The Fifth Avenue Story Society

by Rachel Hauck

  “I’m looking for my father, Ed Marshall.”

  Holly? Couldn’t be. She was home with Brant and the kids by now. Ed braced himself as Jett stepped aside. She had his memoir folder in her hands.

  “Hol, you’re interrupting our meeting.” Ed reached for the folder. “How’d you find me?”

  She flashed the original invitation. “I also found your memoir.” She pointed to the folder now safe in his hands. But the stuff inside was personal and private. “Dad, are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” Ed turned her toward the door. “I’ll talk to you later. Best get on home to your family. Give them my love.”

  “Can’t she stay?” Lexa said. “I’d like to meet her.”

  “Yeah, Ed, let her stay.” Chuck pushed the Bower door wider. “Come on in. Jett can find you a chair.”

  “But this is our private club.” Ed huffed and puffed in his best “Dad” tone. “Hol, Brant will be wanting his supper.”

  “Then he can cook it himself. Hi, I’m Holly.”

  She shook hands with Lexa and Jett, then Coral.

  “I don’t know if Dad told you but if you ever want to tell your story, Good Morning—”

  “Holly, no panhandling with my friends. If you’re going to stay, be quiet.” But why would she stay? No one would speak in front of her. Not openly or honestly. They were just beginning to open up to one another.

  “I’ve been to this library before but not this room. It’s charming. So old-world and cozy.” Holly settled in as if she’d been here from day one.

  She laughed at Chuck’s flat jokes. Talked makeup with Coral. Praised Lexa for her stint at ZB Enterprises and gave her a half dozen restaurants she “just had to try” once she moved to Seattle.

  With Jett, she talked academic shop as if she, too, had a PhD and expert knowledge of classic literature.

  Ed was beginning to see firsthand why she was so good at her job.

  “Jett, here’s my card.” Holly reached for a card case in her bag. “Call me. I think I can get you on the show. We can do a little literature corner.”

  “I’m not sure a stuffy book written for scholars will entertain your audience.”

  “No, but you will. And you are Bear Wilder’s son. I like the contrast. Adventure man raises a bookworm. And Coral, no pressure. But if you want to talk ideas, just let me know. I saw Prince Augustus just got engaged.”

  “He did. I’m happy for him.”

  While Coral kept her feelings close to her chest, Holly managed to own the room. And before he knew it, Ed’s buttons were popping.

  “So tell us what you remember about your mom,” Lexa said. “Ed’s inspiring us with their love story. What do you remember most about her?”

  And there went all his pride.

  “My mother?” Holly glanced at Ed. “I, um, I really don’t remember much. She left when I was young.”

  “That’s right,” Ed said. “Hol was so young.”

  “My grandmother died when I was ten. I have a lot of memories of her.” Thank you, Chuck. Kindly don’t help, please.

  “Ten? I was two when Mom left. Or not quite.”

  “Numbers. Two, ten, who cares.” Ed forced a laugh. “I get mixed up, can’t trust my memories either.”

  “So you know about the bridge then?” Chuck, will you please be quiet. Ed fussed and twisted in his chair. Say something, man. Say something. But what?

  “The bridge?” Holly looked at him with those big blue eyes and for a moment, she was two again with tears in her eyes, crying for Mommy, but all he could do was hold her and rock her, promising Mommy would be right back.

  “Where your dad proposed to your mom.”

  “Daddy, you proposed to Esmerelda on a bridge?”

  Ed cleared his throat. “I did. I never told you. On the GW.”

  “The GW? But she jumped from the GW.” Holly, so honest, telling the only story she knew. Thanks to Aunt Faye.

  “Ed?” Chuck had more ammunition now and Ed figured he wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  His pulse thumped through his chest. Tell them. Tell them. Tell them.

  “She jumped? What’s this?” Lexa’s, Coral’s, and Jett’s voices blended and mingled.

  “Dad?” Holly pressed her hand to his. “Why didn’t you tell me you proposed to Esmerelda on the bridge?”

