Olivia began to squirm, and Marc, the second eldest, reached for her little hand and led her off to the car. Hannah wanted to descend into the open grave with Robert, to feel the comfort and protection that he always provided, even in the most tragic or unbearable of times. He was her rock. He was her mother’s rock. And now, there he lay, cold and lifeless before everyone. Hannah longed to be ten years old again. To crawl into his lap and to wrap her arms around his massive neck and bury her head in his flannel shirt. He had felt like a giant when he lifted her up to carry her to bed, and would laugh when her pigtails brushed his cheek when he ducked to avoid bumping his head on the doorway into her ballerina pink bedroom with the white brass headboard and tulle cascading comforter on her bed. That was the daddy she remembered, that she had hoped to give her children in marrying a man like Peter. She had been wrong, so wrong.
And at that moment, she let self-pity consume her, because the truth was too much to bear. She would need to pull herself together and put on a face for the world—the one that they wanted to see. Not the broken and frightened version of the woman who should have all the answers. Not today, she had told herself. Not today.
She watched as they lowered the gleaming casket into the ground. She comforted herself with the belief that somewhere, Robert’s spirit was hovering above them at that very moment and would soon take its place in heaven, alongside his and Charlotte’s beloved baby girl, who would finally get to feel the embrace of her magnificent father; where they would wait for Charlotte’s beautiful soul to join them. Hannah needed to believe this more than anything.
Chapter 35
“You need to eat something,” Marney said, thrusting a plate in front of Hannah that contained a dollop of tuna salad, two deviled eggs, and a pickle.
When she shook her head, Marney placed it on the granite counter and then grabbed Hannah’s shoulders, looking her squarely in the eyes. “You will get through this, I promise. You are Dr. Hannah. That doesn’t mean you don’t get to feel things. It’s perfectly understandable.”
Hannah let a tear slip down her cheek. She had thought that there simply weren’t any more tears left in her. Yet, she could not turn them off.
Peter had left in a cab moments earlier, and she had watched from the kitchen window as Olivia played in the grass with her cousins.
The house was filled wall-to-wall with family and loved ones. Her sister, Muriel, had flown in with her husband, Dale, and would be staying on for the week before returning to Croatia and Muriel’s work with the fellowship program with the National Science Foundation. Robert Jr.’s RV was parked indelicately on their front lawn, with the German Shepherds tethered to the back hitch gnawing on their plastic chew toys. His girlfriend, Chloe—a millennial with a myriad of tattoos and piercings that made her look like a New Mexico road map—was eyeing Hannah’s broadcasting awards on the mantle. Hannah just wanted it all to be over so that she could retreat to her bed and escape the somber glances and the awkward condolences that affirmed, “At least your dear mother does not have to suffer knowing that he is gone,” and “He loved you and your family so much. He was a great man.” Hannah knew all of this, and yet the words bounced off of her ears and seemed to fall to the floor when spoken. She was grieving in a deep place inside of her that words and gestures simply could not reach. She’d wondered if that was how some of her callers and patients had felt—and the experience was making an impression upon her that only added to her desire to empathize more fully with others going through the grieving process. She knew all too well that it would be a process; only, she had little time to wait for the slow string of emotions that would ultimately lead to acceptance. She simply didn’t have the time. She had a family to take care of, callers, patients, and a sick mother who needed her.
She dabbed her lashes with a wadded tissue and took a deep, cleansing breath. “No—I am okay, Marney. Really. I just need to take a beat here. I will be back full-force soon. I promise.”
“No one is asking you to do anything you are not ready to do. Why don’t you consider taking some time before jumping into the new gig? Spend some time with your family.”
“My work is my salvation, Marney. I can do this. I need to keep doing what I do. The sooner, the better.”
Marney nodded, hoping that Hannah was right. “Well, you are not alone. You have me.” She squeezed Hannah’s hand and handed her a beautiful vintage handkerchief with the letter “M” embroidered in the center. “Here, hang on to this.”
At a time when everything in her fast-moving life felt so uncertain, it was nice to have a lifeline of her own. Hannah smiled.
Chapter 36
It took no time at all for Jon Novotny to quickly to become Hannah’s right and left arm. She needed the support and was grateful for his expertise. They thought the same thoughts, worked flawlessly in a cyclone of controlled chaos, finished each other’s sentences, and had similar ideas for the show. They were linked in a symbiotic motion from prep to show-start, to sign-off.
Simply put, they were pure magic together. Jon was Hannah’s champion, and she was his reason for believing in radio—good radio—once again.
“You want me to do what?” Hannah would ask, when Jon pitched a remote broadcast idea from a haunted hotel in the city or a surprise visit to a cheating boyfriend at his office or gym in order to confront him with a leaving spouse or lover’s grievances. “We’re not a reality show!” Hannah would quip and shoot him down. “What kind of credibility would that bring?”
“Credibility be damned!” Jon would retort. “We’re out for ratings here.”
Most typically, Hannah would compromise on less spectacular events that she felt were more aligned with her persona and expertise. She was happy to visit hospitals, women’s shelters, and even a prison in order to bring her compassion and unique brand of psychological healing to the masses.
