The Life List Read online

  MY LIFE GOALS

  *1. Have a baby, maybe two

  2. Kiss Nick Nicol

  3. Make the cheerleading squad Congratulations. Was that so important?

  4. Earn straight A’s Perfection is overrated.

  5. Ski the Alps What fun we had!

  *6. Get a dog

  7. Answer correctly when Sister Rose calls on me and I’m talking to Carrie

  8. Go to Paris Ah, the memories we made!

  *9. Stay friends with Carrie Newsome forever!

  10. Go to Northwestern I’m so proud of my Wildcat!

  11. Be super friendly and nice Way to go!

  *12. Help poor people

  *13. Have a really cool house

  *14. Buy a horse

  15. Run with the bulls Don’t even think about it.

  16. Learn French Très bien!

  *17. Fall in love

  *18. Perform live, on a super big stage

  *19. Have a good relationship with my dad

  *20. Be an awesome teacher!

  “Huh,” I say, scanning the list. “Kiss Nick Nicol. Be a cheerleader.” I smile and slide the list back to him. “Cute. Where’d you get this?”

  “Elizabeth. She kept it all these years.”

  I cock my head. “So … what? She’s willed me my old life list? Is that it?”

  Mr. Midar doesn’t smile. “Well, sort of.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He scoots his chair closer to mine. “Okay, here’s the deal. Elizabeth fished this list out of the trash years ago. Over the years, every time you accomplished one of your goals, she’d scratch it off.” He points to LEARN FRENCH. “See?”

  My mother had slashed a line through the goal and beside it written Très bien!

  “But ten goals on the list haven’t been accomplished yet.”

  “No kidding. These are nothing like the goals I have now.”

  He shakes his head. “Your mother thought these goals were valid, even today.”

  I scowl, stung to think she didn’t know me better. “Well, she was wrong.”

  “And she’d like you to complete the list.”

  My mouth falls open. “You’ve got to be joking.” I shake the list at him. “I wrote these twenty years ago! I’d love to honor my mother’s wishes, but it’s not going to happen with these goals!”

  He holds out his hands like a traffic cop. “Whoa, I’m just the messenger.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “I’m sorry.” I sink back into my chair and rub my forehead. “What was she possibly thinking?”

  Thumbing through the file, Mr. Midar removes a pale pink envelope. I recognize it at once. Her favorite Crane stationery. “Elizabeth wrote you a letter and she’s asked me to read it aloud to you. Don’t ask me why I can’t just give it to you. She was insistent that I read it aloud.” He gives me a smart-aleck grin. “You do read, don’t you?”

  I hide a smile. “Look, I don’t have a clue what my mother was thinking. Before today I’d have said that if she asked you to read it aloud to me, there’s a reason. But today all bets are off.”

  “I suspect that’s still the case. She had her reasons.”

  My heart quickens at the sound of the tearing envelope. I force myself to sit back and fold my hands on my lap.

  Midar positions his reading glasses on his nose and clears his throat.

  “ ‘Dear Brett,

  “ ‘Let me begin by saying how very sorry I am for everything you’ve had to endure these past four months. You were my spine, my soul, and I thank you. I didn’t want to leave you yet. We had so much living and loving left, didn’t we? But you are strong, you will endure, you will even thrive, though you don’t believe me now. I know today you are sad. Let that sadness sit with you a bit.

  “ ‘I wish I were there to help you get through this time of sorrow. I’d grab you into my arms and squeeze you until your breath catches, just like it did when you were a little girl. Or maybe I’d take you to lunch. We’d find a cozy table at The Drake and I’d spend all afternoon listening to your fears and sorrows, rubbing your arm to let you know I feel your pain.’ ”

  Midar’s voice sounds a little thick. He looks over at me. “You okay?”

  I nod, unable to speak. He clutches my arm and squeezes before he continues.

  “ ‘You must have been very confused today when your brothers received their inheritance, and you didn’t. And I can only imagine how angry you were when the top job was given to Catherine. Trust me. I know what I’m doing, and everything I do is in your best interest.’ ”

  Midar smiles at me. “Your mother loved you.”