  “Because, I, well—” Tell them. Glancing around he met five sets of eyes, all intent on him. “I, um, didn’t. I meant to but I actually didn’t propose on the bridge.”

  “I knew it.”

  “Chuck, will you be quiet?” Lexa said with enough force to make the big man’s cheeks blush.

  But he did propose in her father’s living room. And did make love to her for the first time in the garden under the glow of kitchen lights.

  For a long time, no one said anything. When a warm drop of water hit Ed’s hand, he realized he’d been crying.

  “She was a drug addict,” he said slow and low, more to his chest than his friends. “And a perpetual adulterer.” Holly gripped his hand for dear life. “She left once before Holly was born, then again when she was two. I thought she’d come back. She adored Holly. Everyone said she just needed a break. She was always a bit of a free feather. Except her father knew. He said, ‘Never could control her. Sorry to have dumped her off on you, Ed.’” Someone stuffed a large soft tissue in his hand. “In ’80, she fell from the GW.”

  “Oh, Ed—” Coral said in harmony with Lexa, who scooted her chair over and set her right hand on his left.

  “She never meant to fall. She just wanted to fly.” He tried to compose himself but he shivered and shook, slipping from the soft leather chair to the floor. Chuck caught him as his knees knocked the hardwood. “Why wouldn’t she let me love her? Why wasn’t I enough? Holly, you were the light of our lives. She loved you, she did, I know she did. If only I’d been enough.”

  “Daddy.” Holly gathered him and brushed her hand over his hair, whispering everything was going to be all right. “Esmerelda loved you in her way, I’m sure. But she loved herself more. She needed help, but no one could reach her. Not even Aunt Faye. Her life was not your fault.”

  The daughter he’d cradled, cradled him. The young girl he’d comforted, now comforted him.

  “I loved her. I always loved her. Why couldn’t she see? Why?”

  “Dad, please, don’t blame yourself. Esmerelda lived her life her way.”

  Forehead to the carpet, Ed wept for the past forty years. For what he’d lost. For Esmerelda’s bound up and hopeless existence. For Holly.

  Somewhere a door opened and closed. The aroma of tomato sauce and melting cheese wafted on the air.

  But for a long time no one moved while he, an old man, finally came to terms with the past.

  Sitting up, he blew his nose and tried to collect himself. Well, he’d told them. The truth was out.

  “A hand, Chuck?” Ed used the man’s strength to leave the floor.

  While Lexa and Jett passed around plates with pizza slices, Ed retreated to his chair, trying to find himself, trying to see what the world looked like from behind his wall.

  Brighter. Much brighter.

  Nevertheless, the pieces he’d used to build his memories were scattered. When he tried to gather them back, he realized they were nothing more than moth-eaten cardboard.

  He couldn’t rebuild his memories of Esmerelda, because they never really existed.

  And his friends . . . They said nothing. Just showed kindness and understanding. He took a bite of pizza, then set his plate aside.

  “I’m sorry, everyone,” he said. “I was just making up my love story with Esmerelda. Jett, you were right when you said I needed to tell the good and the bad. But there was so much bad I wanted to make up the good. Pretend we lived the life we pledged to one another. I know. She was never really what I saw. Faye used to tell me, ‘Take off those love goggles, Ed.’”

  “But you and I had a good life, Dad, didn’t we?” Tears tenderized H
olly’s soft tone. “You were there for me and I will always, always be grateful.” She gave him a shoulder hug before turning to the circle. “When I was a teenager I used to tell him to date. But he said I was his priority and—”

  “I’d convinced myself Esmerelda was coming back. That she’d figured out I loved her, and that you were an amazing kid, Hol.”

  “Sounds like Hosea,” Coral said. “The man who married and loved a prostitute.”

  “Well, my hat’s off to him. It’s not an easy row to hoe.”

  “So Esmerelda never found what she was looking for?” Jett said.

  “She found it all right. It just didn’t include being a wife and mother. Esmie was all about the counterculture of the early seventies. She partied her way through her trust fund. Somehow she met a Hollywood agent and ran off with him. He took the last of her money and dumped her. Her mother sent her money to come home, hoping she’d grown up, learned her lesson, and settled down. But she just found someone else to distract her from real life. She’d only been back from California for six months when she fell from the George Washington.”

