The Life List Read online

  The words never come.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Instead of preparing the August 7 wedding that Herbert once suggested, I plan a party for what would have been my mother’s sixty-third birthday. On Friday morning, Zoë and John arrive at O’Hare airport, an arrival scene much different from the one in Seattle. After months of talking nearly every day, we greet one another like the family we’ve become, sharing kisses and tears and bone-crushing hugs. John and I talk nonstop on the drive to Brad’s office, while Zoë sits in the backseat gabbing to Austin Elizabeth.

  “You my knees,” she says, taking Austin’s hand in hers.

  “Niece,” John corrects her, and the two of us chuckle. Then he turns to me, serious. “How would you feel if Austin were to call me Grandpa? Or Papa?”

  I smile. “I’d love it.”

  “And Brett, you can call me Dad, you know.”

  My cup runneth over.

  My dad grips Brad’s hand, and the two men in my life finally meet. But Zoë is much more interested in the view of the city than she is in meeting Brad. She stands before the floor-to-ceiling window, utterly fascinated, and I settle in at the mahogany table, the same table where I sat, bitter and heartsick, almost a year ago. I thought my life had fractured that day, and in truth it had. But just like a fractured limb, it’s stronger now, in those broken places that have healed.

  While my dad settles in beside me, Brad moves to the window and squats down next to Zoë.

  “Hey, Zoë, want to take a ride on the elevator with me? I’ll show you an even cooler window.”

  Her eyes go wide and she looks to her dad for permission.

  “Sure, sweetie, but could you wait just a minute? Mr. Midar’s about to read a letter from Brett’s mom.”

  Brad rises and shakes his head. “Not this one. You two read it together, alone. I think that’s the way Elizabeth would want it.” With Zoë’s hand in his, he steps from the office and closes the door behind them.

  I pull the letter from its envelope and place it on the table before us. My father covers my hand with his, and together, we read the letter in silence.

  Dear Brett,

  Thirty-four years ago I made a promise—a promise I have forever regretted. I told Charles Bohlinger I would never reveal the secret of your conception. In return, he promised he’d raise you as his own. Whether or not he upheld his end of the bargain is debatable. But I believe I’ve kept my promise, even now.

  So many times I have longed to reveal the truth. You struggled so with your relationship with Charles. I begged him to let me tell you, but he was adamant. Whether guided by shame or by foolishness, I felt I owed him his dignity. And without knowledge of your father’s whereabouts, I feared it would only confirm your feelings of paternal rejection.

  I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, and Charles as well. Please understand, it wasn’t easy for him. Instead of seeing the goodness and beauty in you, you were a constant reminder of my infidelity. But to me, you were a gift, a joy, a rainbow after a wretched storm. God knows I didn’t deserve it, but a piece of the man I loved had returned to me, and once again, music infused my soul.

  You see, my world went silent during those weeks after your father left me. It wasn’t until years later that I understood the chivalrous, selfless deed he’d executed on my behalf. I loved him so desperately I would have done anything to stay with him—even something that would have eventually bankrupted my soul. But he spared me, and I’m forever grateful.

  Though I tried, I’ve never been able to locate your father. I hired someone once, after Charles and I divorced, but it was a fruitless search. Somehow, as I write this, I know with certainty that you will find him. And when you do, celebrate. Your father is an extraordinary man. And though I know an illicit affair is a selfish and cowardly act, to this day I still believe that what I felt for your father was love—pure and true and strong as a prairie wind.

  You often asked me why I never had another relationship after Charles and I divorced. I’d smile and tell you there was no need. I’d already had the love of my life. And it was true.

  Thank you for bridging two lives, my beautiful daughter. Your spirit, your kindness, all the good in you comes from your father. I thank him—and you—every day for showing me what love is.

  Forever yours,

  Mom

  Astor Street is a flurry of activity Saturday afternoon. Mother would have adored this day, a day of love past and present, of friendship old and new, and of family—lost and found. Carrie and her brood arrive at noon, followed soon after by her parents, Mary and David. While Carrie, Stella, and I prepare lasagna for fourteen, Mary and David sip drinks in the sunroom with Johnny, laughing and telling stories of old times in Rogers Park. In her swing by the window, Austin gnaws on a rubber fish, watching Carrie’s kids play hopscotch with Zoë in the courtyard out back.

