and I found comfort in that too. When I couldn’t hold my head up any longer, she walked over and squatted in front of me.

  She looked at me, her eyes narrowing as she stared into mine. She didn’t pet me or say anything else. After a moment, she glanced up at Emily.

  “Just so you know, I didn’t buy those paintings to save myself,” my mother said.

  Emily looked confused.

  “The paintings that I showed, the ones that weren’t mine.”

  “Althea, you don’t need to explain.”

  “But I do.” She stood and faced my wife. “Believe it or not, I didn’t do it because I refused to be embarrassed. I bought them so my husband wouldn’t be mortified when the critics annihilated the woman he had defended to his friends and family. I did it because I loved my husband and my son. But in doing so, I made a deal with the devil. The only way I could live with what I had done was to give up the thing that had made me who I was, my art.” She hesitated, her green eyes bright with emotion. “And that made me cold, unrelenting. I know that.”

  Emily took a step toward her, but my mother quickly raised her chin. “Not that I think you care why I did it, or even that you should. But…” She nodded. “I wanted to explain.”

  She reached into her handbag and pulled out some papers. “Here,” she said, extending them to Emily.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just read it.”

  While Emily glanced through the papers, my mother turned back to where I lay panting on the floor.

  “Einstein,” she said again.

  It wasn’t a call to me, it wasn’t a question. It was some sort of mantra, a word spoken repeatedly to find a way into deeper meaning.

  I heard Emily gasp. “You’re deeding me the suite upstairs?”

  A jolt of adrenaline ran through me, enough that I was able to pick my head up off the floor.

  “Yes,” Mother said.

  “I don’t understand. I would never
tell anyone about what’s in the journal. Why would you do this?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure. But if there is any truth to what you say, about Sandy making that promise…”

  My shaky heart sputtered as my mother never took her gaze away from me, her words trailing off.

  “You’re a strange old dog, Einstein,” my mother said, her voice soft, crouching down again. “I don’t know what to make of you.” She reached out, touching the very tip of my paw with her perfectly manicured hand. “But you make me feel the need to honor what perhaps really was my son’s wish. The suite is something that Emily can afford.”

  As soon as she said the words aloud, she went bright red and stood.

  “This whole situation has me acting daft. Take the apartment, Emily. Move your things upstairs and let’s be done with this. I’ll pay to have the apartments separated as they were originally.”

  She left as quickly as she came, unable to deal with something beyond her understanding. Emily and I were in shock. But more than that I felt an even deeper peace. At some level my mother had recognized me, and had attempted to do the right thing in my honor.

  I could feel Emily’s shock turn into amazement, and I tried to get up to show Emily how happy I was. But the stronger she became, the weaker Einstein grew. My body trembled from hackles to paw, like life passing through me, my breath coming out in a shuddering gasp.

  “Oh, E,” she breathed. “You can’t go. Not now.” She leapt away. “I’m calling the vet.”

  With what little strength I had left, I latched onto her pant leg with my teeth.

  “No,” I managed to growl.

  “You can’t give up, E.”

  But I didn’t let go, not until I sensed her understanding.

  Her breath sighed out of her as she lay down next to me on the floor. Tears welled up, spilling over. I strained to get closer.

  “Please, Einstein. Let me get you to the vet.”

  There was no need. Deep down, she knew it. I knew it.

  Emily cupped my head in her hand. “I love you, E.”

  And she did, always had.

  That’s when I understood I had one last thing to do before I left this body.

  It took every ounce of willpower I had to fight the fading. By the time I heard the sound in the outer vestibule, every inch of me was strained. But at the sound, I gathered my remaining strength and let out an anguished howl.

  “Einstein,” Emily gasped.

  I howled again and seconds later we heard the banging on the front door. My wife scrambled up and whipped open the door.

  “Are you okay?” I heard Max ask.

  “Oh, God, it’s Einstein.”

  Max came over to where I lay and placed his hand on me as if assessing. He looked startled when our eyes met, though I suspect from the instant settling that he had seen something of death and the silent messages of the soul.

  When I licked his fingers, he leaned forward. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of her.”

  I had done everything I could for my wife, and in that moment Einstein and I began to part in earnest.

  There was no pain now, just a growing sense of loss, a gentle pureness that I had not fully appreciated stripping away from me. When the separation was nearly complete I shuddered at the realization that by living as Einstein I had developed a theory. In order to live a life truly worth living you had to have strength in the face of adversity, patience when confronted with challenge, and bravery in the face of fear. As Sandy Portman I had used arrogance in the face of fear, disdain in the face of challenge, and selfishness in the face of adversity.

  Emily had been my biggest victim, not because of horrible things I did, but because I had dared her to love me, and when she did I was unprepared for the enormity of that love, the responsibility—something that deep down I had known I didn’t know how to give back. But I had taken it anyway, handling it without care.

  The fact was I had married her because in her eyes I saw the man I could be. I ended up wanting a divorce because living with her every day was forcing me to see myself for who I really was, a man who didn’t have the strength to work hard and persevere and do what it took to be something beyond ordinary.

