Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas (8 page)
She screeched. Then Melanie jumped up and down a few times in the sand. She was so cute, and such a good friend. She screeched
again.
“That is so perfect, Suzanne. I knew he was a good painter, but I had no idea about his other talents.”
“Did you know he’s a poet? A very good poet.”
“No, you’re kidding,” she said.
“A beautiful dancer?”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He moves pretty well on rooftops. So, how did this happen? I mean, how did it go from adding a
touch of Cape Cod white to your house to
this?
”
I started to giggle and felt like a schoolgirl. After all, things like this didn’t happen to grown women.
“I talked to him one night at the hamburger place.”
Melanie arched an eyebrow. “
Okay.
You talked to him at the hamburger place?”
“I can talk to Matt about anything, Melanie. I’ve never had that happen with any man before. He even writes poems the way
he talks. It’s very down-to-earth and at the same time, sometimes over your head. He’s passionate, exciting. He’s humble,
too. Maybe more than he should be sometimes.”
Melanie suddenly gave me hug. “God, Suzanne, this is it! As IT as it can get. Congratulations, you’re
gone for good.
”
We laughed like a couple of giddy fifteen-year-olds, and headed back with Melanie’s kids and Gus. That morning at her house,
we talked non-stop about everything from first dates to first pregnancies. Melanie confessed that she was thinking of having
a fifth baby, which blew me away. For her it was as easy as organizing a cabinet. She had her life as under control as a grocery
shelf lined neatly with canned goods. Orderly, alphabetized, well stocked.
I also fantasized about having kids that morning, Nicholas. I knew I would have a high-risk pregnancy because of my heart
condition, but I didn’t care. Maybe there was something in me that knew you’d be here one day. A flutter of hope. A deep desire.
Or just the sheer inevitability of what love between two people can bring.
You—it brought you.
Bad stuff happens, Nicholas. Sometimes it makes no sense at all. Sometimes it’s unfair. Sometimes it just plain sucks.
The red pickup came tearing around the corner, going close to sixty, but the whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion.
Gus was crossing the street, heading toward the beach, where he likes to race the surf and bark at seagulls. Bad timing.
I saw the whole thing. I opened my mouth to stop him, but it was probably already too late.
The pickup swung around the blind curve like a blur. I could almost smell the rubber of the tires as it skid along the hot
tar, then I watched as the left front fender caught Gus.
A second more, and he would have cleared that unforgiving metal fender.
Five miles an hour slower, and the pickup would have missed him.
Or maybe if Gus had been a couple of years younger, closer to his prime, it wouldn’t have happened.
The timing was nightmarish, irrevocable, like a rock falling on the windshield of a passing car.
It was over, done, and Gus lay like a rag discarded by the side of the road. It was so sad. He’d been so defenseless, so carefree
just seconds before as he romped toward the water.
“No!” I yelled. The truck had stopped, and two stubble-faced men in their twenties got out. They both word colorful bandannas
on their heads. They stared at what their speeding vehicle had done.
“Gee, I’m sorry, I didn’t see him,” the driver stammered, and hitched at his blue jeans as he looked at poor Gus.
I didn’t have time to think, to argue, to yell at him. The only thing I needed to do was to get Gus help.
I threw the driver my keys. “Open the back of my Jeep,” I snapped as I gently lifted Gus up into my arms. He was limp and
heavy, but still breathing, still
Gus.
I laid him in the back of the Jeep, bloody and tenuous. His sweet, familiar eyes were as far away as the clouds. Then he focused
on me. Gus whimpered pitifully, and my heart broke into a hundred pieces.
“Don’t die, Gus,” I whispered. “Hold on, boy,” I said as I pulled out of my driveway. “Please don’t leave me.”
I called Matt on my cell phone, and he met me at the vet’s. Dr. Pugatch took Gus in at once, maybe because she saw the look
of desperation on my face.
“The truck was going way too fast, Matt,” I told him. I was reliving the scene again, and I could see every detail. Matt was
even angrier than me.
“It’s that damn curve. Every time you pull out, I worry about it. I need to lay you a new driveway on the other side of the
house. That way you’ll be able to see the road.”
“This is so horrible. Gus was right there when I —” I stopped myself. I still hadn’t told Matt about my heart attack. Gus
knew, but Matt didn’t. I had to tell him soon.
“Shhhh, it’s okay, Suzanne. It’s going to be okay.” Matt held me, and though it wasn’t okay, it was as good as it could possibly
be. I burrowed into his chest and stayed there. Then I could feel Matt shaking a little. He and Gus had become close, too.
Matt had unofficially taken over most of the ball playing with Gus.
Two hours later the vet came out. It seemed like an eternity before she spoke. Now I knew how my own patients must feel when
I hesitate or am at a loss for words. Their faces seem calm but their bodies convey something else. They beg to be relieved
of their anxiety with good news,
only good news.
“Suzanne, Matt . . . ,” Dr. Pugatch finally said. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Gus didn’t make it.”
I began to cry, and my whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Gus had always been there with me, for me. He was my good buddy,
my roommate, my jogging partner, my confidant. We had been together for fourteen years.
Bad stuff does happen sometimes, Nicholas. Always remember that, but remember that you have to move on, somehow.
You just pick your head up and stare at something beautiful like the sky, or the ocean, and you move the hell on.
Nicholas,
An unexpected letter arrived in the mail for me the next day.
I don’t know why I didn’t rip it open and read it. I just stood there wondering why Matt Harrison had written me a letter
when he could easily have picked up the phone or come over.
