by Ede Clarke
I sat there looking across this doctor’s cluttered desk and had the sudden impulse to use the whole length of my arm to sweep the desk clean, in hopes of sweeping his brain clear so he could have a conversation with me instead of just telling me what he had already decided. “I understand what you’re saying, doctor, but I’m just not sure you’re hearing what she is going through. I mean, do you understand that she can’t do what the other kids can do? Do you understand sometimes she goes sheet white right in front of me and then goes limp? I mean, that sounds like something that needs immediate attention to me. And we have no warning of when this stuff is coming.” The patronizing half-smile and light head nod along with the not-so-subtle frequent glances at his watch pretty much put me over the edge. Before he could reply I said, “Please give me the name of three other cardiologists in the Buffalo area that I can get other opinions from.” I left with one name and number of someone that he made very clear had less experience than him.
“It’s so great to be back here with you, Mad,” I told her as I unwrapped the first turkey sandwich from the joint near the library that I had had in almost a year.
“And don’t forget the cookie is yet to come,” she smiled at me.
“So, tell me everything,” I told her. “Catch me up on Erie Public and the bank and the kids.”
“Things are pretty much the same everywhere, you know, Patty. I moved to Classics, so I don’t really know what’s going on back on the 4th floor. Although I’ve heard they finally put in new windows.”
“Oh, no,” I told her, “I loved those old windows.”
“I know. You were the only one, though.”
“The drafts were good for us—clean air. Didn’t take ‘em too long to replace them after I was gone,” I noted.
“Sometimes newer isn’t better,” she offered while looking me in the eye.
“How’s the bank? Will I even know what’s going on now?”
“Of course, you know how it is with soap operas—if you don’t watch for a year they move so slow that you don’t miss a beat. Almost makes you wonder why even watch in the first place.” We both laughed, especially since we always made fun of “people who watched soap operas” and it was obvious that we had a bit of knowledge ourselves.
“First two years of college Candy got me hooked,” I confessed.
“Yeah, blame it on her,” Mad joked. “How is she anyway?”
“She’s doing great. Rich’s is good. Getting a few key products and getting noticed. She is starting to get attention from a key VP, and so she’s learning a lot and loving it.”
“That’s great,” Mad beamed. “How’s Ted?” she asked me.
“How funny. You were always the one to tell me and now you’re asking? You don’t know?” I asked her.
“Well, no. I mean, Dan moved up a level and then got immediately reassigned to arbitrage, so he doesn’t interact with Ted at all anymore. I just haven’t heard anything lately.”
“Oh,” I said, not so sure how to answer that I really didn’t see him much even though I lived in the same house. “I think he’s still grieving intensely. He spends a lot of time at work. The kids miss him. A lot.” As soon as I said it I felt bad, since I didn’t want to gossip. But, it was true and he knew it.
“That’s too bad, Patty,” Mad said as we both got closer to cookie time. “But you still are hanging in there, right?” she asked with a new smile on her face, knowing the reply to come would be in the affirmative.
“For the next ten minutes, please impart as much wisdom as you can, oh mother-that-you-are,” I begged of her. “How do you make time to consistently discipline? Sometimes I feel like if I do that, we have no time for anything else.”
We mused and laughed and continued to enjoy the newly-found, mother-related bonding as we walked across the street and ordered two humongous chocolate chip cookies, that I didn’t even have to bake. “Ahhhh . . . I remember eating food I don’t have to prepare,” I giggled to Mad. “It just tastes better, doesn’t it?” We both nodded in delight.
Ted had explained to me and then to the kids that he was going ahead to New York City to prepare a new life for us. I, however, had yet to decide if this was my new life as well. “This promotion only means me and the kids are moving, Patty. You, of course, don’t have to come. But, I’d really want you to. I can’t imagine the kids without you. It’s amazing what can happen in a year . . . ” his voice trailed off as he continued to clear off his side desk in the living room.
