When You Went Away

by Michael Baron

  When You

  Went Away

  a novel by

  MICHAEL BARON

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

  either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

  fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations,

  or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the

  intent of either the author or the publisher.

  The Story Plant

  The Aronica-Miller Publishing Project, LLC

  P.O. Box 4331

  Stamford, CT 06907

  Copyright © 2009 by The Fiction Studio

  Cover and interior design by Barbara Aronica-Buck

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9819568-0-0

  Visit our website at

  www.thestoryplant.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to

  reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form

  whatsoever except as provided by U.S. Copyright Law.

  For information, address The Story Plant.

  First Story Plant Printing:

  October 2009

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  BOOK ONE

  Gone

  ONE

  I Can Only Imagine

  TWO

  Trinkets and Trifles

  THREE

  Hearts

  FOUR

  Unalloyed Moments

  FIVE

  Great Toys

  S IX

  Some Other Time

  SEVEN

  Plate Discipline

  EIGHT

  Oars

  BOOK TWO

  While You Were Out in the World

  NINE

  Smoother and Sweeter

  TEN

  Cashmere Blend

  ELEVEN

  Cool

  TWELVE

  A Little Impaired

  THIRTEEN

  Life Support

  FOURTEEN

  Like Fire Had Been to the Cave Men

  FIFTEEN

  Subversive Thoughts

  SIXTEEN

  Visiting with Royalty

  SEVENTEEN

  Capers

  EIGHTEEN

  Avenue

  NINETEEN

  Ready Is Always an Issue

  BOOK THREE

  Runaway Train

  TWENTY

  Scar Tissue

  TWENTY-ONE

  Home-Baked Goodness

  TWENTY-TWO

  Veered Away

  TWENTY-THREE

  Mom’s Old Recipe

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Contact Information

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Just a Prior Engagement

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  FROM CROSS ING THE BRIDGE :

  DEDICATION

  To M, who never, ever went away.

  I’m so thankful that Tanya is purely a product of my imagination.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Incalculable thanks to my wife and children, who taught me so much of what has found its way onto these pages.

  Thanks to Danny Baror, who took the prospects for this novel very personally.

  Thanks to Barbara Aronica-Buck for the beautiful cover and interior design and for doing it all on a crash schedule.

  Thanks to early readers Kelly, Debbie, and Keith for their thoughts and encouragement.

  Thanks to Susan Wiggs for her generous and lovely cover comments.

  Thanks to Joan Schulhafer for knowing exactly what to do with this.

  Thanks to all of the musical acts that inspired me during the writing of this novel, especially Ben Folds, Phish, Soul Asylum, and Eric Andersen.

  And thanks to the New York Yankees, especially Lou Gehrig, Thurman Munson, Don Mattingly, and Mariano Rivera.

  PROLOGUE

  I dreamt of us in springtime. Maureen and I walked hand in hand through Washington Square Park, an acoustic guitarist playing an Indigo Girls song on one side, a guy throwing a Frisbee to his dog on the other. As we walked, Maureen’s sleeveless arm rested against mine, giving me one more reason to be thankful for the dawning of this new season. A teenaged girl and boy ran past laughing carelessly, transforming as we watched them into Tanya at age five, and Eric, her best friend at the time. The park became our backyard. I chuckled as they rumbled by and Maureen leaned into me. She kissed me on the cheek and tittered into my ear, causing the fine hairs on my neck to rise.

  Then she pushed me on the shoulder, calling out, “You’re it!” and running away laughing like the little girl I always wished I could have known. I chased them both (Eric had disappeared), sweeping Tanya up and carrying her, squealing delightedly and wriggling, under my arm while I sought Maureen, who somehow ducked out of sight.While I looked in one direction, she jumped on my back from the other, causing the three of us to tumble to the ground, Tanya leaping free to pounce on both of us.We wrestled together for a few moments, kissing, tickling, until we lay in the grass, a tangle of arms and legs, gazing up at the impossibly blue sky. I could stay here like this, I thought. I could very easily stay right here and never want for anything.

  A musical tinkling came from somewhere in the near distance, and Tanya gathered her feet under her faster than any little kid should be able to. “Ice cream truck,” she said with a joy that was singularly hers, sprinting to the front of the house, knowing that the man in the truck had already slowed in anticipation of her approach and that Maureen and I would soon be behind her with the money necessary for an ice pop or a Dove Bar or whatever else she might want.

  Maureen kissed me again at that point, softly this time, warmly, enveloping me with her spring smell. “Do you think the ice cream man will put this one on her tab?” she said, understanding how completely I wanted to remain here and kiss her like this indefinitely.

  And then Tanya sat next to us again, her feet tucked under her nine-year-old bottom. “Do the two of you always have to kiss?” she said, pretending to be repulsed but at the same time bearing just enough of a glint in her eye to let us know that this was at least moderately okay with her.

