When Day Breaks (4 page)

T
raveling down the West Side Highway, Eliza stared out at the Hudson River from the rear window of the dark blue sedan. She tried to focus on the day in front of her, but she found her mind turning to Janie’s picnic.

As far as Eliza knew, Janie was the only child in her class without a father. There were already a few divorces among the parents of the six-year-olds, but those fathers were still alive, still part of their children’s worlds. Those fathers would be at the picnic. Janie’s would not.

For all the good fortune she’d been given, for all the natural gifts she’d been blessed with, for all the accomplishments she’d achieved, Eliza often reminded herself to be grateful. Yet having lost John was something that could never be fixed. She and Janie had a good life, a wonderful life, but there was a gaping hole in it. Eliza had lost the man she loved, and Janie had never had the benefit of knowing her father at all.

Eliza was determined to raise Janie as normally as possible, and so far things seemed to be working out pretty well. Still, now that Janie was in school, there were going to be more and more recitals, plays, and ball games, where parents would be clapping in the audience and rooting from the sidelines. Inevitably Janie was going to become more acutely aware that her daddy wasn’t there.

The sedan turned onto Fifty-seventh Street. Eliza’s attention was diverted by the camera crews and a crowd of reporters gathered on the sidewalk in front of KEY News headquarters.

“What’s going on today?” asked the driver as the car pulled up to the curb. “The president coming or something?”

“It’s something all right,” answered Eliza from the backseat. “It’s Constance Young’s last day.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard them talking about it on the radio this morning. They said she’s going to make twenty million dollars a year in her new job. Is that right?”

“That might be a little on the high side,” said Eliza. “But you can bet she sure is making a lot of money.”

“I knew I picked the wrong line of work.” The driver shrugged, getting out and walking around to open the door.

As Eliza extended her long legs from the car, the newspeople swarmed toward her.

“Are you going to miss Constance Young?” asked one reporter, sticking his microphone in Eliza’s face.

“Constance has been a major presence here at KEY News. We’re all going to feel her absence.”

Eliza made her way to the Broadcast Center entrance.

“Constance Young has jumped ship!” shouted another reporter. “Do you think her audience will jump with her?”

“That’s the multimillion-dollar question, isn’t it?” Eliza answered before she pushed through the revolving door.

Taking the elevator up to her office, Eliza glanced at her watch. She had fifteen minutes until the
Evening Headlines
editorial meeting. That would give her just enough time to check in with her assistant, pick out something to wear, and go over any last-minute details about today’s luncheon.

Paige Tintle was on the phone when Eliza walked into the small office that adjoined the anchorwoman’s large one.

“No. Yellow.” Paige frowned. “There are supposed to be yellow tulips on the tables. Yellow tulips are Ms. Young’s favorite.”

Eliza watched as her assistant shook her head and rolled her eyes in consternation. Paige let out a deep sigh as she listened to an answer she did not want to hear.

“I know that people will be arriving in just over an hour,” she said. “All right, we’ll have to go with the pink ones.” Paige hung up the phone.

Eliza flipped through the tiny pile of messages that sat on the corner of the desk. “Don’t worry, Paige. I’m sure everything will be beautiful.”

“It just frustrates me,” the other woman said. “I so want today to go well.”

“It will, Paige. It will,” Eliza reassured her. “Barbetta has been around for more than a century. It’s the perfect spot for the farewell lunch. I’m hoping it will be hard for anybody to be nasty in such glorious surroundings.”

In the dressing room next to her office, Eliza flipped through the racks of dresses, skirts, and slacks before selecting the pink Chanel suit. It was her favorite, but she rarely wore it on the air at night. She gravitated to navy blues and blacks, browns, grays, and beiges for the
Evening Headlines
set.

Eliza slipped off the well-cut trousers and crisp blouse she had worn for the ride in to work and put on the designer suit. As she appraised herself in the mirror, she noted that the pink fabric made her skin glow. Her shoulder-length brown hair seemed richer and more lustrous, too. Even her eyes seemed bluer. The garment was a real miracle worker.

She finished changing and then went downstairs.

