Maddie’s life was entirely different and Penny felt sorry for her, although Maddie would have been shocked to know that. She had long since learned how to keep engaged on her own, and in many ways, she enjoyed it. She didn’t expect to see her children and grandchildren more often than she did.
* * *
—
Maddie made scrambled eggs and a salad for dinner that night. She’d had half a turkey sandwich for lunch while she was working. She wasn’t a big eater and hated to cook for herself. Sometimes she just ate an apple or banana for lunch, and Penny scolded her. Maddie thought food was boring and cooking it even more so. She said it was the beauty of being alone. She didn’t have to prepare meals for anyone, not even herself if she didn’t want to. She’d rather skip a meal and spend the time doing something else.
After she ate, she got a ladder from the studio and dragged it carefully up the stairs to her bedroom closet. She liked doing chores for herself and had a sense of victory when she got the ladder to the third floor, with a firm grip on it. She set it up, climbed high enough to see the first level of shelves, pulled out a bunch of boxes and dropped them on the floor of her bedroom, and then she sat down next to them and started to go through them. As she suspected, a lot of what she found was junk, and she felt virtuous as she made a big pile of papers and old clothes to get rid of. She was going to have Penny send the clothes to Goodwill on Monday. It was several hours before she climbed to the next level on the ladder and pulled out the boxes on the second shelf. She hadn’t unearthed any treasures so far, just a box of letters from her kids when they were younger, which made her smile as she glanced through them. Some of them were letters from camp.
She put what was left neatly back on the shelves, looked at her watch, and wrestled with a decision. It was one in the morning. Should she tackle the highest shelf or go to bed and do it in the morning? She wasn’t tired, and often stayed up late either reading or working, which was another pleasure of living alone. She didn’t have to apologize to anyone for how late she stayed up or the noise she made, with the lights on at two or three A.M. And she wanted to get that one closet done. She had some things she wanted to add to the shelves, and there hadn’t been a spare inch to accommodate anything until she started weeding out. She was curious about what was on the top shelf. Whatever was there had been there for a long time and she’d forgotten what it was.
She decided to stay up and do it. She had the time, was in the mood, and she could sleep late on Saturday morning if it took her too long. She assumed it was probably more junk and she could get rid of it quickly anyway. She had a good-sized pile on her bedroom floor already, to donate or throw away. She pulled out several boxes and tossed them to the floor, climbed back down the ladder, and opened them. The tape was dried and brittle. She didn’t remember seeing them before, which meant they had been up there for years. The first box she opened was full of photographs of the children when they were younger. She recognized several images that she already had framed around the house, and guessed that they were duplicates.
The second box she opened took her breath away for a minute. It was full of letters in various handwriting, and the photographs mixed in with them made her smile. She remembered the box now. They were old love letters and photographs of three of the men in her life, the three most important ones since her marriage. She had thrown away other letters and photographs a long time ago. But she had saved everything from these three men. She hadn’t thought about them in years, nor heard from them. She stared at the familiar faces in the pictures. Jacques Masson was an ambitious young French chef who was working at a restaurant in New York and dreamed of opening his own when she met him. Bob Holland was a brilliant young venture capitalist, working with high-tech investments and just starting out in his first big job with high hopes for his career. And Andy Wyatt was a cowboy from Wyoming. She had met him when she’d taken the kids to a ranch there one summer. She had been madly in love with Andy and they had continued their affair discreetly for over a year, until she called a halt to it. She knew it could go nowhere. They both did. It was getting too intense to be safe for either of them. They knew they had to stop but couldn’t. Ending it with him had been one of the most painful things she’d ever done, but it wasn’t the right fit for her, or her kids, or him.
She had loved all three of them, but leaving Andy had broken her heart. She sat staring at his photograph for a long time, wondering where he was now. He was eight years older than she was, so he’d be sixty-six now, still probably somewhere in Wyoming. Their affair was eighteen years ago, she was forty then, and he was forty-eight. Ben and Milagra were in high school, and Deanna had just left for college. It seemed as though a thousand years had passed since then. There hadn’t been anyone serious since Andy. He had been the love of her life. But she couldn’t see herself on a ranch in Wyoming, and he would never have survived in New York. He would have been as miserable as he had been when he visited her, so she had freed him, for both their sakes. She’d never cared as much about any man after him.
She put the photographs back in the box then, set the box on the floor, climbed back up the ladder, and tried to pull down another box. It was bigger and heavier than the first two. She finally tugged it toward her and was juggling it awkwardly when she leaned too far over and lost her balance. The ladder came crashing down with her on it, spilling her across the floor of her bedroom, past the rug and onto the hardwood floor she was so proud of and had refinished when she moved in. She fell with a heavy thud at an awkward angle, pushed the ladder off her, and tried to get up, when an agonizing pain shot through her left leg. She could see that her foot was in a weird position, and when she stood up, she felt like throwing up, and almost fainted. She had to sit down on the floor again and put her head between her knees until she felt less dizzy. She could put no weight on her left foot at all, and she had the sinking feeling that her ankle might be broken or very badly sprained. She hoped the latter, but couldn’t tell. She hopped to her bed on one foot, feeling dizzy again, and lay down, telling herself that this was ridiculous. She’d never fallen off a ladder before, or even gotten injured. She was on and off ladders all the time for her work, checking lights and angles for a shot.