  “Yes, always,” I said and I kissedMaureen again to underscore the point.

  She frowned at me, but her mother reached out to grab her and she tumbled toward us, kissing Maureen’s hair and settling into her embrace. I rested my head against the two of them, not knowing where one ended and the other began and not caring in the least. And in the languor of this late March day, with the afternoon sun making the air feel warmer than it actually was, I fell asleep on a bed infinitely more important to me than my own life.

  The first thing I noticed when I came awake was early morning birds chirping, the sound slipping through the slim opening I left in the window the night before. Then the smell of the daffodils that Maureen planted in ridiculous quantities all around the perimeter of the house. It really was spring. I hadn’t dreamed that. And for just a second – that instant between dreaming and being awake when almost anything still seems possible—I believed that everything else about my dream was true as well.My wife was next to me. My daughter, five or nine or seventeen, was two doors down the hall, about to protest that it was too early to go to school.

  But the moment receded. And again,Maureen was gone forever, gone from this earth with a suddenness I promised I would never understand. And again, Tanya disappeared from my life, not knowing that her mother wouldn’t be here for her if she ever chose to return. I felt each loss as if it had just happened, realizing that the one thing I might have in unlimited quantity w
as sorrow.

  In the past few months, there had been so many dreams. So many moments when they were right here where I could touch them and let them know that they were the absolute essence of my life.Where I could lay my forehead against Maureen’s and we could allow our eyes to have hours of conversation for us. Where I could stop time before I floundered with Tanya and give her something of me without taking away any of her. Where I could have said to them, “I’ll gladly accept the worst possible moments with either of you over any moment without you.”

  I wanted to hold onto this dream, but I couldn’t any more than I could hold on to the dozens of others I had before. All I could hold onto was the increasing depth of understanding of everything I had lost. Like the insistent repetition of the chorus at the end of an epic song, with every new visit from Maureen and Tanya in my dreams, I came to feel what I had with them just a little bit more – and by extension feel what I could no longer ever have again.

  Neither the birds nor the daffodils or any of the other harbingers of the season I loved most could elevate me. Spring was nearly here. And the thought that I would live it without Maureen and Tanya was heartbreaking.

  I closed my eyes. Let me dream again. Let me visit with them for just a little longer. It never happened before and it didn’t happen now. Sleep didn’t come easily for me these days and it wouldn’t possibly come this way. No matter how much I wanted it.

  Reese made his first morning sounds. He never cried right away when he got up. For the first couple of minutes of every day, it was as though the world was just so fascinating to him, so absolutely new to his eyes, that his rediscovery of it took precedence over his hunger. Then the crying would come. Crying that always reminded me, perhaps would always remind me, of the sound of his crying the night I came home to find Maureen.

  I didn’t want him to have to cry today. And so before his empty stomach imposed its will upon him, I went to his room, picked him up, and held him to my chest. After a moment, we walked toward the kitchen. Past the framed painting of a hobbyhorse, posted outside Reese’s door, that Maureen found at the last antique store we visited together. Past Tanya’s empty room. Down the staircase lined with photographs of my wife and daughter and even a couple of the new baby.

  As we got downstairs, Reese started to fuss a little. We were probably a minute from full-blown bawling. I heated the bottle quickly, using the microwave though I knew that wasn’t the best thing to do, rubbing his back, and humming to him in the time this took. I tested the temperature on my arm and brought him into the family room. Almost immediately, he sucked contentedly.

  While he drank, I lost myself in the image of the antique quilt on the opposite wall. Maureen and I bought it a month before we were married. It was an extravagant expense at the time, but she wanted it so much. “It will hang prominently in every home we ever have,” she said. And it did. From the drafty walk-up in Coram to the needy starter three-bedroom in St. James to this, our family home for the past twelve years in Port Jefferson. “This quilt is you and me, Gerry. Woven from separate parts and joined together forever.”

  Reese stopped sucking and I glanced down at him. He looked at me with fascination in his eyes, maybe even a bit of confusion, and his hand reached up toward my face. I bent toward him, kissing his hand and rubbing my cheek against it. It was only then that I realized I was crying. I let Reese’s hand stray over my face, drawing the line of tears down toward my chin. He had no idea what I was going through, just as he had no idea how much his touch meant to me.

  I pulled the baby closer and adjusted the bottle.He began to suck again, secure in the simplicity and wonder of his world.

  A new season was coming. A new day was beginning. I held fast to the only thing that made it possible for me to face either.

  BOOK ONE

  Gone

  ONE

  I Can Only Imagine

  I thought about moving to Maine. Or maybe Halifax. Somewhere entirely different from suburban Long Island for the entirely different life Reese and I would have – the life I never planned for him and now needed to make as good as possible. It might have been healthier to move, to not be reminded by the washing machine and the planter on the porch and the crooked street sign at the end of the block and the bagel shop on 25A that Maureen would never share any of these things with me again. But we couldn’t move. If we moved and Tanya ever came back, she wouldn’t know where to find us. And I refused to believe that she wouldn’t ever come home again.

