The Remedy for Regret (4 page)

I say goodbye to Monica and thank Yvette for inviting me. On the drive home, I try to empty my mind of everything—Monica’s baby, the abandoned infant from my past, and the way Simon made me feel earlier in the evening—so that I can concentrate on him.

But he is not at home.

As I slowly get ready for bed, I try not to worry. I lock the front door only after making sure Simon’s set of house keys are nowhere to be found, which must mean he has them with him. I try to read in bed for a while, wanting to stay awake, but when the book starts to fall repeatedly in my face, I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. I tape a note to the mirror above the sink:

Wake me when you get home

I sign my name and draw a little heart, which I hope communicates that I fell asleep concerned for him.

As I crawl back into bed, I am aware of the scent of Monica’s baby all over me—on my arms, in my hair and in my lungs.

T
he soundtrack from the London performance of
Les Miserables
rouses me from sleep as my CD alarm clock clicks on.

My first waking thought is of Simon:
He did not wake me up last night
. I turn abruptly in my bed, first relieved that his sleeping form is beside me and then miffed that he said nothing to me when he came in.

I wait for several minutes while the song plays through to see if the music will awaken Simon but he does not stir.

I switch off the music and get out of bed. I make my way to the bathroom where I see that my note to Simon has been replaced with one of his own:

Tess–It was late when I got in last night and I didn’t want to wake you. Let’s talk tonight when you get home. There’s something I need to tell you.

p.s. I am sorry about what I said.

I reach out to touch his note, his words. Something has changed for him; I can sense it. Something broke through his wall of despair last night. It should fill me with relief but it fills me instead with fear. I am afraid he has decided to move on. To leave me. To leave the woman he lives with but who will not marry him. A man can only handle so much disappointment in his life. The accident is already too much. With me out of the picture there would be one less thing to cause him unhappiness.

I’m tempted to run back into the bedroom, wake Simon and beg him not to leave but I instead spend several minutes trying to convince myself that it’s not smart to jump to conclusions. Maybe all Simon wants to tell me is that he’s finally decided to go back to work.

I go about my morning routine as if there is nothing to worry about. I shower, dress, dry my hair and put on my make-up thinking only of what lies ahead for me at the boutique. When I get to the kitchen I notice with a start that the three cereal bowls from yesterday have been washed and left to dry in the drainer. Simon, who got in so late last night that he didn’t have the heart to wake me, felt compelled instead to wash a few dishes? By hand? In the middle of the night?

My careful attempts to stay focused on just the ordinary details of the day begin to quaver. I walk back to the bedroom and stand in the doorway watching Simon sleep. He has not moved since I got up. I walk back into the bathroom, grabbing a pen from his dresser by the door on my way. I re-read his note to me and then in small letters I write my response:

I’m sorry about what I said, too. See you tonight.

I love you.

If he’s thinking of leaving me, those last three words will sound like a desperate cry for him to reconsider.

And that’s what they are.

I get to
Linee Belle
at nine—an hour before we open—but there’s new inventory to bring out and the sitting areas we have set up around the boutique to make people think they are in their own home, not in a mall, need tidying. Antonia likes to keep the coffee maker busy all day, brewing strong European coffee she buys at considerable expense. She also likes to have her grandmother’s silver tray filled with Italian cookies, which anyone rich enough or brave enough to ask to try something on will be offered. I get these things ready.

At ten, I raise the cage that opens out onto the second floor of Water Tower Place and then set the store’s CD player to random play. A few minutes after ten, Antonia breezes in, stopping to look at my island scene in the front window.

“Is
very good,
Tezz
,” she says. She left Italy for America twenty-five years ago, but her accent is as strong and alluring as ever. “Where did you get the beach umbrellas?”

“From Bahama Llamas on the first floor, “I answer. “Rent-free. All we have to do is tell people where to get them if they ask.”

“Smart girl.” She heads to the back of the boutique where she pours herself the first of what will be many cups of coffee for the day.

The rest of the morning passes by slowly and business doesn’t start to pick up until the noon hour. By one-thirty, things haven’t slowed down and I am starving.