  It’s four thirty when Carrie decides to make her flourless chocolate cake. “If my timing’s right, it’ll still be warm when I serve it.”

  “I’m already salivating,” I say. “The mixing bowls are on the baker’s rack.”

  “I’ll set the table,” Stella says. She disappears into the dining room then calls to me, “Where do you keep your table linens, Brett?”

  “Oh, no!” I bat my forehead. “I forgot to pick up the linens from the dry cleaners.”

  She hauls a stack of damask place mats and napkins into the kitchen. “It’s okay, I found some.”

  “No, we have to use the hand-embroidered Irish linens today. Mom always used them for special occasions, and what’s more special than her birthday?” I check the time. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  Like August days should be, today is bright, with jumbo-sized cotton clouds dangling from an azure sky. Though the forecast calls for falling temperatures and thunderstorms, you wouldn’t know it now. Humming “What a Wonderful World,” I stroll down the sidewalk with my dog promenading before me, and my daughter snuggled against my chest in her BabyBjörn.

  Outside Mauer’s Dry Cleaners, a glamorous blonde sits on a bench, clutching a leash attached to a black Labrador. Rudy sniffs the docile dog, then gives it a head butt, hoping to drum up playtime.

  “Behave, Rudy,” I say, looping his leash around a wooden rung on the bench. I smile at the woman but she’s yakking on her cell phone and seems not to notice.

  Bells jingle when I enter Mauer’s. It’s almost five—nearly closing time. I step in line behind the only other customer in the place, a tall guy with dark, wavy hair. He’s listening as the white-haired woman behind the counter chats away. My eyes bore into the back of his head. Come on, already! He laughs at something she says, and finally hands her his ticket. She shuffles over to a mechanized rack in search of his dry cleaning, and returns a moment later with his garment, covered in clear plastic.

  “Here we go,” she tells him. She hangs the garment on a metal rod.

  I stare at it … then at the man … then back to the garment.

  It’s a Burberry trench coat.

  “Looks good,” he says.

  I’m suddenly light-headed. Could this be the Burberry man? Nah, what are the odds?

  He hands her some cash and lifts his coat.

  “Thanks, Marilyn. Enjoy your weekend.”

  He spins around. Brown eyes flecked with gold land first on Austin. “Hey cutie,” he says to her. She stares up at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. Laugh lines shoot like fireworks from the corners of his eyes and he turns his gaze to me. I watch his face go from confused, to quiet recognition.

  “Hey,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “You’re the woman I used to run into all the time. I spilled coffee on your coat outside your apartment building. I saw you that morning when I was jogging.” The soft undercurrent in his deep voice makes me feel like I’m reuniting with an old friend when, of course, I barely know him. “The last time I saw you we were at Chicago station. You were so mad you’d missed your train …” He
shakes his head as if he’s embarrassed. “You probably don’t remember.”

  My heart beats in my temples. I’m tempted to confess it was his train I wanted to catch, but I simply say, “I remember.”

  He steps closer to me. “You do?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  His face softens into a smile and he offers his hand. “I’m Garrett. Garrett Taylor.”

  I stare at him, mouth agape. “You … you’re Dr. Taylor? The psychiatrist?”

  He cocks his head. “Yeah?”

  Time folds in on itself. That voice. Of course! Garrett Taylor is the Burberry man! He’s not some old geezer. He’s a gorgeous forty-something, with a nose that’s a bit crooked and a visible scar along his jawbone—the most perfect face I’ve ever seen. A dozen hummingbirds let loose in my chest. I throw back my head and laugh, then take his outstretched hand.

  “Garrett, it’s me. Brett Bohlinger.”

  His eyes go wide. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it, Brett. I’ve thought about you so often. I wanted to call you but it just seemed …” He draws back, leaving his sentence dangling in the air.

