Magic Sometimes Happens Part 15

f.a.n.n.y called everybody angel, but she was the angel.

She helped me get my business going, sent me leads and introduced me to all sorts of people who might give me work, and she generally looked out for me.

If I could stop dreaming about Patrick Riley, if I could stop fantasising about getting Patrick Riley's shirt off then running my hands down Patrick Riley's lovely chest, I thought I might have a chance of getting back to normal.

Of course, I'd probably never be quite back to normal there was all the Charlie stuff and other stuff to sort before I could start thinking about normal. But as October turned into November, I was hopeful I might manage almost-normal soon.

November.

PATRICK.

I checked my inbox daily, hourly, by the minute, hoping for a message, even one as staid and formal as the one she sent when she came back to the UK.

Come November, you'll be back to normal, I a.s.sured myself. But whatever normal might have been, I knew I wasn't it. Unless lying awake all night and wondering what Rosie might be doing, thinking, saying, who she could be seeing and if she might be with some guy and, if this was indeed the case, how I could kill him by just willing him to die, could ever pa.s.s for normal.

By November, far from being back to normal, I was getting desperate.

You could write the girl yourself, perhaps?

But what would I say?

Does it matter, idiot? All you need to do is get in contact and say something anything!

Okay.

I clicked compose.

Now write something casual, informal. But don't be too familiar because she won't like that.

Say hi, how are you doing?

Yeah, but also let her know you're thinking warm, affectionate thoughts. You got it?

Yeah, I got it.

FROM: Patrick M Riley SUBJECT: Missing You TO: Rosie Denham Hi, how are you doing?

I think about you day and night. You're in my head and in my heart.

Rosie, we should be together. It's so bad to be apart.

What the h.e.l.l? Did I just write that piece of rhyming s.h.i.t? What was wrong with me? Did I need some form of medication?

I clicked delete and opened up an article for which I was doing a review and then I gave the author a hard time.

I felt like I was kind of in a holding pattern.

I went on trying to act normal, or what I hoped was normal.

I headed out to work and came back home to the apartment, which was now a library since Lexie wasn't there to kvetch about the papers, books and magazines. I saw my kids and did a ton of stuff with them. I'd started a new outreach programme on a reservation in Northern Minnesota and it was going well.

But emotionally I felt like I was frozen, that a part of me was in suspended animation in a cryogenic tank. Contrariwise, I also had this feeling it would take one single spark to cause a Three Mile Island-style explosion.

You could say that I was still confused.

Lex had quieted down considerably. Maybe Mr Wonderful was so exciting and inventive that he wore her out? I guess it was a possibility.

The kids had settled into a routine. I read somewhere that kids of separated parents can be quite adaptable. They can learn and grow and love, develop all the social skills that kids whose parents are together do, and it looked like Joe and Polly fit this paradigm.

I adapted and I fit it, too. Monday through Friday, I picked my children up from Angie's, pre-school, school, wherever. I took them back to the apartment, gave them dinner, read to them a while, we watched a DVD or two.

Once or twice a week they helped me cook. Joe showed quite a talent for making chocolate cupcakes and for decorating them. Polly showed a talent for eating decorations. But Polly was a vital member of our team because she was our quality control. Yeah, we had the process all sewn up. Girl Scout cookie makers, give way to the serious contenders in the home baking stakes!

Later, Lex would pick them up and take them back to Mr Wonderful's real house with its real yard. When I saw them on weekends, we did a bunch of stuff I never thought to do before. We glued. We crafted. We made crazy stuff like wizard wands and monster masks. We had no one saying, don't you guys get paint on that new rug, eat up all your carrot sticks and then go take your bath.

The travelling to Europe, Dubai and Singapore had not been mentioned since Lex said she was leaving. So I kind of hoped it wouldn't happen.

Did they get their pa.s.sports?