  “Why did she jump? Do you know? Did she leave a note?”

  Ed shivered, his hands curled into taut fists, his jaw so tight his head ached. “It was me. I am the reason she jumped.”

  “Dad, no,” Holly said. “What are you talking about?”

  “I found her. In Bryant Park. You kids don’t know how rough the city was in the seventies. Gotham was a rough place with high crime, drugs, and prostitution from the Bowery to Times Square. When my parents kept Holly, I’d look for Esmerelda. If not for my sake, for hers. Bryant Park was the biggest drug hangout, so I went, you know, just to see.” He glanced at Jett. “If I wrote about what I saw that night, no one would believe me. Kids passed out with needles in their arms, couples copulating in the open, a man screaming, running naked toward the street. I was about to give up when I saw her. She sat up and looked straight at me. ‘Eddie,’ she said.

  “She was so helpless and frail. I washed her face and bought her some dinner. She was high but manageable, and almost seemed like her old self. Out of nowhere she asked me to tell her something good. So I did.” His eyes puddled when he looked at Holly. “I told her about you. Then I hailed a cab and took her to the GW. We used to go there and watch the city lights, talk of a big life. I thought if I reminded her of our dreams, she’d want to come home, accept the security I offered. I told her over and over Holly and I needed and wanted her.” The truth made him breathless.

  “Dad, you never told me.”

  “She was so calm on the walk up, listening to my stories. Then she changed. I don’t know if the drugs were kicking in or waning, but she became irrational, accused me of wanting to kill her. She ran off. It was dusk and I had a hard time seeing her between shadows. When I caught up to her, she’d climbed up on the suspensions.”

  “You were there when she jumped?” Lexa said.

  “Yes.” The heat of his confession soaked him with perspiration.

  The Bower door opened and closed. Jett and his backpack were gone.

  “Ed?” Coral said, leaning forward. “You actually have a great love story. You loved when it wasn’t easy. You rescued your wife from a drug park, gave her something to eat, reminded her of your love.”

  “Then why does it feel like I failed? That her death is on my hands?”

  “Love isn’t love just because someone receives it or reciprocates,” Coral said. “Loving someone who doesn’t love you in return is perhaps the greatest kind of love. Sacrificial. Without demand or condition.”

  “Yet it led to her death.” He exhaled. The truth became easier to tell as the shadows of his fantasy faded. “And I’ll be honest, I hated her for the longest time. Sometimes I still do.”

  “Dad, thank you for giving everything to me. For being so selfless.” Holly’s makeup was a watery mess.

  “I’d do it over and over.” Ed touched his daughter’s chin. “You made my life worth living. We had a happy home. I just thought you deserved your mother to be a part of it.”

  “Ed, if you spend all your time trying to fix your past, you’ll miss right now.” This fine wisdom came from Lexa.

  “Guess I’m a bit scared. I got it so wrong the first time.”

  “But you have me to help this time.” Holly picked up her slice and took a hungry bite. “I really like your neighbor, Mabel.”

  “Oh, pshaw. That nosy old biddy.”

  “She’s beautiful. Smart. You guys should see her. Coral, she used to edit Fashion Weekly.”

  “I loved that magazine,” Coral said. “My grandmother knew the editors well. I bet she knew Mabel.”

  Ed bit into his pizza, suddenly famished, suddenly free for the first time in forty years. He had more threads to untangle but this felt good. Really good.

  Chapter 34

  Lexa

  “Good night.”

  Standing on Fifth Avenue, the night chill sinking in and causing her arm to ache, she bid farewell to her friends. Holly and Ed accepted a ride with Chuck and headed north.

  Coral stood beside Lexa, her car and driver waiting on the corner. “What’s up with Jett?”

  “I’m not sure, but Ed’s story touched something. Jett was on the mountain with his brother when he died. That might be it.”

  “And you don’t know what happened?”

  “He won’t tell.”

  “Lexa, I know you two care about each other, but it’s not your responsibility to fix him,” Coral said.