When she didn’t have Hannah climbing into a dunk tank, or judging a chili cook-off at a local fair, Marney was keeping Hannah’s calendar filled with paid personal appearances and endorsements to further her visibility and strengthen her brand.
Jon was a whiz, booking guests to appear on Hannah’s show from various industries and social interests. This enabled her to hone her skills at live interviewing as she engaged with not only with callers and patients, but with renowned physicians, authors, and celebrities clamoring to get a chance to jump in the hot seat with her on her Friday afternoon broadcasts, where they would free-style and kibitz about any number of topics of the day. This made Hannah’s show even more engaging and controversial—an outcome that Jon delighted in with aplomb.
When it came to ad buys, the station was nearly unable to handle the demand. Hannah’s show was the top coveted time slot, with sponsors who much preferred Hannah’s direct endorsement of their product or service to a pricey-produced jingle or thirty-second voice-over. Jon was genius at working product endorsements right into the fabric of the show, where Hannah would expound on the fantastic meal she had at a local restaurant or extol on the merits of any number of exceptional vitamin supplements or beauty products.
One day, Jon came to Hannah with a stunning suggestion. “I want to put your daughter, Olivia, on the mic for a spot for the local Kinder-Care ad. It will be a slam dunk!”
“Seriously?” Hannah hedged. “You are going to trust a six-year-old with a hot mic? Are you crazy? I mean, she’s cute and smart and funny, but—”
“Exactly!” Jon clapped his hands and headed for Allison’s office. “The boss lady is going to love this idea! Bring Olivia in tomorrow and we’ll lay down some recordings.”
Hannah was skeptical, but she trusted Jon and knew that he would not make a fool of either her or Olivia, so she complied. What could it hurt? she’d reasoned. Kinder-Care was a huge local sponsor with national reach.
The next afternoon, Hannah appeared at the office with Olivia in tow, ready for her broadcasting debut.
Little cherub-faced Olivia was wearing an adorable eyelet blue dress with a satin ribbon that matched Hannah’s designer power suit, and she was carrying her favorite princess doll, Bella.
Jon set up a high stool in control room three, atop which he stacked two circular cushions. Hannah assisted him with placing the headphones astride Olivia’s center braid, which caused her to giggle. The foam cover on the microphone was of particular fascination for her.
“Now, don’t touch anything, sweetie,” Hannah said from the stool beside her. Jon switched on the control panel, and soon she could hear him talking in her ear. She turned to Hannah and tittered.
“Can you hear Jon?” Hannah asked.
The little girl nodded.
“Here’s what I want you to say,” Jon instructed slowly. “I love Kinder-Care almost as much as listening to my mommy’s show.”
Olivia furled her ginger-tinged brows and took a huge breath. She spoke slowly and clearly into the microphone. “I wuv Kinda-Care, uh, almost I like listening to Mommy’s show!”
“It’s a take!” Jon shouted, ripping off his headphones. “This girl is a natural!”
Hannah laughed, shaking her head. “Are you sure? I mean, she can do it again. Maybe better.”
“I’m good,” Jon said, already cuing up the playback. “It was perfectly, imperfect. This will knock their socks off. Well, since she’s here, maybe we’ll do a couple more runs.”
Hannah smiled. “What do you think, honey? Want to try again?”
Olivia nodded and sat up straighter.
Why would Hannah even doubt her little angel? She was the best assistant she could ask for.
In sixteen months’ time, The Dr. Hannah Show was heard on over one hundred fifty stations nationwide, and growing. It was the number-one rated format in talk radio, putting Hannah squarely in first place for the time slot. The tough-love tactics and resounding moral voice was being heard throughout the country loud and clear. It was not bunk or pop-philosophy. It was true wisdom—at fifty thousand watts.
Hannah would continue to hold the hearts and fascination of listeners for the next nine years; reaching, at its peak, four hundred stations nationally with over ten million listeners, with designs to move her exclusively to the no-holds-barred medium of satellite broadcasting at the renewal of her contract in 2015. Such was the spell Hannah had cast on audiences, who were glued to their radios each day from eleven until two o’clock. Now, not just the nation, but the world was listening.
Chapter 37
Harrisburg, PA
September 11, 2011
The boy sat riveted to his seat, staring at the television screen at the front of the classroom that the teacher, Ms. Stevenson, had switched on in commemoration of the event. Together, the entire sixth-grade class watched in silence as the image of a New York skyscraper loomed ablaze, frightfully incinerating the souls inside. The footage was over a decade old, yet the news bulletin seemed as if it were occurring in real-time, an inescapable drama unfolding on the screen. It was not the first time the boy and his classmates had seen the footage from the ill-famed day that took place when he and his peers were just one year old. It had become a piece of history that had been woven into their minds and psyches throughout their young lives, never losing its power to induce shock and horror in the hearts and minds of Americans, who remembered the unthinkable scene that had befallen the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001. The stoic teacher silenced a few nervous snickers coming from the back row with a sharp “Shhhh!” and directed the students to watch as a befuddled redhead from a national news station reported the account. The entire class gave a collective gasp and cringed as they watched as the second aircraft appeared on the screen, piercing the skin of tower number two; its twin withering beneath black clouds of death smoke roiling into the blue sky.