Yes, and Joe was beyond proud. Lexie let him bring it to show me and The Terminator. As we sat together on the couch and Polly watched a candy-coloured DVD about a fairy princess, he read out all the n.o.ble precepts printed at the top of every page. I have to admit I was impressed. I didn't know George Washington said all that stuff about repairing standards, which as you can guess had Joe confused.

He added that he was the only kid in his whole cla.s.s to have a US pa.s.sport. 'So I guess that means I'm kind of special?' he suggested shyly.

'You always were and always will be special.'

'Do you have a pa.s.sport, Dad?'

'No, I never needed one.'

'Mom and Polly, they got pa.s.sports. Maybe you should get a pa.s.sport, too?'

'Yeah, perhaps,' I said. 'Hey, Joe did you see The Terminator savage that zucchini? I swear he ate the whole thing in one bite!'

I should get a pa.s.sport? Why? I didn't think it likely that when Lex and Mr Wonderful went jetting off to Europe or elsewhere, I would be asked along.

So Lex and I, should we be getting a divorce? Lexie didn't mention it these past few weeks and I didn't care to think about it. I had too much work stuff, children stuff and other well-you-know stuff on my mind to sit around in lawyers' offices, chase paperwork, do all the tedious s.h.i.t you had to do to get divorced.

ROSIE.

My weeks were beyond hectic.

I was still setting up the business, and this meant chasing clients, making phone calls, sorting advertising, chatting up the editors of magazines and newspapers and taking various people out to lunch. I hoped it wouldn't be too long before prospective clients, editors and advertisers wanting me to help promote whatever they were selling started chasing me.

While I'd worked for f.a.n.n.y and while I was in France, a salary had turned up in my account as if by magic. But that wasn't going to happen now. I had joined the ranks of the ridiculous, the stupid, the cross-eyed optimists, the likely bankrupts. I was self-employed.

I worked myself into a stupor. But still I couldn't sleep. Then I couldn't stand it any more. I sent an email.

FROM: Rosie Denham SUBJECT: Winter TO: Patrick M Riley SENT: 18 November 15.45 Any snow yet?

Rosie X FROM: Patrick M Riley SUBJECT: Snow TO: Rosie Denham SENT: November 19 09.32 Only flurries.

Pat So much for emails, the conduits of the soul and spirit right.

PATRICK.

Only flurries.

Yeah, succinct and to the point and well done, Riley meteorologically precise. But it was not the message I had meant to send, had wanted to send Rosie.

FROM: Patrick M Riley SUBJECT: Snow TO: Rosie Denham My darling Rosie The first snow fell last night.

It swirled around the trash-mobile in big white flakes, hitting on the windshield as I was driving home from JQA. It looked like fairies dancing. It was so graceful and so beautiful it made me think of you.

I want so much to see you, kiss you, hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.

I don't know if you feel the same?

I doubt you do.

So I ...

FROM: Patrick M Riley SUBJECT: Us TO: Rosie Denham My beloved Rosie I hope you're okay?

I guess you're very busy and that's why you don't have any time to write long emails. But nowadays it's getting kind of desperate with me. So if you have a moment ...

FROM: Patrick M Riley SUBJECT: Must see you TO: Rosie Denham I can't go on like this. It's killing me. I can't eat, can't sleep. I never needed anyone as bad as I need you ...

Delete. Delete. Delete.

'Come by for Thanksgiving, Pat?'

Ben was calling on his cell and he was at his most persuasive or insistent or annoying, I could not be sure. It's so hard to tell with someone who is the original Mr Charm. 'You don't want to be alone on Thanksgiving,' he added.

'I won't be alone. Lex is going to Chicago with her Mr Wonderful and leaving Joe and Polly home with me. So we'll be fine.'

I was surprised when Lex announced her plans for Thanksgiving. I'd thought she and the Limey would want to do the whole Thanksgiving-happy-family bit, turkey, pumpkin pie and all, would want to show my children how it was going to be. But it seemed Mr Wonderful was taking Lexie someplace where children were not welcome. So I would get to see my kids, which suited me just fine.