“
Juz
go,” Antonia says to me. “You need to eat. Elena will be here in fifteen minutes anyway.”

The phone rings then and Antonia picks it up after the first ring. She shoos at me and mouths the word, “Go,” before saying, “
Linee Belle
. This is Antonia,” into the mouthpiece.

I grab my wallet from my bag under the cash register and start to walk away.

“
Juz
a moment,” I hear her say and then she calls me. “
Tezz.
Is for you.”

I turn back and take the phone from her. She walks away to help two women looking at silk scarves.

“This is Tess,” I say into the phone.

There is a slight pause.

“Tess?” The woman on the other side sounds unsure of herself.

“Yes,” I say. “This is Tess. Can I help you?”

“Tess, it’s Blair.”

I am utterly amazed to hear her voice. She has never called me at work before, not even during a time of crisis, which is usually when she calls. And it doesn’t sound like her. Blair and I talk to each by phone other every other month or so, but always at home and always on the weekend. She and her husband Brad and twin girls live in St. Louis, a day’s drive away. Sometimes Brad’s business will bring him to Chicago and she will call me if she comes with him so that we can get together for lunch. But I am struggling to remember when was the last time we did that. Has it been a year? I can remember the last phone call, however. It was two months ago, in February. She was lamenting her depressing lack of true friends. She was tired of cocktail parties and Mah Jongg lunches and country club weekends. I didn’t know what to say to her. What do you say to someone who has just
realized money, even a lot of it, can’t buy good friends? Then she told me she felt like she and Brad were drifting apart, that it seemed like her marriage had lost its momentum. I’d always known Brad’s money couldn’t buy a happy marriage either, but I did not say this. I’d told her maybe they should see a counselor. As if I know anything at all about marriage.

In any case, her calling me at work in the middle of the day is not like her. It occurs to me maybe she and Brad are in Chicago and she wants to get together.

“Blair! What’s up?” I say.

“I called your apartment,” she is saying. “Simon gave… Simon gave me this number. He said you wouldn’t mind…”

But Blair’s voice fades away before she finishes her sentence.

“Blair?”

I hear a choked-back sob on the other end.

“Blair. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Tess, Brad collapsed while jogging this morning,” she says. “They’re thinking he had a heart attack. He’s… he’s in a coma.”

I am stunned. Brad’s only in his thirties. “Blair, I am so sorry,” I manage to say. It doesn’t seem possible that he could have had a heart attack this young.

“The doctors say it was bad,” Blair’s voice is thick with distress. “They… they aren’t sure he’s going to pull through. They…”

Another sob cuts her short.

I hardly know what to say. Antonia is looking at me. So are the two women she is helping.

“Blair, do you want me come?” I say.

That’s it. That’s all I can think of to say. I am astounded that that is all she wants to hear.

“Could you?” she says, her voice not much more than a squeak. “Could you really?”

“Well… of course,” I stammer, wondering what in the world makes me think my presence will make things easier for her.

“I… I can’t leave the hospital, but I’m sure I can find someone to pick you up at the airport. I’ll pay for the ticket,” Blair says through her tears.

“You don’t have to worry about that—” But she interrupts me.

“No, you must let me. I want to.”

I can tell it’s important to her that she is in control of at least one little thing this day.

“Okay, okay,” I suddenly remember her twin daughters. “Blair, where are the girls?”

There is a momentary pause. Blair seems not to have heard me.

“Blair?”

“They’re with Brad’s sister,” Blair finally says. “Can you come today, Tess? I don’t care how much the plane ticket costs. I will pay for it. Can you come today?”

“Yes, I will,” I answer, but I feel anything but confident. “I need to hang up now, Blair, so I can make some arrangements, okay? I’ll try and get there this evening sometime.”

“Okay,” Blair whispers. “You still have my cell phone number?”

“I’ve got it at home,” I assure her.

“Okay. Call me when you land and I’ll find someone to come get you.”

“Blair, I’ll just get a rental car at the airport. I’ll call you from the rental agency, okay? You can tell me how to get to the hospital.”