The boy watched with rapt fascination as bodies emerged from the broken glass windows like lifeless paper dolls that seemed to float in slow motion through the air. He had the face of an angel, innocent and pure. Fair-skinned and freckled. It was the kind of face that could sell breakfast cereal or mac and cheese ads. He wet his lips and leaned forward to take in the macabre images flickering on the screen, just as he had done many times before. This was his favorite part.
Ms. Stevenson made the sign of the cross, remembering the exact day when she had been teaching a similar class of students that fated morning, when they had all been informed via the school intercom of the chilling terror unfolding. She had calmly asked the class she was entrusted with that day, which had begun to erupt with chatter and confusion, to join in a collective prayer. And they did. Every last one had bowed their heads; some of the girls were clinging to one another and were crying.
When the documentary ended, the staid teacher let the credits roll and kept the lights off for a moment of reverent silence. “Let’s bow our heads now, if you wish to, in remembrance,” she said. Everyone present in the rows of thirty-one metal desks paused and prayed with her—everyone except for the boy. He was still staring at the screen, strangely transfixed, and then he scrawled something in red ink across his notebook—something that caused him to smile.
Chapter 38
Venture Media Radio Station
June 15, 2015
The decision to end her marriage was gut-wrenching. A simple letter, the first of several more to come, in Peter’s handwriting, had been placed on her bureau on the day that he left her. Two hand-written pages traded for thirty-eight years of marriage and a hundred thousand lies between them. He had written her from Philadelphia, where he had intended on staying until the end. His lover, Anthony, a young man she had never met, yet who knew the intimate details of her and Peter’s lives, was dying of AIDS in a hospice, where Peter was now keeping vigil, day and night.
They had, shockingly, been lovers for over ten years, the letter had said, starting with: My dear Hannah, it pains me so to write this, but I must be truthful if I am worth anything at all. God knows, you deserve to know the truth . . ..
Hannah shuddered. Ten years! Peter had confessed everything in vivid detail. He sent additional letters to Hannah in the weeks that followed in an effort to explain his tormented thoughts and tortured heart, not to beg forgiveness, nor ask to come home. Perhaps, she later thought, in an attempt to relieve himself of the guilt. To help him understand it all himself. But still, she could not believe this was happening.
She received the first letter just four months ago, days after their anniversary. It went on: Maybe it was never “true love” that I had with you—you who had all the answers all the time; so far on the right that everything seemed so simple when you took out the emotion; the human need. Well, my dear, you certainly found a way to make that illusion pay off for you. And because of this, I know that you and our children will be all right. Take the new job. I know you will shine. You deserve it—you have earned it. They will love you. After this is over, I’m going to go away. I’m not sure where, but it will take a good long time for me to rebuild my life and heal my soul. I have submitted my resignation at the hospital. I don’t think that I will be looking to practice medicine again. Not for a while.
I have shared these details with no one except you, because of the highly personal nature. I trust you will be discreet, as you have always proven to be, although you certainly owe me nothing in light of all that has happened.
Hannah folded the letter for the hundredth time, placing it carefully back in her purse beneath her desk. Nobody else knew this ugly little secret, except for Marney, of course. They had worked hard to make sure of that. They would wait, as agreed for everyone’s benefit, to tell the world about the divorce until after her birthday party and the announcement of her syndicated contract renewal and the news of her garnering the position of her career—still in the finalizing stages that she would not yet let herself believe was real.
And the children? What would she say to them? “
Hold on to your hats, kids—your father’s a homosexual.” The thought of it was simply unbearable.
Peter’s words were more than just another sad and lonely cry as from a host of misguided souls in a sea of countless emails, letters, and texts that poured across her desk daily. And to herself, his shattered wife who received them, she had to ask: What words of wisdom would she have to offer? To whom would Dr. Hannah turn for answers? She wondered, as she stared at the blinking cursor on the screen: Why now? Why did Peter choose to unburden himself with the truth at this time? After so many years? When things were going so well and their futures were about to take even greater flight? It was bittersweet, to say the least. It only left her more confused. These were questions that not even the astute Dr. Hannah could answer.
She stared at the screen, and then at the contract for Global Network looming on her desk. Never had she had such an opportunity to shine. Never before had her plate been quite so full, and yet, she felt so positively empty inside. She felt like a fraud. At age sixty, she was about to face life as a divorcee. Hadn’t she had enough of the callers’ and listeners’ sob stories and incessant ranting? She was tired. Damn weary of it all. Yet, the only way she knew how to heal her own soul was to move ahead. To challenge herself once again—to do and be more.
The biggest realization being, that with this new reality, and all the uncertainty that lay ahead, she was uncharacteristically afraid. She clicked on the button, her gaze transfixed on the screen, ironically sending the comic—and her future—into the stratosphere.
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