I would fix a real Thanksgiving dinner, I decided. I'd go to Trader Joe's, get quality. We'd have organic-farm-raised, free-range turkey, home-made stuffing, cranberry jelly, green beans, sweet potatoes, followed by my own home-made dessert, not store-bought pie.

When Lex and I first married, I often cooked. I always loved to bake up cakes still do. I'd make triple chocolate brownies for this holiday. The kids could lend a hand. Then we'd all lie on the couch and stuff ourselves while watching the usual holiday garbage on TV. Or our DVDs of Shrek again, again, again. My children couldn't get enough of Shrek. I must admit I like those movies. I even got the jokes, or most of them.

Yeah, we'd have ourselves a great Thanksgiving. But it was not about to happen. Tess was planning on a real Thanksgiving dinner too, and we were all invited, which made me kind of nervous ...

'Please come by, old buddy, and bring the kids along?' persisted Ben. 'After all, Thanksgiving's much more fun when there are kids around.' This from a guy who hated children and often said he never wanted any of his own?

'You better roll those fancy Persian carpets up,' I told him.

'I'm not worried about the carpets, Patrick. You guys come by and have yourselves a real good time okay?'

'Okay,' I said. 'But you should put your good stuff out of reach of sticky fingers. I'm just warning you.'

Maybe he and Tess were nesting?

I guess stranger things have happened, right?

ROSIE.

I'd often wondered why my British diaries felt the need to tell me it was Thanksgiving. But now I was very glad they did. I went into Google and found out more about it.

Gosh, surprise, surprise. I didn't know that it was always on a Thursday. I didn't know you could make all those things from sweet potatoes pies and cookies, cheesecakes, even candy.

I thought of Pat and wondered what he would be doing, if he'd be alone in his apartment? I wondered if he ever thought of me? Maybe I could ring to wish him happy Thanksgiving? Did Americans do that, send cards, ring round and stuff?

But maybe if his children and his wife were with that other man, he might think I was being sarcastic?

Perhaps I'd send a friendly little email?

But then I told myself to get a grip.

Stop thinking about Patrick, you stupid, stupid thing, and ring your parents. Ask them if they've been affected by the flooding in the west of England, where there've been a hundred landslides, half a dozen cliff falls, and loads of houses, roads and railway lines are under water.

I rang them off and on all day, on their mobiles and on various landlines. I got no replies. By six o'clock that evening, I was panicking in earnest. I watched the news and panicked even more.

So I was beyond relieved when Mum picked up at last. 'Mum, are you and Dad all right?' I wailed, almost crying now. 'I thought you must be flooded out or worse! Where have you been?'

She told me.

'Oh, of course the hospice. I'd forgotten it's your day. Where's Daddy, still at work? Yes, I'm fine, but busy, busy busy. Mum, do you fancy coming to visit me in London and staying a few days? Of course I have the time to spare for you! We could have lunch with f.a.n.n.y. She's always asking after you and Dad.'

Mum said she'd been thinking about a trip to London. But it would probably have to be next year. She had far too many things to do right now, and Christmas would be here before she knew it.

'January, February, March?' I prompted. 'Do you want to pencil in some dates? Oh, Mum of course you must, it would be lovely! I'd like to see that exhibition, too. We'll do some shopping, shall we, and go to see a show? Yes, it will be something cheerful, Mummy. I'll make sure of that. Give my love to Dad and Granny. Mum, are you all right?'

My mother said all the right things. She a.s.sured me she was fine. She told me to take care, to wrap up warm and all that stuff. She said she hoped that I was eating properly and not always snacking, not living off my fat. Since she always said I was too thin, that was her little joke.

But I could tell she wasn't thawing. She was still numb and frozen with grief and misery. I could hear it in her voice. I wondered if she ever would forgive me?

How long it would take?

PATRICK.

'There's to be no bad behaviour right?' I told the kids. 'No running round the place and screeching, no playing dinosaurs.'