“Well, this is amazing,” I first told him, “Congratulations. You’ve worked hard for this.” New York City? Moving? What about Clara? What about me? “So, what kind of timing are we talking about here?” I then asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“Oh, plenty of time,” he replied, distracted with separating the desk clutter into piles. “You know . . . we can talk more later about it. Just think about it, you know.”
No, I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to live in New York City. I didn’t know how to run a household there. I didn’t know how to live away from Candy or . . . or . . . The fact was, I no longer knew how to live away from The Five. As soon as I asked myself the question, I realized no question existed. They had become my life, my air, my beloved story that I went to every day. Their fiction played itself out to me in a way that held my attention and heart like no novel or poem ever did. I lost my ability to swallow when the thought came in of being in Buffalo and them somewhere else. As soon as I realized they were truly mine and I was truly theirs, I swallowed and then called Ted at work that next day. “Of course I’ll stay with the kids, Ted. New York City or Buffalo. No matter.” We agreed to start working out the details in a week or so, before he left.
“Whoa. That is amazing, Patty,” Candy said to me from her cell phone while on the way to the airport. “I’m so sorry we can’t talk in person. This is huge.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“It would figure the only place I don’t get to go for Rich’s is New York City,” she regretfully said back, obviously already beginning to mourn the upcoming separation.
“He’s leaving in a few days for a week-long trip. Then he’ll be back and forth for about a month.”
“When is it official? When are you all gone?” she asked.
“Not exactly sure. But, Ted is gone in five weeks. We have some flexibility in when we follow, but it wouldn’t be that long after,” I told her.
There was silence for a minute and I was hoping it was from some distraction on her end with the taxi driver or something, but it wasn’t. When she began to speak again her voice was small and trembling, “Patty, I am happy that you have those kids. Your decision makes me happy,” she got out very slowly.
What do I say to that? Years of Candy putting her feelings and her needs aside and letting me do my thing were flooding back as she added another memory to that gracious pile. “We’ll talk when you get back next week,” I replied. “Call me when you get home.”
The few days before Ted left were difficult ones. The kids were confused, sometimes angry, and completely scared. “Why can’t you just wait for us and then we’ll all go?” asked Hector one Sunday morning.
Since Ted didn’t answer I helped out, “Your Dad is going ahead of us. He’s taking care of everything. He’ll set up his new office and then find us a home. He’s got friends at work who know about the schools and neighborhoods that would suit us best. He couldn’t get all this done with us hanging around at first, now could he?”
Ted looked up and smiled at me with that last comment. “That’s right,” he added, as he rose, grabbed his briefcase and left the house out the kitchen door.
“You’d think he could be with us one Sunday since he’ll be leaving town in a few days,” Beth said under her breath. I was pleased to hear her vocalize the hurt. This was great progress.
“Yes, Beth. That would have been nice for us all. But, instead, we have big plans, don’t we?” I asked The Five with a big smile on my face and
waited for their memory to overtake their frowns. Then an explosion of excitement overtook them, even Beth eventually. “That’s right, folks. Today is Circus Day,” I rang out, “And, as you will remember, each of you picks which kind of circus animal you want to be for the day. Circus animals don’t do dishes, chores, or homework. They do, however, play all day long after church and have pizza for dinner. Circus Day officially begins now and ends tonight at eight. Now all of you get out of the kitchen. No animals allowed!”
In the early afternoon, I sat on the back porch watching them all in their various play. Such different approaches, some so serious and others never committing to anything for more than five minutes. I continued my list of what had to be finished and when in order to get us ready for the move. Ted had mentioned connecting me to a Human Resources rep from the bank in New York who would help with details. Until she called I was in a kind of holding pattern, but trying to plan as much as I knew we ought to. As the light moved across the porch planks and eventually hit my paper with blinding brilliance, my eyes instinctively shut from the sudden pain. In that brief darkness I felt alone for the first time in so long. I opened my eyes but still felt the anxiety in my gut, causing my eyes to continue to squint although the brightness was not on the page anymore. The sting stuck around for a while. Again I felt like a single Mom with no help. But, I couldn’t even get mad at Ted. I had no right to be angry at him letting me down. We had no agreement of partnership, really. It was just an assumption, an expectation, on my part. I felt I could be angry for The Five, for him disappointing them over and over. But in this moment, my stomach was not fighting with itself for the sake of the kids. I was anxious and angry for the sake of myself. I wanted help. I wanted support. And I wanted them to have two parents working together to help them through this. Instead it was just me.