She felt worse as she lay on her bed, feeling like a prisoner, knowing she should put ice on her foot, but there was no way she could hop down the narrow metal spiral staircase on one foot to get to the kitchen on the floor below, and then back up to her bedroom again. She had never put in an elevator, which would have been expensive, seemed unnecessary, and would have eaten up space she needed for her studio. Now she regretted it, if this was a harbinger of things to come, if she was going to fall off another ladder or get hurt in the future.
She had no one to call to come and help her. She could have called Penny in Brooklyn, but there was nothing she could do, and Maddie wasn’t going to call her at that hour. It was two in the morning by then. She would never have called Deanna, and she would be in the Berkshires anyway. She felt foolish calling a friend to come and help her down the stairs in the middle of the night. And there was no one she was close enough to reach out to except Penny. She hadn’t spoken to any of her friends in months, she’d been too busy, and felt awkward calling them now. She wasn’t bleeding to death, and an injured ankle didn’t seem serious enough to warrant calling 911. All she could do was hope she felt better in the morning and could make it down the stairs to ice it, or go to the emergency room if it hadn’t improved.
In the meantime, she lay on her bed, looking at the overturned ladder stretched across the floor from the closet, the box she’d dropped with its contents spilling over the rug, and the one where she’d found the photographs and letters from her old lovers. She lay there for a long time, wide awake, thinking of the photograph of Andy Wyatt, looking so handsome, smiling at her in the image. She wanted to go through that box over the weekend, but instead of making things neater, she’d made a me
ss. All she could think of was Andy, while trying not to focus on the excruciating pain in her ankle and feeling scared, and she burst into tears as she lay there alone.
Chapter 2
When Maddie woke up in the morning, the pain in her left ankle was worse, and her whole body felt battered. She hadn’t really slept all night, she had drifted in a kind of haze, aware of the pain but feeling woozy and in another dimension. She wondered if she was in shock, and had dozed periodically but never slept deeply, always aware of the pain.
She still had the same dilemma about how to get downstairs to the kitchen, and she was also desperate to get to the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, she crawled to the bathroom, using her arms to pull herself along and her right leg to help propel her, and wincing every time her left leg moved. The pain was more localized in her ankle. When she pulled herself to a standing position on her right foot and saw herself in the bathroom mirror, she was shocked by how terrible she looked. She was deathly pale with circles under her eyes, still wearing her clothes from the day before, since she hadn’t dared to take off her jeans and make the pain worse. She was embarrassed to call 911 and hated to disturb Penny on the weekend. She was determined to work it out herself, which was what she always did. Maddie was never dependent on anyone. She thought of sliding down the fireman’s pole to her studio, but if she landed hard or bumped her left foot, she was sure that she would faint. No matter how painful it was, she knew she had to take the stairs.
She washed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth, started to brush her hair and decided not to bother. She hopped back to where she had kicked off her right shoe when she went to bed and put it on. The left one had flown off when she fell. She didn’t bother with it since her foot was too swollen to get the shoe on anyway. She made her way to the stairs and went down two flights on the circular metal staircase, inching her way along, on her bottom. It was a painful process. She hopped from there to her office on the main floor, ordered an Uber, grabbed her bag and a jacket, and slowly hopped to the front door, stopping every few feet when she felt dizzy. It seemed to take forever, and she was almost ready to faint by the time she got to the front door, slammed it behind her, and waved to the Uber driver waiting for her at the curb. He lowered the window and she called out and asked him to help her. He got out of the car and came over to her, and she gratefully grabbed his arm as he helped her to the car. She cried out in pain as she got in.
“Why didn’t you call 911?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel to take her to NYU Hospital.
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious. I didn’t have a heart attack or anything,” she said through gritted teeth.
“It looks serious enough to me,” he said sympathetically. “What did you do?”
“I fell off a ladder,” she said, feeling stupid again and fighting back tears.
“Maybe you broke your leg,” he said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
“I hope not. I think I just twisted my ankle and sprained it,” she said hopefully.
“It must have been some twist. You look kind of green to me.” She was praying she wouldn’t throw up in his car at that moment.
“It just hurts a lot. They say a sprain hurts more than a break.” He didn’t comment but went to get an attendant in the ER when they got to the hospital. A nurse came out with a wheelchair and got Maddie into it with some difficulty. She gave the Uber driver a big tip, and thanked him. He wished her luck and got back in the car and drove away.
A woman from admissions came to hand her forms to fill out, and a nurse examined her in a cubicle and called the orthopedist on duty. Maddie had to wait another hour for X-rays, and the X-ray technician told her that her ankle was broken before the doctor even saw her. There were tears rolling down her cheeks as he walked into the room. It had been a long, painful night and she felt totally worn out. She was afraid she’d have to have surgery for the break, and maybe even have pins put in.