  Staying meant I needed to get back to work. And getting back to work meant finding a babysitter for Reese. It’s entirely possible that one of the first four people I interviewed for the job would have taken good care of my son. But none of them – three college students and a woman in her early fifties – inspired me to ask enough questions to find out. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to turn Reese over to someone else. And I didn’t want it to be necessary to do so. Maureen and I had been so fortunate that she was able to stay home for the first five years of Tanya’s life. It was an idyll I know she cherished. She was only going to be able to get three months this time from her boss, but we hadn’t even begun to talk about day care before she died. Maybe she hoped it would be difficult to find qualified help and she would have to extend her stay with Reese.Maybe we should have just planned it that way, even though it ultimately wouldn’t have mattered. If we had, this might have been one less care for her in what turned out to be her final months.

  Reese just got up from his nap when Lisa came for her appointment.We were still in his room, watching his musical mobile spin, when the doorbell rang.

  “Let’s get through this,” I said, hugging him to my chest as we descended the stairs. I realized I knew virtually nothing about the woman who was coming for this job. The agency called in the morning with relevant details and I barely listened to them, simply writing “Lisa 2:30” on a pad on the kitchen counter. I expected another college student, but she was obviously older, late twenties, maybe even early thirties.

  “Is this Reese?” she said broadly before even saying hello, reaching for the baby’s hand, and giving it a gentle squeeze. We went into the family room and I sat on the couch with Reese on my lap. She sat across from us, grinning and burbling at him. He seemed to find this at least a little intriguing and he watched her carefully, not willing to smile, but very content to examine her.

  Eventually Lisa looked up at me. “The agency told me about your wife. I’m very, very sorry.”

  “Thanks. It’s been a confusing time.”

  “I can only imagine.” She held me with her eyes for a moment and I got the impression that she indeed had imagined this. That after hearing about Reese and me, she tried to envision what it would be like for a man about to turn forty to deal with the sudden death of his wife and the care of a four-month-old. I found her statement surprisingly moving, even though I spoke at length about precisely this to friends and relatives.

  Lisa looked back at the baby. Reese continued to watch her. “Your son is gorgeous, you know.”

  “He is,” I said, kissing him on the ear. I took a deep breath and smiled. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  She sat back in her chair a little and focused her attention on me again. “I have anM.A. in child psychology from Stony Brook.” She must have noticed that my eyebrows rose when she said this. “I know; grossly overqualified, right? Only sort of. You see, after I graduated college, I started a nanny agency and was doing pretty well with it. Then the economy tanked and I went out of business. I thought about doing a bunch of things, and then I just decided that I would enroll in the Ph.D. program and get a job as a nanny myself while I studied. I start school in the fall.”

  I was disappointed to hear this. “So this job would be a short-term thing for you.”

  “No, not at all. I’m taking night classes and even doing some stuff at home online.” She shook her head briskly. “I wouldn’t want to bail on a kid after only a few months.”


  Certainly, she’d prepped her answer, but it was the right one. If at all possible, I wanted to avoid the heartache of Reese’s attaching himself to one babysitter and then being forced to adjust to another in a short while.

  “And you really feel like you want to take care of a kid when you aren’t in school?Wouldn’t an office job or something like that be easier on you?”

  She shrugged. “It might be easier physically, but definitely not mentally. I don’t see myself as the office type. To tell you the truth, I think it would bore me out of my mind.” Reese emitted a nonsense syllable and Lisa leaned toward him. “You agree with me, right, Reese? Playing games and rolling on the floor all day is fun. Sitting in an office is a snooze.”My son regarded her open-mouthed. I thought about telling Lisa that some of us found office work to be at least marginally fulfilling and then decided against it.

  “My hours can be pretty unpredictable,” I said, though I had already resolved to get home no later than 6:30 every night.

  “For now that’s not a hassle. Once school starts in September that could be a little bit of an issue, but maybe all of us will be on a good schedule by then. Assuming you want to hire me, of course.”

  For some reason, I knew already that I did. Something told me that Lisa would help Reese, that she’d be good for him. I told her she had the job. This was the first spontaneous thing I’d done since Maureen died. And I felt validated in my decision when Lisa stayed for another half hour to talk and play with the baby. Reese definitely responded to her, at least to the degree to which he responded to anything. But he did so in a dreamy fashion. Almost as though she mesmerized him.

  “So when should I start?” she said, asking the question I avoided answering in my own mind.

  I gave it some thought, though I knew in one sense any answer was a good one and in another that no answer would be good enough. “Does next Monday work for you?” It was Wednesday. This would give me five more days alone with my son.