  “I know,” I whisper, covering my trembling chin.

  “ ‘One day almost twenty years ago, I was emptying your Beverly Hills, 90210 wastebasket and I found this crumpled ball of paper. Of course, I was too nosy to let it go. You can imagine how delighted I was when I unfurled it and discovered you’d written a life list. I’m not sure why you chose to throw it away, because I thought it was lovely. I asked you about it later that night, do you remember?’ ”

  “No,” I say aloud.

  “ ‘You told me dreams were for fools. You said you didn’t believe in dreams. I think it may have had something to do with your father. He was supposed to have picked you up that afternoon for an outing, but he never came.’ ”

  Pain grips hold of my heart and twists, contorting it into a wretched knot of shame and anger. I bite my bottom lip and squeeze shut my eyes. How many times had Father stood me up? I’ve lost count. After the first dozen times, I should have learned. But I was too gullible. I believed in Charles Bohlinger. Like a mythical Santa Claus, my father would surely appear, if only I believed.

  “ ‘Your life goals touched me deeply. Some were funny, like number seven. Others were serious and compassionate, like number twelve: HELP POOR PEOPLE. You were always such a giver, Brett, such a sensitive, thoughtful spirit. It pains me now to see that so many of your life goals remain unfulfilled.’ ”

  “I don’t want these goals, Mother. I’ve changed.”

  “ ‘Of course you’ve changed,’ ” Midar reads.

  I snatch the letter from him. “Did she really say that?”

  He points to the line. “Right here.”

  The hairs on my arms rise. “Weird. Keep going.”

  “ ‘Of course you’ve changed, but darling, I fear you’ve abandoned your true aspirations. Do you even have any goals today?’ ”

  “Of course I do,” I say, racking my brain to come up with even one. “Before today, I hoped to run Bohlinger Cosmetics.”

  “ ‘The business was never a fit for you.’ ”

  Before I have time to grab the paper, Mr. Midar leans over, pointing to the sentence.

  “Oh, my God. It’s like she’s listening to me.”

  “Maybe that’s why she wanted me to read it aloud, so you two could have a bit of dialogue.”

  I blot my eyes with a Kleenex. “She always had a sixth sense. Whenever something bothered me, I never had to tell her. She’d tell me. And when I’d try to convince her otherwise, she’d look at me and say, ‘Brett, you’re forgetting, I made you. I’m the one person you can’t fool.’ ”

  “Nice,” he says. “That kind of connection is priceless.”

  I see it again, that flash of pain in his eyes. “Have you lost a parent?”

  “They’re both alive. They live in Champaign.”

  But he doesn’t say whether they’re healthy. I leave it alone.

  “ ‘I regret letting you work for Bohlinger Cosmetics all these years—’ ”

  “Mother! Thanks a lot!”

  “ ‘You were much too sensitive for that environment. You were a born teacher.’ ”

  “Teaching? But I hated teaching!”

  “ ‘You never gave it a fair chance. You had a terrible experience that year at Meadowdale, remember?’ ”

  I shake my head. “Oh, I remember all right. It was the longest year of my life.”
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br />   “ ‘And when you came to me, crying and frustrated and filled with angst, I welcomed you into the business, and found a spot for you in the marketing department. I’d have done anything to erase that pain and worry from your beautiful face. Aside from insisting you maintain your teaching certification over the years, I’ve let you abandon your true dream. I’ve allowed you to stay in a cozy, highly paid job that neither challenges nor excites you.’ ”

  “I like my job,” I say.

  “ ‘Fear of change makes us stagnant. Which leads me back to your life list. Please look at your goals as Brad continues reading.’ ”

  He positions the list in front of us and I study it, more carefully this time.

  “ ‘Of the original twenty, I’ve placed an asterisk beside the ten remaining goals I want you to pursue. Let’s begin with number one: HAVE A BABY, MAYBE TWO.’ ”

  I groan. “This is insane!”