  “What makes you think I’m trying to fix him?”

  “Lexa, please, I may not have known you long but I’ve figured out you’re a fixer. An organizer. A helper. I get it. Being needed is a high value to you, but you cannot make Jett face something he’s not willing to face. Look at Ed. Took him almost forty years to admit the realities of his wife.”

  “Jett and I had a similar conversation at his mother’s wedding.”

  “What exactly happened between you?” Coral tied the belt of her leather coat when the wind took an icy turn.

  “We fell apart. Neither one of us stopped it. When Storm died, he disappeared into a place I couldn’t go. I got fed up, never said anything, and left. He never came after me.” With each retelling of their story, the truth became so clear. They were not meant to be. “We had issues. I was the girl who wanted to be chased and he was the boy who didn’t want to run.”

  “Will you come to his reception?” Coral pressed her hand on Lexa’s arm. “I think it would mean a lot to him.”

  “I may be in Seattle.”

  “Which makes me sad. For me,” Coral said. “I’m happy for you but I’ll miss you. I’m scared to think who will fill your chair.”

  “Maybe Holly.”

  Coral flipped her coat collar against the thickening chill. “Maybe.”

  “You should do it, you know, Coral,” Lexa said. “Tell your truth. Your story.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do.”

  “But I’ll pretend I don’t.” Coral slipped her arm gingerly through Lexa’s. “Come on, gimpy. I’ll take you home. When does this final cast come off?”

  “Gimpy? And my brace comes off next week.”

  In the back of the Range Rover, Lexa and Coral settled down with their phones. After a small debate with herself, Lexa texted Jett.

  You okay?

  By the time the driver turned down her MacDougal Street, he’d not responded. Nor by the time she’d readied for bed and checked her suitcase for tomorrow’s apartment-hunting trip.

  She dragged Abby’s air mattress across the hall. Lexa was finally well enough to climb her loft.

  When she made a cup of tea and settled on the window seat and looked out on the city of 1.2 million, he’d still not texted.

  She’d grown up here. In Greenwich Village. Found a piece of herself in the city that never slept. She’d known success and failure, love and heartache.

&nb
sp; When her phone pinged, she snatched it up from the bench. But it was Skipper, not Jett.

  Good luck tomorrow. Text me LOTS of pictures.

  Will do. Love you.

  Resting against the windowsill, music rising up from the street, she sent Jett one last message.

  Why’d you leave, fearless leader? You should’ve seen Ed’s change after he finished his story. And he chowed down on some pizza. Holly’s cool, don’t you think?

  Just as she was about to press send, Coral’s observation echoed.

  You’re a fixer. Jett has to work this out.

  Hitting the back space, Lexa deleted the message and carried her phone up to bed. He’d text her when he was ready.

  She tried to sleep but found herself dozing between images of the life she had in Manhattan and the life she anticipated in the Northwest.

  Then she saw Jett, felt him, sitting at his banquette alone, wrestling with his painful, untold story.

  Oh, Jett. And she knew. She loved him with every fiber of her being.

  * * *

  Ed

  Mrs. Thompson in apartment 2A said he had a skip in his weary old step. He was inclined to agree. Even with his heavy toolbox in one hand.

  “Take me up,” he said, patting the side of the ancient elevator box. He’d called the head of the co-op association this morning and told them it was time to upgrade. “Last thing you want is a tenant getting stuck between floors.”

  The woman miraculously agreed. Work on a replacement would begin next week.

  Unlocking his apartment, he gazed toward Mabel’s door. She hadn’t popped out at him since he groused at her a few weeks ago.

  But ever since Monday night, since the healing, he had a mind to chat with her. Dang it, he was free. For forty years, he’d clung to a lie, to guilt, to a fantasy of if-onlys.

  He wasn’t responsible for Esmerelda’s death or for ruining her life. God, should He exist and care about ol’ Ed Marshall, had finally shown him the light.

  Setting his toolbox down with a bang, he glanced toward Mabel’s closed door once more. He had a plan. If it failed, well, he’d come up with another plan.