  “But you’re supposed to be old,” I say. “Your mother taught in a one-room schoolhouse. Your sisters are retired schoolteachers …”

  He grins. “There’s a nineteen-year gap between my sisters and me. I was what you might call a surprise.”

  A surprise, indeed.

  “Do you live around here?” I ask.

  “Just over on Goethe.”

  “I’m on Astor.”

  He laughs. “We live only blocks from each other.”

  “It’s actually my mother’s house. I moved to Pilsen last winter.”

  He offers his pinkie to Austin and she latches onto it. “And you’ve got a new baby.” A trace of sadness colors his voice. “Congratulations.”

  “Meet Austin Elizabeth.”

  He runs a hand over her silky curls. But when he smiles, his eyes have lost their cheer.

  “She’s adorable.” He looks at me. “You’re happy now. I can see that.”

  “I am. Deliriously.”

  “You’ve made some progress on that life list. Good for you, Brett.” He nods curtly and grips my arm. “I’m so glad we finally had a chance to meet. I wish you every happiness with your new family.”

  He’s moving toward the door now. He thinks I’m married. I can’t let him leave! What if I never see him again? His hand lands on the doorknob.

  “Remember Sanquita?” I nearly shout. “My student with kidney disease?”

  He turns around. “The girl in the shelter?”

  I nod. “She died last spring. This was her child.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He wades toward me. “So, Austin’s adopted?”

  “Yes, after weeks of paperwork, it became final just last week.”

  He smiles down at me. “She’s a lucky baby.”

  We stare at each other until finally Marilyn calls to us from behind the counter. “I hate to break up your little reunion, but we’re about to close.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I scramble to the counter and dig into my pocket for my ticket. I hand it to her and turn to Garrett.

  “Listen,” I say, hoping he can’t see my heart’s frenetic dance through my flimsy T-shirt. “If you’re not doing anything tonight, I’m having a little party, mostly family and a few friends. We’re celebrating my mother’s birthday. I’d love it if you could stop over—One Thirteen North Astor.”

  He looks genuinely disappointed. “I’ve already got a commitment tonight.” His eyes dart to the window for a blunt millisecond, and my eyes follow. The blonde with the black Lab no longer yaks on her cell phone. She stands at the window peering in at us, probably wondering what’s keeping her boyfriend … or husband.

  “Oh, no problem,” I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

  “I should scoot,” Garrett says. “Looks like my dog’s getting restless out there.”

  A dozen comebacks spring to mind, and they’d be hilarious if I weren’t standing here utterly mortified, looking at a woman who’s as far from dog-like as anyone could possibly be.

  Marilyn returns to the counter with my linens. “Seventeen fifty,” she tells me.

  I fumble for my money, then glance back at Garrett. “It was great to meet you,” I say, trying my damnedest to sound lighthearted. “Take good care.”

  “You too.” He hesitates for the briefest moment before opening the door and stepping out.

  The clouds have thickened, brushing the sky with swirls of amethyst and gray. I can almost see the rain huddled in the menacing clouds, planning its assault. I breathe in the fusty scent of the approaching storm and pick up my pace, hoping to make it home before the clouds burst.

  I curse myself all the way home. Why, oh why, did I open my big mouth? He must think I’m a nut, asking him to an intimate family birthday party when I barely know him. How could I be so stupid? A guy like Garrett wouldn’t be single. He’s a gorgeous doctor—and a nice one, too. No wonder we were never able to connect all those times we tried. Mother probably threw those roadblocks in front of us, desperate to keep his unavailable body away from mine. Am I ever going to meet a nice guy? A nice guy who’s single? One who’ll love both Austin and me?

  An image of Herbert Moyer barges in and takes lodge in my brain.

  The house smells of sautéed garlic, and laughter and chatter drift from the kitchen. I unclip Rudy’s leash and work to banish all thoughts of my mortifying encounter with Garrett Taylor. It’s Mother’s birthday celebration, and I refuse to let anything ruin it.

  Brad rushes in from the living room and takes the linens from my hand. “Jenna just called. Her flight arrived on time and she’s on her way.”