  “ ‘I fear you’ll forever live with a shadow on your heart if children—or at least a child—are not part of your life. Though I know many childless women who are happy, I do not believe you’re one of them. You were my girl who loved her baby dolls, who couldn’t wait to be twelve so she could babysit. You were the girl who used to swaddle Toby the cat in your baby blanket and cry when he’d wriggle free and leap from the rocking chair. Remember, darling?’ ”

  My laugh gets tangled in a sob. Mr. Midar hands me another tissue.

  “I do love kids, but …” I cannot finish the thought. It would require me to blame Andrew, and that’s just not fair. For some reason, the tears keep coming. I can’t seem to stop them. Midar waits, until finally I point to the letter and wave him on.

  “You sure?” he asks, his hand on my back.

  I nod, the tissue pinched on my nose.

  He looks skeptical, but he continues.

  “ ‘Let’s skip number two. I hope you did, indeed, kiss Nick Nicol, and I hope it was delightful.’ ”

  I smile. “It was.”

  Midar winks at me, and together we look at my list.

  “ ‘Let’s move down to number six,’ ” he reads. “ ‘GET A DOG. I think this is a grand idea! Go find your puppy, Brett!’ ”

  “A dog? What makes you think I want a dog? I don’t have time for a fish, let alone a dog.” I look at Brad. “What happens if I don’t complete these goals?”

  He pulls out a stack of pink envelopes, bound together with a rubber band. “Your mother stipulated that each time you complete a life goal, you return to me and receive one of these envelopes. Upon completion of all ten goals, you get this.” He holds out an envelope that reads FULFILLMENT.

  “What’s in the FULFILLMENT envelope?”

  “Your inheritance.”

  “Of course,” I say, rubbing my temples. I look him square in the face. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  He lifts his shoulders. “I’m guessing it’ll mean some major life revisions.”

  “Revisions? Life as I know it has just been shredded! And I’m supposed to piece it back together in a way that some—some kid wanted it to be?”

  “Look, if this is too much for you today, we can arrange to meet again.”

  I pull myself to my feet. “It is too much. I came here this morning expecting to walk out the CEO of Bohlinger Cosmetics. I was going to make my mother proud, take the business to new heights.” My throat seizes up and I swallow hard. “Instead I’m supposed to get a horse? Unbelievable!” I blink to keep my tears at bay and extend my hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Midar. I know this isn’t your fault. But I just can’t deal with this right now. I’ll be in touch.”

  I’m nearly out the door when Midar rushes to me, waving the life list. “Keep this,” he says, “in case you change your mind.” He tucks the list in my hands. “The clock’s ticking.”

  I cock my head. “What clock?”

  He looks down at his Cole Haans, sheepish. “You must complete at least one goal by the end of this month. In one year from today—that’d be September thirteenth of next year—the entire list is to be completed.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three hours after sauntering into the Aon Center, I stumble out, my emotions flashing and fading like a meteor shower. Shock. Despair. Fury. Grief. I throw open the door of the Town Car. “One Thirteen North Astor Street,” I tell the driver.

  That little red book. I need that little red book! I’m stronger today—much stronger—and I’m ready to read my mother’s journal. Maybe she will explain herself, tell me why she’s doing this to me. It’s possible it’s not a journal after all, but rather an old business ledger. Perhaps I’ll learn that the business was in a financial free fall, and that’s why she didn’t leave it to me. Somehow, there must be an explanation.

  When the driver pulls up to the curb, I yank open the iron gate and race up the concrete steps. Without bothering to take off my shoes, I sprint up the stairs and head straight to her bedroom.

  My eyes survey the sun-drenched room. With the exception of her lamp and jewelry box, the dresser is empty. I throw open the closet doors, but it’s not there. I hurl open drawers, and then turn to her bedside tables. Where is it? I rifle through her secretary’s desk, but find only embossed note cards, assorted pens, and stamps. Panic rises. Where the hell did I leave that book? I pulled it from the closet and put it … where? On the bed? Yes. Or did I? I flip back the comforter, praying it’ll be nestled within the bed-sheets. It’s not. My heart pounds. How could I have been so careless? I turn circles, raking a hand through my hair. What in God’s name did I do with that book? My memory is a blur. Was I so sloshed that I’ve forgotten even earlier events? Wait! Did I have it when I went tumbling down the stairs? I rush from the room and race back down the steps.

