Chapter Thirty-Seven
ANN MARIE
Chicago, January 2009
We had a scare yesterday on New Year’s Eve, causing Mom to spend two nights in the hospital because she was having difficulty breathing, but the doctor called this morning to say she responded well to treatment and is able to come home. I spent the morning cleaning her sheets, doing laundry, prioritizing which bills to pay, vacuuming dog hair, and taking care of a myriad of other tasks I’ve been neglecting. I walk by the Christmas tree and laugh. Praise Jesus if I get that thing taken down by Easter.
I sit down with my laptop and a Lean Cuisine and see an e-mail from Dr. Marcus. I can hardly contain my smile.
Hi, Ann Marie. I wanted to check in and see how you and your mom are doing. Please let me know.
—Scott
I reply:
Hi, Dr. Scott. It’s so great to hear from you. Thank you for reaching out. I wish I had better news, but Mom landed herself in the hospital for a couple of days. I’m picking her up this afternoon, though, so we’re hoping she’ll be comfortable. Besides that, everything is crazy as always.
Again, thank you for asking. It really means a lot to both of us.
—AM
The next e-mail is from Amanda at Stewart Fishman’s office and has some encouraging news.
Todd has agreed to a property settlement in lieu of alimony, so he will waive his interest in the house, but he’ll still be responsible for child support. You will obtain full title to the property, which of course means you’ll be solely responsible for taxes, insurance, mortgage, et cetera. Our next step is to schedule what’s called a prove-up date, where both sides have to prove that our settlement is agreeable to the court. Once we do that, and the court finds that the agreement is not unconscionable, we’ll be finished. Usually takes a week or two. Since you are not the one who filed for divorce, you have the option to be present or not. Todd will be required to be there, since he’s the filer, but if all goes well, you should be divorced that day.
—Amanda
I reply that I have no interest in attending the hearing, and to let me know when I can get on with my life as an unmarried woman. Taking on the house myself is a daunting task, but I’m thrilled that Mom and I and the boys will have this home for the foreseeable future.
Snoopy is moping around and running to the front hall whenever he hears a car drive by. I walk over and give him a pat on the head. “She’s coming home today, bud. Now go and sit with the boys. They go back to school in a week.”
He wags his tail and jogs off to be with the kids in the family room, as if he understands me. Then, just as I get back to the kitchen, I hear a key in the front door, which sends the dog back up the hall like a boomerang.
“Shh, quiet!” I say to halt his barking, but he won’t stop, and I find Todd is cowering in the doorway after letting himself inside.
“What the fuck, Ann Marie? Get this thing out of my face!”
I cross my arms, and Snoopy continues to bark. “I thought you agreed to knocking first?”
“Get this dog away from me!”
“Shh,” I say, trying to quiet Snoopy and grab hold of his collar. “Sit, sit, shh. Good boy.” Snoopy stares at Todd as if he were a wounded squirrel perched on a low-hanging branch. “He’s a good judge of character. What can I say?”
“I don’t want this dog around the boys.”
“Too bad. It’s my mom’s dog, and he’s not going anywhere.” I’m done appeasing him. “Do you need something?”
Todd regains his composure and reaches for something in his pocket. “I have a check for you.” He hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask after unfolding it and seeing the amount.
“It’s the child support.”
“It’s half the child support.”
Todd rolls his neck. “It’s all I have this month.”
The thought of having to call my attorney, file a complaint, and let him know that Todd is not complying with the judgment makes me sick to my stomach. Dealing with chasing this money around and around and adding more attorney fees to try and get it is the absolute very last thing I need to deal with right now, and Todd knows that. My head is throbbing with rage as he continues to do whatever the hell he pleases with zero regard for the law and his boys.
“I’ll be sure and tell the judge that,” I say.
He takes his middle finger and thrusts it in the air, and for a moment I actually feel sorry for the other woman who’s walking the earth carrying his child. Before I can say anything else, he turns and starts to walk away.
I let go of Snoopy’s collar and yell, “SPIDER!”
“It wasn’t nearly as gory as I’d hoped.” I recount the scene for my mom when I get to the hospital later that day. “I think Snoopy actually wanted to love on Todd, but Todd didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”
Mom smiles and gives me a thumbs-up.
“He came to drop off half the child support.” I roll my eyes. “Maybe he thinks I should tell the boys they each get half a chicken nugget for dinner.”
Mom looks distressed now.
