Chapter 1
WESTON
You never know what you have until you lose it. Cheryl used to tell me that every time I prioritized my job over spending more time with her. And she was right. I was wasting my life at work, chasing every opportunity to make another billion so that I could live up to my nickname as the ‘King of Wall Street’. And all that time I kept forgetting what a wonderful life I had at home. I used to laugh at her words and tell her that I would make lots of time for her, for our family. I promised that she and Eric would see me plenty - I just needed to finish this one special deal...
How wrong I was.
Now, I’m standing at her graveside, wishing I had listened to her while I had the chance. Eric is on the other side of the graveyard, sitting on a bench and waiting for me to be done. He understands that this is the place where his mother was laid to rest but hardly remembers anything about her or our life in New York - he was too young at the time to really remember who his mother was, or why she mattered. But I know he misses her and no matter how hard I try I can’t fill that void in his heart. I’m scared of the day when he asks why he can’t have a mother like other kids. Because I have no satisfying answer.
I lay down the flowers in front of her headstone. Her favorites - black roses. She used to tell me that she appreciated their beauty when no one else did. She once said I made her feel that way too - I made her feel like she was worth something when the rest of the world was against her. That was before the days when I sold my soul to Redwood Capital. Before I forgot what life is really about.
It’s been four years since the day when Cheryl was in the car crash that ended her life. She was on her way to have dinner with me in New York City. We had argued earlier in the week because she insisted I didn’t make enough time for her. I had caved and agreed to take her out.
The taxi she was in was going too fast. I imagine she scolded the driver for his behavior (“Don’t you know how many deaths a year are due to reckless driving?”) but in the end, it wasn’t enough. She died of her injuries in the hospital bed in my arms. In the arms of the man who, five minutes after the car crash happened, rang her phone to cancel dinner. I had a meeting to attend. But of course, she never picked up.
The last voicemail on her phone was me telling her I was putting the job before her once again. And I hate myself for that to this day.
A lot has changed since she’s been gone. I had to rethink my priorities, for one. I quit my position as the CEO of Redwood Capital and moved to Colorado with Eric. It was always Cheryl’s dream to go there - she longed to escape the smog of the city and live our days out in the mountains. I didn’t want to let that dream die with her. I wanted Eric to experience the beautiful life that she never got to lead. But every year, I come back here, to New York, to pay my respects to Cheryl. Each year, it gets further in the past, but it’s yet to get easier.
I can see that Eric is growing a little restless. He doesn’t feel the same connection to his mother that I do. He never got to know her, after all. He doesn’t remember how she held him as a baby while he cried. He doesn’t remember how she was the only one who could tempt him out of a tantrum. All he has to remember her are photographs and other people’s memories. One day, I’d like to tell him that he turned out so wonderfully because he has her blood running through his veins. But today isn’t that day.
I kneel at Cheryl’s graveside and place my hand on the damp grass. Somewhere, deep beneath the dirt, my beautiful wife has been laid to rest. She’s so close to me right now, but she’s never felt so far away. There’s so much I wish I could tell her. I wish she could see how well Eric is growing up, see how much of her is in his face. I used to talk to her when I came to see her grave, but I don’t bother anymore. What’s the point? She’s dead. She can’t hear a word I’m saying.
***
Eric’s favorite part of visiting New York is the food. I’ve always tried to get him to be interested in sightseeing. To give him credit, he loves the Statue of Liberty. He’s got a little figure of it in his bedroom among his other toys, and one of his favorite storybooks is about its history.
But mostly, he takes little interest in going to see the sights. I tried to get him interested in the different museums, or walking around Central Park, or seeing the Empire State building. He didn’t want to visit Ground Zero at all or even walk along the Brooklyn Bridge. Even his interest in seeing a game at Madison Square Garden pales in comparison to his fascination with New York’s food. I indulge his interest simply because Cheryl loved going out to restaurants and taste different cuisines, not that she’s here to see if he cares or not.
Back at home, I try to keep his diet pretty healthy. Cheryl was always obsessed with eating good food. Madeline, our housekeeper, is a great cook, and Eric has always been more than happy to eat up his greens. But our rare trips to New York bring out the little fast food monster in him. He loves trying out all the diners, feasting on chicken and waffles, burgers, hot dogs, whatever he can get his hands on. It puts a smile on his face, so it puts one on mine too. That’s why after we’re done visiting Cheryl, we head into the city and I let him pick out somewhere to go for food. We’ll be leaving in a few hours anyway, so it’s the perfect way to kill some time.
But today, Eric is strangely quiet. He picks at his food when it arrives, and he doesn’t chatter as much as normal. I watch him, waiting for him to explain himself, but he says nothing. Eventually, I sigh, putting my burger down and reaching to ruffle his hair.
“You okay?”
Eric glances at me, his lip pouted. “I’m fine.”
“Then why the long face, buddy?”
Eric crosses his arms. It hurts how much he looks like his mother when he does that, the mix of anger and frustration on his features a perfect replica of his mom’s face after we had an argument. How does he get it so spot on when he never even saw her look that way?
“I don’t like coming here. It makes you sad every time.”
I try to cover up my surprise. I wasn’t expecting me to be the reason he’s upset. But he always has been intuitive, I suppose. Another trait he inherited from his mom.
“I’m alright, Eric. You have to understand that coming here is important. It’s not always nice, but it’s the right thing to do. Your mom deserves to be respected.”
“But she’s gone. Why is she still making you so sad?”
I don’t know what to say. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it stays stuck, my mouth too dry. I wasn’t ready to have this kind of conversation. I thought I had a few more years before Eric would begin to question everything, but now he’s putting me on the spot.
“Eric...it’s okay for me to be sad. I know you don’t understand, but...but imagine I disappeared right now. You would be all on your own in the city. You wouldn’t know where to go.”
Eric’s eyes widen. “You’re not going to go, are you?”
“No...of course not. I’m just trying to explain why we come here. When your mom died...it felt like being lost. Alone in a big place that I don’t know very well.”
Eric nods fervently. “That sounds scary.”
I nod back. “It was...and sad.”
“Do you still get lost?”
I hold my breath. I could tell my son that the world is a scary place. It’s easy to get lost. But he’s so young. Too young to understand anything scarier than surprise spelling tests that don’t even matter. So I just smile and lean over to ruffle his hair.
“Not really. After all, I’ve got you.”