The doctor checked the X-ray and looked at her. “The good news is it’s a clean break, you don’t need surgery. We’ll put a cast on, which will give you some relief, and send you home with pain medication. You need to keep your weight off it for a week, then you’ll get a walking cast, and six weeks from now, you’ll be as good as new.” He could see how shaken up she was, and obviously in a lot of pain. He called a nurse in to help him, and half an hour later Maddie was in a cast. They adjusted a pair of crutches for her, filled the prescription at the hospital pharmacy, and two hours after that she was ready to go home and ordered another Uber.
“Do you have an elevator where you live?” the nurse asked her and Maddie shook her head. She was trying to figure out how to manage, and how she’d get back up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, which was going to be a nearly impossible feat without help. She was still determined not to bother Penny, but she was in too much pain and too exhausted to bump her way up the stairs on her bottom again.
“I’ll manage,” Maddie assured her as they pushed her to the Uber in a wheelchair. With the cast on, she already felt a little better than she had when she came in. She didn’t want to take the pain pills until she got home, in case they knocked her out or made her woozy. She thanked the nurse, and confirmed the address with the driver. She realized then that she could sleep on the couch in the studio. There was a bathroom there, and a fridge. She could send out for food and get to the door on her crutches. It wasn’t ideal, but she could make it until Monday when Penny came in. There was even a shower in the bathroom, and there were garbage bags she could use to cover the cast. They had cut off her jeans, and she went home in hospital pajama bottoms. She knew she looked a sight as the driver carried her purse for her and helped her unlock her front door.
“Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” the driver asked her kindly. It was a woman, and Maddie thanked her gratefully.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured her. She went into the little studio kitchenette after she left, and took her pain pill. She got to the couch in the studio and lay down, remembering that she had a shoot that week and would have to do it on crutches, but she would have two freelance studio assistants working with her. Twenty minutes later, when the pill took effect, she fell sound asleep.
* * *
—
It was dark when she woke up, her ankle was throbbing, and she felt like she’d been on a two-week drunk. She was nauseous from taking the pain pill on an empty stomach. She looked at her watch and was startled to see that it was seven o’clock at night. It had been a hell of a weekend so far.
She was going to call for food, but didn’t want any, and found half a turkey sandwich left over from her lunch the day before in the studio fridge. She ate it so she could take another pill if she needed to, and she felt better after she ate. She was dying to get to her bed, but didn’t want to tackle the stairs alone again. And she didn’t want to bump her ankle while she did it. She lay back on the couch for a few minutes and fell asleep until morning, without even taking another pill. When she woke up, she went back up the stairs on her bottom, dragging her crutches. All she wanted was to take a shower, put on a clean nightgown, and get into her bed.
The whole process of taking a shower took her almost an hour, and she fell into the bed with relief, looked at the mess of boxes on the floor outside her closet, and remembered what was in them. She waited another hour before dragging the box of letters and photographs over to the bed, hopping on her good foot to do it. At least reading the old love letters and looking at the photographs would give her something to do while she lay there. And she had remembered a box of cookies in the sitting room next to the bedroom. She didn’t want to go back to the kitchen, and the cookies would be enough to sustain her until Monday morning. She couldn’t get back downstairs to open the door if she ordered food. She hated feeling so helpless and hampered, but at least she felt clean now, and the pain in her left ankle was less acute. It ha
d been a hell of an experience and a shock to get hurt and be in so much pain. She’d never broken a bone before.
She settled in against the pillows with the cookies and the box she had brought down from the top of her closet before she fell. She was eager to read the letters and see the familiar faces she hadn’t seen in years. It was like a trip back in time, and brought with it floods of memories as she read. Jacques’s letters were the most amusing, in stilted English, and she smiled as she remembered him and flipped through the envelope of photographs that went with them. Bob’s letters were the most intelligent, trying to convince her why their relationship made sense and attempting to overcome her reservations. She remembered that he had wanted her to move to California with him, and she wouldn’t. It would have been too hard for her children, who were still very young.
Andy’s letters tore at her heart the moment she read them. She could see why she had loved him, he was so straightforward and direct, so kind, and so in love with her, as she had been with him. She studied his photographs more carefully and spread them out around her on the bed. Even at nearly fifty, he had been a strikingly handsome man and looked like a cowboy in an ad. There were several photographs of them together looking happy. She stared at the images of him for a long time, and then put it all away neatly in the box, and pushed it to the other side of the bed, since she only occupied half of it.
She turned on the TV so she could hear voices in the room, still thinking about Andy and then the other two men. It had been a long lonely weekend, and she took another pain pill that night. She was just starting to feel the effects of it when the phone rang, and she picked it up, wondering if it was her son, Ben. When he called her it was usually on Sunday nights, if he wasn’t busy with Laura or the children. During the week, he was always too tied up at his office.
Lost and Found Page 3