I stood at the end of the driveway in front of the weatherbeaten, off-white mailbox. I opened the letter carefully and held
it tight so it wouldn’t be blown away by the ocean wind.
Rather than try to paraphrase what the letter said, Nicky, I’m enclosing it in the diary.
Dear Suzanne,
You are the explosion of carnations
in a dark room.
Or the unexpected scent of pine
miles from Maine.
You are a full moon
that gives midnight its meaning.
And the explanation of water
For all living things.
You are a compass,
a sapphire,
a bookmark.
A rare coin,
a smooth stone,
a blue marble.
You are an old lore,
a small shell,
a saved silver dollar.
You are a fine quartz,
a feathered quill,
and a fob from a favorite watch.
You are a valentine
tattered and loved and reread a hundred times.
You are a medal found in the drawer
of a once sung hero.
You are honey
and cinnamon
and West Indies spices,
lost from the boat
that was once Marco Polo’s.
You are a pressed rose,
a pearl ring,
and a red perfume bottle found near the Nile.
You are an old soul from an ancient place
a thousand years, and centuries
and millenniums ago.
And you have traveled all this way
just so I could love you.
I do.
Matt
What can I say, Nicholas, that your good, sweet father cannot say better? He is a stunningly good writer, and I’m not even
sure he knows it.
I love him so much.
Who wouldn’t?
Nicky,
I called Matt very early the next morning, as soon as I dared, about seven. I had been up since a little past four, thinking
that I had to call him, even rehearsing what I should say and how I should say it. I don’t really know how to be dishonest
or manipulate people very well. It puts me at a great disadvantage sometimes.
This was hard.
This was impossible.
“Matt, hi. It’s Suzanne. Hope I’m not calling too early. Can you come by tonight?” was all I could manage.
“Of course I can. In fact, I was going to call you and ask for a date.”
Matt arrived at the house a little past seven that night. He was wearing a yellow plaid shirt and navy blue trousers—kind
of formal for him.
“You want to take a walk on the beach, Suzanne? Take in the sunset with me?”
It was exactly what I wanted to do. He’d read my mind.
As soon as we crossed the beach road and had our bare feet in the still-warm sand, I said, “Can I talk? There’s something
I have to tell you.”
He smiled. “Sure. I always like the sound of your voice.”
Poor Matt. I doubted that he was going to like the sound of what was coming next.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. I keep putting it off. I’m not even sure how to broach the subject
now.”
He took my hand, swung it gently in rhythm with our strides. “Consider it broached. Go ahead, Suzanne.”
“Why are you so dressed up tonight?” I thought to ask him.
“I’m dressed up because I have a date with the most special woman on this entire island. Is that the subject you had trouble
broaching?”
I squeezed his hand a little. “Not exactly. No, it isn’t. Okay, here goes.”
Matt finally said, “You are scaring me a little now.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. “
Sorry.
Matt, right before I came to the Vineyard —”
“You had a heart attack,” he said in the softest voice. “You almost died in the Public Garden, but you didn’t, thank God.
And now, here we are, and I think we’re two of the luckiest people. I know that
I
am. I’m here holding your hand, looking into your beautiful blue eyes.”
I stopped walking and stared at Matt in disbelief. The setting sun was just over his shoulder, and it looked like a nimbus.
Was Matthew an angel?
“How long have you known?
How
did you know?” I stammered.
“I heard before I came to work for you. This is a small island, Suzanne. I was half expecting some old biddie with a walker.”
“I
did
use a walker for a couple of days in Boston. I had surgery. So you knew, but you never told me you knew.”
“I didn’t think it was my place. I knew that you’d tell me when you were ready. I guess you’re ready, Suzanne. That’s good
news. I’ve been thinking about what happened to you a lot in the past few weeks. I even arrived at a point of view. Would
you like to hear it?”
I held on to Matt’s arm. “Of course I would.”
“Well, I can’t help thinking of this whenever we’re together. I think, isn’t it lucky that Suzanne didn’t die in Boston and
we have today to be together. Now we get to watch this sunset. Or isn’t it lucky Suzanne didn’t die and we’re sitting out
on her front porch playing hearts or watching a stupid Red Sox game. Or listening to Mozart or even that smarmy love song
you like by Savage Garden. I keep thinking, isn’t this day, this moment, incredibly special, because you’re
here,
Suzanne.”
I started to cry, and that’s when Matt took me into his arms. We cuddled on the beach for a long time, and I never wanted
him to let me go. Never ever. We fit together so well. I kept thinking,
Isn’t this moment incredibly special? Aren’t I the lucky one?
“Suzanne?” I heard him whisper, and I felt Matt’s warm breath on my cheek.
“I’m here. Hard to miss. I’m right here in your arms. I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s good. I want you to always be there. I love having you in my arms. Now there’s something I have to say. Suzanne, I
love you so much. I treasure everything about you. I miss you when we’re apart for just a couple of hours. Every day while
I’m working, I can’t wait to see you that night. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, I just didn’t know it. But now
I do. Suzanne, will you marry me?”
I pulled back and looked into the beautiful eyes of this precious man I had found somehow, or maybe he had found me. I couldn’t
stop smiling, and the warm glow spreading inside me was the most incredible feeling.
“I love you, Matt. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, too. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
K
ATIE CLOSED
the diary again.
She slammed it shut this time. It hurt her so much to read these pages. She could take them only in small doses. Matt had
warned her in his letter that it might happen, and it had.
There will be parts that may be hard for you to read.
What an incredible understatement that was.