“I’m kidding! It’s fine. We’ll be just fine.” The words come quickly, if only I believed them myself. “Please don’t worry about us. Everything will work out.”
She holds a hand up, trying to form a response. So I give her a pad of paper and a pen. “Do you want to try writing?”
She nods, and I sit waiting for her to put her words on paper, something she’s able to do about an eighth of the time. She holds up the pad when she’s through. Have you read any more?
I look at her. “The journals?”
She nods.
“I want to go through them with you. And I’ve just been so busy back at home. I managed to clean and organize and get a lot done while you were in here on vacation.” I wink.
She places her hands over her heart, pleading with me.
“I promise you, we’ll read them together. Every single word. Just give it some time.” I pause. “I know you’ve opened the floodgates, and you’re worried I will have questions, but all I need right now is for you to get better. Please respect that.”
She nods.
“Dr. Marcus asked about you.”
She looks at me wide-eyed.
“I got an e-mail from him today, and yes, I responded, and yes, he’s madly in love with me.”
She twitches, which is now her version of laughing.
A nurse walks in with her discharge papers and a few more vials of pills. My kitchen counter already looks like the back room of a pharmacy, so these will fit right in. I sign the paperwork and roll Mom out to the parking garage in a wheelchair, making her look even worse than she probably feels, but the truth is that I don’t know exactly how she feels. We’re each trying to hide things from each other. She’s trying to hide her pain and suffering and self-pity, and I’m trying to hide my fear and devastation, but I have a terrible poker face. We’re really two people just trying to love and protect each other. Three, if you count the dog.
When we get home, Snoopy runs to her, and I have to hold his collar to keep all four paws on the ground. All she has to do is lift her arm in one sweeping move, and he goes down. In only a very short time, he’s learned to respond to her silent commands, sitting and lying down with just a wave of her hand.
I get her settled on the couch in the family room. “I wish you wouldn’t insist on wearing heels,” I say as I place a blanket over her lap. “They’re not very safe, and they’re certainly not necessary in the house.”
She brushes me off with a wave and then holds three fingers in the air, her sign for the boys.
“Luke and Jimmy are over at Edith Stern’s house, and Ryan is at the Engels’. I thought you might want to come home to some peace and quiet.”
She shakes her head.
“They’ll be home soon enough. Don’t you worry.”
She points to her purse, and I bring it to her. “I’m going to let Snoopy out since we’ve been gone most of the day. Come on, bud!” I say, and he follows me to the patio doors and then bounds through the snow, sniffing out the perfect spot to urinate.
I wait for him and wipe off his paws with a dish towel when he comes back inside. I check my laptop, and there are seven new e-mails from my attorney in the past two hours, but I’ve had enough for today so I shut my computer. I open the fridge and stare at the contents, waiting for a genie to pop out and tell me what to make for dinner. “Our dinner choices are spaghetti with peas, grilled cheese, or breakfast,” I yell to her and then shut the door. She’s waving me over when I look across the island, and there is a piece of paper in her hand.
“What’s up?” I search her eyes for an answer. There’s something to be said for the intimacy of communicating without words.
She hands me a check for $2,000, rendering me speechless, too.
She pushes my hand.
“What on earth is this for?”
Mom smiles and places her purse on the coffee table.
“Mom, you’re going to need this money. We are going to need this money for your hospital bills and medication. Have you seen how many vials of pills are over there? We still have a long road ahead of us.”
She purses her lips and pushes my hand again, forcing the money on me, and then she grabs a pad of paper. It takes her about ten minutes to write four words. For more chicken nuggets, it says.
I smile and burst into tears. Not because I need the money—which I desperately do—but because I take it as a sign that she’s giving up. I need her to be strong and believe in her own recovery, not start giving her money away.
“Thank you.” We embrace. “I certainly hope QVC doesn’t have to suffer for this.”
She shakes her head no.
I let out a small laugh and wipe my cheeks. “No, I don’t suppose they will.”
That night before bed, I refresh my e-mail for the thousandth time and bask in the glow of the screen as a response from Dr. Scott appears.
Hello again,
I wish you would’ve e-mailed me when she was first admitted. I could have checked in on her for you, but I’m glad to hear she’s back in your care. Send me an e-mail in the morning with an update. In the meantime, I hope you know that I meant what I said. I’m here for you, so please don’t hesitate to reach out. And I know what you’re thinking, so I’m going to go ahead and answer it . . . No, I don’t say that to everyone. Have a good night.
—Scott