  “Hooray! We’re all here.” I pull Austin from her front pack, then turn so Brad can unhook the BabyBjörn.

  “And Zoë was just telling me about her horse, Pluto.” He peers in at me over my shoulder. “According to your dad, some anonymous donor gave the Nelson Center a significant endowment to reinstate their therapeutic horseback riding program.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, “What did you sell this time, B.B.? Another Rolex?”

  “Actually, I took some money out of my retirement. Zoë’s horseback program is worth the tax penalty.”

  “Well, congratulations. Goal number fourteen is in the bag—the feed bag!” He busts out laughing and I can’t resist a smile.

  “You are such a loser.”

  “No, the only loser in this story is Lady Lulu. Remember Lulu, the horse at the animal shelter Gillian wanted us to rescue?” He shakes his head and wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “Poor ol’ Lu’s probably on her way to the glue factory as we speak.”

  “She is not. Lulu found herself a good home months ago.”

  “Wait. You actually followed up on Lady Lulu?”

  I shrug. “Don’t give me too much credit. You have no idea how relieved I was to find out she’d been adopted.”

  He laughs and lifts his hand for a high five. “I’m impressed, kid. That’s another goal knocked off. You’re almost there.”

  “Yeah, except for the very hardest one.” My wounded ego flares and I shake my head. “Time’s running out, Brad. I have one month to fall in love.”

  “Look, I’ve been thinking about this. You’re in love with Austin, right? I mean, couldn’t that be the heart-stopping, I’d die for you kind of love your mother was talking about?”

  I gaze at the face of a baby I’d gladly die for. If I say yes, I’ll get envelope number seventeen. I’ll buy my mother’s house and every last goal will be accomplished, right on schedule. Austin and I will get our inheritance and our futures will be secure.

  I open my mouth to tell Brad yes, but I stop when a flash of the fourteen-year-old appears in my mind’s eye, her wistful eyes begging me not to abandon her lifelong dream. I hear my mother’s words, Love is the one thing on which you should never compromise.

  I punch Brad’s arm. “Gee, thanks for
the vote of confidence, Midar.”

  “No, I’m just—”

  I smile. “I know. You’re just trying to help. And I appreciate it. But I’m going to finish this list, no matter how long it takes. It isn’t about the inheritance anymore. I can’t disappoint Mother—or that girl I once knew.” I kiss the top of Austin’s downy head. “We’ll be fine, with or without our millions.”

  The lasagna is golden brown and bubbling. Mary places a silver bowl brimming with hydrangeas in the center of the dining room table, elegantly set with Mother’s embroidered linens. Catherine lights the candles, and I dim the lights. The room takes on the lavender hue of the approaching storm. If Mother were here she’d clasp her hands and say, “Oh, darling, it’s lovely!” I’m filled with pride, and a sudden, desperate longing for the woman I lost.

  A crack of thunder startles me from my reverie, immediately followed by the sound of rain pummeling the windowpanes. Outside the window, Mother’s oak tree sways with fury. I rub the gooseflesh from my arms.

  “Dinner’s ready,” I announce.

  I watch the people I love, the people who love me and love my mother, gather around her beautiful mahogany table. Jay pulls out a chair for Shelley, and as she goes to sit, he kisses the back of her neck. Shelley blushes when she realizes I saw the little act of affection, and I give her a wink of approval. Carrie and her family take up one side of the table, her children arguing over who gets to sit beside Zoë. Brad and Jenna claim the chairs next to Shelley, chatting about Jenna’s flight. I take my dad’s hand and lead him to the head of the table, right where he belongs. Mary and David slide in next to Joad. Beside him, my beautiful daughter dreams, nestled against her aunt Catherine’s chest. I hear Joad suggest she lay Austin down while we eat, but Catherine won’t hear of it. I catch Catherine’s eye and we smile, the smile of two very different women with a common love.

  At last, when everyone is settled, I take my place at the head of the table, opposite my father.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” I say, lifting my wineglass. “To Elizabeth Bohlinger, the extraordinary woman some of us called Mother …” My throat seizes and I can’t speak.