Walking toward the Fishbowl, Eliza could see through the transparent walls that the
Evening Headlines
producers and writers had already assembled to discuss the dozens of stories developing around the world that had the potential of being reported that night. But as she entered the glass room in which the decisions were made on what the nation would see and hear, the topic of conversation was Constance Young’s final appearance on
KEY to America
that morning.

“I almost believed she truly was upset about leaving. I think those tears looked real,” said Range Bullock, the executive producer of the evening broadcast.

“Are you kidding? She’s crying with joy at the thought of all that money she’s going to be making,” said one of the news writers. “And you can’t tell me she didn’t time her departure to make sure it occurred smack dab in the middle of sweeps. Constance knows that the ratings are scrutinized more than usual now. She wants KEY News to take note of how powerful she is and to realize how much money in advertising dollars she could be taking with her.”

“If you ask me, good riddance. They can have her over there.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t run the network news division.
KEY to America
brings in five hundred million dollars a year. Any audience that Constance takes with her costs KEY News big time.”

“But think of the pressure she’s under. What if she doesn’t bring up the ratings on the other show?”

“Don’t cry for me, Argentina. It might hurt her pride, but she’s set for the rest of her life.”

F
aith stuffed the sheets into the washing machine, added detergent, and turned the water temperature dial to hot. Mother had soiled the bed again.

Closing the lid, Faith felt herself growing tense. Though she had packed the kids’ lunches and set out their clothes the night before and gotten up early to wash her own hair, Mother had needed a bath, and it had taken her even longer than usual to nibble down her tiny breakfast. Now Faith was going to have to rush to get dressed in time to catch the train into New York.

Climbing the stairs from the basement, she heard the doorbell ring. She glanced into the hallway mirror, running her hands through her still-damp hair and wishing she’d made the time to get it colored. She pulled the belt of her bathrobe tighter around her thick waist before opening the front door.

“Hi, Mrs. Hansen.” The young woman was standing on the front porch. Her eyes swept Faith. “Am I too early?”

“No, Karen. You’re right on time. It’s me who’s running behind. Come on in.”

Faith held open the door as the sitter entered. Karen was carrying several large books.

“I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Hansen, but finals are coming up, and sometimes your mom just sleeps the whole time I’m here.”

“Sure, Karen. That’s fine.”

“Oh, and, Mrs. Hansen, I have to leave by three o’clock. Is that okay?”

Nice of you to have waited till now to tell me,
thought Faith.
It has to be okay. I have no time to line up somebody else.
“Gee, Karen,” said Faith, “I’m going to this fancy lunch in the city for my sister today. It’ll be a real push to be back here by three.”

The sitter smiled apologetically and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hansen, but I have an appointment with my adviser about my courses for next semester. I have to leave here by three to make it in time.”

Faith tried to manage a smile.
What choice do I have?
she asked herself. Though playdates had been arranged for the kids after school, Mother couldn’t be left on her own. Faith knew she was going to have to leave the luncheon by two o’clock, whether it was over or not, whether she wanted to or not.

It never seemed to matter to anyone what she wanted. Todd and the kids took her for granted, but so many of her friends were in the same boat. While they stood waiting for their children to come streaming out of the building at the end of the school day or bumped into one another in the supermarket or got together for coffee once in a while, they frequently commiserated about spouses who had no clue about how hard they worked at home every day and children who took for granted the clean clothes in the drawers and the hot meals on the table.

Yet Faith had almost come to accept things. While she craved a husband who was more concerned about her and their children than with the weekend weather reports signaling what golf conditions would be, Faith had chosen to be a stay-at-home mom, and she liked to believe that her children were the better for it. But she hadn’t bargained on being responsible for her mother as well. She’d always thought, when she thought about it all, that when the time came, Constance and she would jointly shoulder the burden of taking care of their mother. After their father died, Mother had managed for several years in their childhood home outside Washington, D.C., but eighteen months ago it became apparent that Mother couldn’t live alone anymore. The house had gone on the market, and Mother had moved up to New Jersey.