  Finally, I understood.

  I felt Einstein’s heart beat erratically, and a sense of forgiveness washed over me, forgiveness for who I had been.

  I started to shake as if I was cold.

  “I’ll get some blankets,” I heard Max say.

  I didn’t need blankets, though I was happy for one last minute alone with my wife. I felt her hand stroke my side, felt her bury her face in my neck. I breathed her in one last time, and when I exhaled I left Einstein’s body.

  I ceased to see and smell. I became blind to the world, but I didn’t panic, I waited. Eventually my senses began to return—different, more acute, but softer at the same time, as if I had entered an easier place.

  Once we had separated completely, Einstein died.

  “Good-bye, E,” Emily whispered into the little dog’s fur. “Good-bye, Sandy,” she added softly.

  My mother might have suspected it was me. But somehow Emily knew for sure.

  The old man arrived then. With his appearance this time, every uncomfortable feeling I’d ever had, both as Sandy and as Einstein, disappeared completely.

  “So, you managed to get it right,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

  I brushed away what I sensed were my own tears, laughing in relief. “I take it I’m not fading away to nothing.”

  The old man snorted. “No, not that you didn’t get closer than I’ve ever seen any soul get and still make it back.”

  Joy surged, but there were still traces of the old me left. “Lucky for you, I saved your backside, and you know it.”

  “Well, there is that.”

  We both laughed before I saw flashes of my life. Sandy Portman as a child with colored markers drawing in the Dakota. Sandy Portman as a young man moving into the Dakota. Sandy Portman carrying Emily over the threshold on our wedding day. Again and again a lifetime of potential had spilled out before me. Again and again I had squandered it. But I no longer felt anger or regret. I simply had a sense that I would miss this place. I would miss my life.

  “You’ll like where you’re going even better,” the old man said.

  I had no fear, no trepidation. I felt comforted, optimistic. Amazingly, I was ready to go.

  The hologram of me moved away from Emily. When she tensed with loss I realized that she sensed I was there. Since the day I met her I had desired her in some elemental way. I had wanted her, had needed her even. But now, I understood, after all we had been through, I had fallen utterly and completely in love with my wife.

  Kneeling in front of her, I reached out and pulled her close until our lips nearly touched. “I love you, Emily. Love you forever.”

  She drew a deep breath and smiled through her tears, leaning into me. “I know.”

  I saw it then, a single feather drifting down, and I was sure Emily somehow sensed it too. This time I didn’t hesitate. I plucked it from the air.

  I glanced over at the old man in question. He just smiled. “Yep, that one’s for you.”

  I looked back only once, saw Emily on the floor of the high-ceilinged gallery, tears of peace and sadness on her face, Max sitting next to her with Einstein held secure in the blanket. Then everything about me lifted, seeming to fly as the old man and I disappeared through the wall.

  I didn’t get to go back and relive my life as Sandy Portman; I didn’t get my body back. But I did get to make things right for Emily. And by becoming a dog I had finally, for once in my life, acted as a true man.

  emily

  I understand now that by allowing her daughters to witness her own joys and mistakes, my mother gave Emily and me the tools to make our own way, to create our own blueprint. I always believed that Emily and I had nothing in common. But I’ve learned that while we’re different, there is no denying we are sisters. W
e will always be there for each other, because at the end of the day, no matter what, we are both our mother’s daughter.

  —EXCERPT FROM My Mother’s Daughter

  epilogue

  It seems impossible that a year has gone by since I lost Einstein, a year since I truly said good-bye to Sandy.

  Yes, I found myself again, but in many ways I’m different now, someone beyond the daughter who was forced to grow up too fast, different from the girl who both loved and was jealous of a younger sister, changed from a wife who fell apart because of a husband’s betrayal. My strength is no longer banked or dependent on a scaffolding of lists and plans.

  I still run almost every morning along the bridle path or upper park loop. I even bake some, cupcakes and cookies and chocolate croissants, but in more reasonable quantities. And I go to work in the suite above Sandy’s old apartment. In summer I fill the rooms with peonies, and in the fall I pull together an assortment of autumn flowers, then winter greens. My new home is small, but perfect for the life I have created on my own.

  It was this, I now understand, that I saw in my dream, me high up in the grand old building.

  The Portmans closed up the original apartment, putting sheets over the furniture. I rarely see Althea. She, like my mother, gave up pieces of herself in an attempt to fit into a world that didn’t accept her as she was, remaking herself into something she never wanted to be. The difference was that Althea found a place for herself that she could live with. My mother wasn’t as fortunate. I’m not sure if I admire Althea for that, or hate her just a little bit more because she survived when my mother didn’t.

  Whatever the case, while Althea and I never got along, we now share something in common: the knowledge that we were given a second chance with her son. It makes things both easier and more strained since she still has a difficult time accepting something that seems impossible.

  But I understand. It’s hard to believe in miracles until you’ve seen one happen. But once you’ve seen, well, life alters and you can never look at the world around you the way you once did.

  *

  I walk into Meeker Books on Columbus Avenue. At the front of the store stands a sign with my photo on it.