  Two hours later, having searched beneath furniture cushions, through every drawer and closet and even the trash, I come to the horrifying conclusion that the book is nowhere to be found. When I call, nearly hysterical, my siblings haven’t a clue what I’m talking about. I collapse on the sofa and hide my face in my hands. God help me, I’ve lost my promotion, my inheritance, and my mother’s last gift to me. Can I sink any lower?

  When the alarm clock buzzes Wednesday morning, I wake to a blissful oblivion of yesterday’s nightmare. I stretch and throw my arm over the bedside table, blindly groping for the obnoxious little beep. Silencing the alarm, I roll onto my back, granting myself one more moment of shut-eye. But suddenly it all comes flooding back. My eyes fly open and a net of dread ensnares me.

  My mother is dead.

  Catherine is head of Bohlinger Cosmetics.

  I’m expected to dismantle my life.

  The weight of an elephant plops down on my chest and I struggle to breathe. How can I possibly face my co-workers, or my new boss, now that they know my mother had no confidence in me?

  My heart races and I prop myself up on my elbows. The drafty loft has the crisp feel of autumn and I blink several times, adjusting to the darkness. I can’t do this. I cannot go back to work. Not yet. I collapse against the pillow and stare up at the exposed metal ducts in the ceiling.

  But I have no choice. Yesterday, when I didn’t show up for work after the meeting with Mr. Midar, my new boss called, insisting we meet first thing this morning. And as much as I wanted to tell Catherine—the woman my mother believed in—to go to hell, without an inheritance, I need my job.

  I throw my legs over the side of the bed. Taking care not to wake Andrew, I peel my terry-cloth robe from its hook on the bedpost. It’s then that I realize he’s already gone. It’s not even five A.M. and my incredibly disciplined boyfriend’s already up and running. Literally. Clutching my robe, I pad barefoot across the oak floor and lumber down the cold metal stairs.

  I take my coffee into the living room and curl up on the sofa with the Tribune. Another scandal in City Hall, more corrupt government officials, but nothing distracts me from the day ahead. Will my co-workers sympathize with me and tell me how unfair Mother’s decision was? I turn to the
crossword puzzle and scramble to find a pencil. Or did the office erupt in applause and high-fives when the news hit? I groan. I’ll have to square my shoulders, hold my head high, and make everyone believe it was my idea that Catherine run the company.

  Oh, Mother, why have you put me in this position?

  A lump rises in my throat and I swallow it down with a gulp of coffee. I don’t have time to grieve today, thanks to Catherine and her damn meeting. She thinks she’s being coy, but I know exactly what she’s up to. This morning she’ll offer me a consolation prize—her old position as vice president. She’ll make me second in command in exchange for her amnesty and my obedience. But she’s delusional if she thinks I’ll accept without some serious demands. Without an inheritance, I’m going to need one heck of a raise.

  My pout softens into a smile when Andrew breezes through the door, damp with sweat from his morning run. Clad in navy shorts and a Chicago Cubs T-shirt, he studies his black runner’s watch with furrowed brows.

  I rise. “Good morning, sweetheart. How was your run?”

  “Sluggish.” He removes his ball cap and rakes a hand through his short blond hair. “You taking the morning off again?”

  Runner’s guilt punches me in the gut. “Yeah. I still don’t have the energy.”

  He bends down to untie his laces. “It’s been five days. Better not wait too long.”

  He turns in the direction of the laundry room while I retrieve his coffee. By the time I return, his lean body is sprawled on the sofa. He’s wearing a fresh pair of warm-up pants and clean T-shirt, working the crossword puzzle I’d just started.

  “Can I help?” I ask, coming up from behind and leaning in over his shoulder.

  He gropes for his coffee cup without looking up from the puzzle. He writes birr in twelve down. I check to see the clue. Ethiopian currency. God, I’m impressed.

  “Oh, fourteen across …” I say, excited for the opportunity to display that I, too, have a modicum of intellect. “Treasure State capital … that’s Helena, I think.”

  “I know.” He drums the pencil against his forehead, deep in thought.