“All right,” Blair says. “Thank you, Tess. I… I didn’t know who else to call.”

For a moment I am deeply touched that Blair thought of me first, but then I realize that well-to-do Blair with her million dollar home, beautiful children and silver Mercedes has really never been subjected to weakness and powerlessness, not even when we were kids. She probably believes that most of her affluent St. Louis friends are just like her; unaccustomed to misfortune and therefore unable—unqualified—to help her. She knows I am familiar with grief. Of course she would call me.

“Blair, I’m going to go now and call the airlines. You hang in there. I’ll see you soon,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says. “Tess, come as quick as you can.”

“I will. I’ll see you tonight.”

It doesn’t take long to explain to Antonia that I am going to need a few days off as she practically heard the whole conversation. She tells me to ring up the scarves while she calls her travel agent. By the time I close the cash register drawer, Antonia has secured a seat for me on a flight that leaves O’Hare for St. Louis at 5:10 p.m.

Elena arrives as I am hugging Antonia goodbye.

“Thanks, Antonia,” I say. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“
Yez
, you will!” she says with a wink and then adds as raises her hand in farewell, “
Ciao
.”

“
Ciao
,” I say back as I make my way out of the boutique.

I am halfway home before I realize that Simon and I sort of have a date tonight. A date to talk. I inwardly groan as I realize how bad the timing is. I spend the rest of the drive home wondering how to explain things to Simon.

But again, Simon is not home when I arrive. There is no note to let me know where he is. He must be planning on getting back before the time I usually get home from work, which is six o’clock. I’ll be in the air by then. His cell phone is sitting uncharged on his night table so I cannot call him.

I yank out a suitcase and begin tossing things in it, pausing at the slightest sound to see if Simon is coming through the front door. By three o’clock I am anxious to get going. I have to get through afternoon traffic, drop my car off at the park and ride and make it through security at the airport. I can’t wait any longer.

I grab a piece of paper and a pen to write a hurried note.

Simon—I wanted to wait until you got home to tell you this in person, but I ran out of time. Blair called me this afternoon after she talked to you. Brad is in a coma, docs think he’s had a heart attack and they don’t expect him to live. I’m taking a flight that leaves for St. Louis at 5:10. I may be gone a few days, maybe a week. It depends on what happens next. I know we were supposed to talk tonight and I am honestly sorry about this. But Blair needs me, Simon. She asked me to come. I’ll call you tonight from Blair’s house. Missing you already—Tess.

I read the note twice to make sure he will understand I want him here when I get back. Then I tape the note to the bathroom mirror, right over the note that reminds him that I love him.

I grab the suitcase and my canvas bag, noticing for the first time since I got home that the light on the answering machine for our landline is blinking. I rush to it thinking it might be Simon letting me know where he is. I press the button. Instead of hearing Simon’s voice, I hear my Dad’s.

Hey Tess, it’s Dad. You’re probably at work, but I just wanted to let you and Simon know that Zane and I are throwing a surprise 40th birthday party for Shelley on the twenty-ninth and am hoping you guys won’t mind the drive and can come. Or maybe you will want to fly in. Just let me know. You can call me back tonight; just don’t say anything to Shelley about the party if she happens to answer the phone.

Well, talk to you later. Bye.

I don’t have the time or the energy to consider how I feel about my stepmother’s upcoming fortieth birthday. The drive to Dayton, Ohio, where Dad and Shelley live, isn’t that bad from Chicago but I can’t picture Simon making that kind of trip right now. And I don’t feel an urge to spend several hundred dollars on plane tickets. I wouldn’t mind seeing my half-brother Zane, though. But going to Shelley’s party? Where I know no one? Does my Dad really think I will come? Does he really want me to come? Is he just asking for the sake of asking?

I can’t think about this right now. I have to go. I can’t miss my plane.

On impulse, I go back to the bathroom to take one more look at the note on the mirror. I read it, and then I pick up the pen that I had left on the counter by the sink. I add a line of
X’s
and
O’s
after my name.