In fairness to Constance, Faith had to admit that her sister had agreed to letting the proceeds from the sale of the house go toward any nursing care that Mother required. But all that money had actually gone to something else—bailing Todd out of a cockamamie business investment. When Faith finally went to Constance with the news that the money was gone, Constance hadn’t offered more.

Faith knew that it made sense for Mother to stay with her family. Their Colonial-style home had a fourth bedroom with its own bath right off the kitchen. A maid’s room, the real estate agent had called it when she showed them the place. But in the six years they’d lived in the house, no maid ever slept in that room. Faith was the maid in the Hansen household.

“Mother is in her room, probably asleep, Karen. Just tiptoe down there once in a while and check on her.”

“Will do, Mrs. Hansen.”

Faith began climbing the stairs to her bedroom, calculating how much time she had to get dressed, knowing she was going to have to rush to put on her makeup, when she heard her mother calling.

“Faith? Faith, come here.”

“I’ll be right there, Mother.” With resignation, Faith went back down the stairs. She thought about her sister. Constance surely had plenty of time to dress today in one of the dozens of designer outfits in her closet. She would have her makeup expertly applied, her hair tinted by a professional colorist and arranged by her personal hairstylist. She would look happy and glamorous and rested, every inch the famous personality the magazines, newspapers, and television shows had been reporting on. While Faith would look and feel like a frump.

Constance didn’t have to plan every move she made based on figuring out who was going to stay with Mother. Constance didn’t take their mother for her doctors’ appointments or make sure she had fresh bedclothes or enough to eat. Constance didn’t have to help their mother bathe or clean up after her accidents. Constance didn’t have a husband who got fed up sometimes at the intrusion on their lives and who, no matter how many times Faith pleaded with him to pay attention to her, was more worried about his poker games with his buddies than he was about the state of their marriage.

Constance had never married, though Faith knew that her sister had been linked to a variety of successful and interesting men. Faith knew this not because Constance had confided in her but because she had read the articles and seen the photos in magazines and on the society page. Constance had an exciting life, admired by millions and financially compensated on a mammoth scale. How Faith’s life would change if
she
had that money.

Faith hated herself for being jealous, but she couldn’t help it. Every week that passed, their mother deteriorated further, Todd paid less attention, and Faith gained weight, feeling more trapped and angry with her lot in life.

G
ive Boyd a call, will you please, Paige?” Eliza asked as she returned from the morning editorial meeting. “See if Constance wants to ride over to lunch with me.”

Going into her office, Eliza walked to the large windows and looked down on the
Evening Headlines
studio below. She never tired of the view. All those people situated at all those desks, connected by phone and Internet and satellite to hundreds of other KEY News staffers around the globe, all of them assigned some specific part in getting the news on the air.

“Eliza?”

Roused from her thoughts, Eliza turned toward Paige’s voice. Her assistant stood in the doorway.

“Boyd says Constance was very grateful, but she’ll have to meet you there.”

“Okay. Thanks, Paige.” Eliza took a seat at her desk.

“You know what I think?” Paige didn’t wait for a response from her boss. “I think Constance wants to make her own grand entrance—alone. She doesn’t want to share the spotlight with you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Paige. It’s her day, not mine.”

As Paige shrugged and left, Eliza glanced at the picture of Janie that sat in a silver frame on her desk. It was the kindergarten picture, and, like so many school pictures, it wasn’t perfect, and Eliza loved it more for that. Though the collar on Janie’s shirt was wrinkled and errant strands of hair had escaped her headband, the then five-year-old’s blue eyes sparkled and her crooked smile revealed shiny white baby teeth, marred only by the gap where one of the front two had fallen out. The expression on Janie’s face reminded Eliza so much of John.

It was over six years now since John’s death, and sometimes Eliza still couldn’t believe she had survived losing him, bearing their baby without him, and raising their daughter by herself. John had been cheated, never getting to know his child. And Janie, the little girl who had her father’s smile, lived on, without experiencing the love her daddy would undoubtedly have showered on her.

In the grand scheme of things, Constance Young’s desire for the spotlight didn’t matter worth a damn.