But I kept telling them that Ted was doing his part, supporting us, providing for us, preparing the way for us. What lies! I sat on the porch and held back the tears. I was a fraud and a liar. In that moment I had so much regret of feeding them half-truths so they, and me, could be more comfortable, or pretend to be more comfortable. I made it normal to live in a relationship that didn’t exist. And at least Beth and Hector knew full-well it just wasn’t so, but was dark and wrong. In that moment, I made a pact with myself that going forward I wouldn’t manipulate their view of Ted anymore. I would no longer tell them what they saw was untrue and what they felt wasn’t happening. Instead of looking past his actions and feeding them what I hoped was Ted’s motivation as reality, I would let life speak for itself.
“Hi, Mad,” I said in a very chipper voice, too chipper.
“What is it? What’s wrong, Patty?”
“Um, sorry to bother and everything. Ted didn’t get home last night and the airline has no record of him on the flight that he gave me the number of. So, iyuhh . . . ”
“Patty?” Mad snapped me back to the conversation.
“I’ve called the Human Resource number that he gave me, but it doesn’t seem to be a working number. I must have written it down wrong . . . ”
“Maybe he took a different flight. Did you check his hotel in New York. I bet he hasn’t even checked out yet. Maybe he had to stay longer but couldn’t get to a phone or something,” Mad interrupted and waited for me to speak. But, when I didn’t know what to say she prompted, “Patty?”
“The hotel shows no record of him there this week,” I finally told her, “Nothing.”
“Oh,” she said, “I’ll call Dan at work and then I’ll give you a call back. Are you okay until I get back to you?”
“Oh yeah, sure,” I automatically told her. “Thanks, Mad.”
We hung up and I continued folding the laundry and thinking through everything he had told me the past few weeks. Periodically I’d go and check my notebook to see if I’d written down different details. Maybe I had remembered wrong. Maybe I had written it down wrong. Maybe this wasn’t happening. I finished folding that load and went into the playroom. I filled a big basket with the little ones’ toys, and then I dropped them in the tub in the nearby hallway bathroom to soak. On my knees, I lathered the plastic blocks first, checking every thirty seconds or so to make sure the cordless phone was in my pocket so I would hear the phone ring. The toys were rinsed, dried and back in the playroom, and I was onto folding the next load when the phone finally rang, “Hello?” I answered after a half of one ring, “Hello?” I quickly said again before anyone could answer.
“Patty, it’s Mad.”
“Oh, good, Mad. Thanks for calling me back. So where is he, Mad?”
“Patty, I’m going to come over. I’m actually on my way over now, in the car.”
Less than fifteen minutes later, Patty and I were sitting in the living room.
“Okay,” she said to me, “Are you ready for this, because this is kind of nuts. So . . . ” she trailed off and then finally began. “Dan checked with Human Resources and it looks like Ted hasn’t worked for the bank in quite some time.” I said nothing, I guess, because Mad then said, “Patty? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. I heard you. So . . . what does that mean? He . . . he . . . uhhh . . . ” We both sat there for a minute and then Mad offered one of the glasses of water that I’d brought to the coffee table when we first sat down. She put it in my hand and told me to drink some. I didn’t remember drinking it, but I remember looking at the glass on the table and noticing some of the water was gone and realizing I didn’t remember bringing it to my mouth. “How long, Mad?” I finally asked her. “How long has it been since he left the bank?”
“A few months.”
“When exactly? Did he get fired?” I started asking tons of questions.
“See here’s the thing. They won’t tell Dan all those kinds of details. He did get them to say he hadn’t worked there in a while, a few months. They can’t tell him any more than that. You can talk to them, though. I’m sure they’ll tell you more. Do you want to call now or go there?”
“I have no legal authority, Mad,” I questioned her. “Ted and I went over this not too long ago because of Clara. I am not their legal parent, you know.”
“I know,” Mad gently answered, “I know, Patty.”
Her voice was annoying me. It was very soft and not like her usual voice. It made me nervous. It reminded me of how people talked to me after my parents had died. “The kids will be home in a few hours, so I should probably go there tomorrow morning, not today. Can I call now, though? Do you have another number that I can use?”
“Of course. Here,” Mad handed me a sticky note with a number on it. “Dan already told them you’d be calling or coming by. You can ask for Michelle or talk with anyone really.”
When I rose to go get the phone, Mad picked it up from the coffee table and handed it to me. “Oh. Thanks,” I told her. With us both on our feet now, she told me she had to get back to Erie Public.
“Of course. Of course. Thank you so much. I’ll . . . I’ll call you later.”
“I can come by after work. Just let me know,” she offered once more before she walked through the front door and out onto the front stoop and closed the door behind her.
“Michelle, please. This is Patty Lewis . . . Yes, thank you,” I said into the phone, while still standing, scanning the living room and some into the kitchen for something to take care of while on the phone. I wasn’t used to idly chatting on the phone without my hands busy. I found some dishes to dry as Michelle got on the phone, “Hello, Ms. Lewis. Dan told me you’d be calling.”
“Yes. Thank you for making time,” I began, but then went straight to it, “Can you tell me, or help me know, where is Ted Tedesco? I understand he hasn’t worked there for a while, but I didn’t know that . . . Or, maybe you can’t tell me . . . I mean, you know, of course, I’m not his wife . . . I mean, I’m not his kids’ mother . . . Well, what can you tell me?”
I finally put the dish rag down and sat down at the kitchen table and just listened to Michel
le. “Yes, I can help you, Ms. Lewis. Would you like to come in right now and we can talk?” she politely asked.
“I would like to, but the kids will be home soon, so I should stay here. I could come in tomorrow morning, though. But . . . could you . . . can you tell me anything now?” I asked her.
“Yes, of course. Well, by law I can’t really tell you anything specific, but we can start paperwork to change that . . . ”
I interrupted. “Yes, well then please do.”
“Of course, Ms. Lewis. When you come in tomorrow we’ll begin that process. I’ve already contacted our legal department and we know how to proceed.”
“So . . . now? Can you tell me anything now?” I asked her, staring at crumbs in the kitchen table leaf crack.
“He has not been employed by the bank for almost three months. I can’t yet tell you the nature of his leaving until we get the paperwork squared away.”
“I see,” I told her, not really having the inclination to ask any more questions all the sudden.
“Ms. Lewis, do you know what time you’ll be coming in tomorrow? I just want to make sure I’m available.”
“Of course. Uh . . . thank you. What time is good for you?”
“How about nine-thirty?”
“Fine, Michelle. Fine. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
That next morning, as I entered her office, Michelle asked me if I would like tea, coffee, mineral water, a soft drink or juice. I stood in front of the chair that she was prompting me to sit in. I stood there planning in my head to answer the drink question and then sit down. But, the trouble was, I couldn’t answer the drink question. It suddenly proved to be an insurmountable task. I just looked at Michelle without a word. “Ms. Lewis, please have a seat and I’ll have my associate bring you some water.” She didn’t use the quiet voice. I had to give her credit for that. I was certainly displaying the behavior that could trigger the quiet voice, I would think, yet she chose to treat me normal. I appreciated that. “I know I’m acting strangely. I know I’m doing it, but I can’t seem to stop,” I began our talk. “You don’t know me, so I thought I should at least let you know that I know I’m acting strange.” We both smiled at each other.
