Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas (15 page)

Suzanne had figured that out, and her life had suddenly become peaceful and manageable. She had gotten away from all of
this:
work, stress, pressure, deadlines, crowds pushing and shoving, road rage, life rage.

Immersing herself in someone else’s reality had made Katie reexamine things that she had been doing on autopilot for the past
nine years. She’d gotten her job at twenty-two, fresh out of the honor program at the University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill. She had been lucky enough to intern for two summers at Algonquin Press in Chapel Hill, which had opened important doors
for her in Manhattan. So she had settled into New York City with the best of intentions, and loved so many things about it;
yet she never felt that she truly fit, that New York City was where she was meant to be.

She still felt like a visitor here at times—a tall, gawky tourist.

Now she thought that maybe she knew why. Her life had been out of balance for such a long time. She had spent so many late
nights at work or at home, reading and editing manuscripts, trying to make them as good as they could be. Rewarding work,
but
work was a rubber ball, right?

Family, health, friends, and integrity were the precious glass ones.

The baby she was carrying was a glass ball for sure.

Six

T
HE FOLLOWING
morning at about eleven, she was in a yellow cab with two of her best friends, Susan Kingsolver and Laurie Raleigh. She was
going to see her gynecologist, Dr. Albert K. Sassoon, in the East Seventies.

Susan and Laurie were there for moral support. They knew about the pregnancy and had insisted on coming along. Each of them
held one of Katie’s hands.

“You feel okay, sweetie?” Susan asked. She was a grade-school teacher on the Lower East Side. They had met the one summer
Katie had gone in on a summer house in the Hamptons, and had been best buddies ever since. Katie had been maid of honor at
Susan’s wedding, then a bridesmaid at Laurie’s.

“I’m okay. Sure. I just can’t make myself believe what’s happened in the past few days. I can’t believe I’m going to see Sassoon
right now.”
Oh, God, please help me. Please give me strength.

As she got out of the taxi, Katie found that she was blankly staring at pedestrians and familiar storefronts on East Seventy-eight
Street. What was she going to say to Dr. Sassoon? When Katie had been there for her yearly checkup, Albert was so incredibly
excited to hear that she’d
found
someone—and now
this.

Everything was a blur, even though Susan and Laurie were chatting amiably, keeping her
up,
doing a great job, really.

“Whatever you decide,” Laurie whispered as Katie was called into Dr. Sassoon’s examination room, “it will work out great.
You’re
great.”

What she decided.

God, she just couldn’t believe this was happening.

Albert Sassoon was smiling, and that made Katie think of Suzanne and her kindly way with patients.

“So,” Dr. Sassoon said as Katie lay down and fitted her feet into the stirrups. Usually, Albert asked Katie not to hit him
in the head with her knees. A little joke to lighten the moment. Not today, though.

“So. I was so much in love I stopped using my birth control. I guess I got knocked up,” Katie said, and laughed. Then she
was crying, and Albert came to her and tenderly held her head against his chest. “It’s all right, Katie. It’s all right. It’s
all right.”

“I think I know what I’m going to do,” Katie finally managed to say between sobs. “I think . . . I’m going . . . to keep .
. . my baby.”

“That’s great, Katie,” Dr. Sassoon said, and patted her back gently. “You’ll be a wonderful mother. You’ll have a beautiful
child.”

T
HE
D
IARY

Nicholas,

Today I came home from the hospital, and it’s so unbelievably good to be here. Oh, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

The familiarity of the rooms, your perfect nursery, the way the morning light comes spilling over the windowsills and lights
all the things in its path. What a thrill to be here again. To be anywhere, actually.

Life is such a miracle, a series of small miracles. It really is, if you learn how to look at it with the right perspective.

I love our little cottage on Beach Road. More than ever, Nicky. I appreciate it more, every little crevice and crease.

Matt made a beautiful lunch for us. He’s a pretty good cook—as handy with a spatula and skillet as he is with a hammer and
nail. He laid out a picnic in the sunroom on a red-and-white-checkered blanket. A salad niçoise, fresh, twelve-grain bread,
sun tea. Fabulous. After lunch the three of us sat there, and he held my hand and I held yours.

Nicholas, Suzanne, and Matt.

Happiness is this simple.

Nick, you little scamp,

Every moment with you fills me with such incredible wonder and happiness.

I took you into the Atlantic Ocean for the first time yesterday. It was the first day of July. You absolutely loved it.

The water was beautiful, with very small waves. Just your size. Even better was all the sand, your own private sandbox.

Big smiles from you.

And from me, of course.

Mommy see, Mommy do!

When we got home, I happened to show you a picture of two-year-old Bailey Mae Bone, our neighbor just down Beach Road. You
started to smile, and then you
puckered
your lips. You’re going to be a killer with the ladies. Be gentle, though, like your daddy.

You have good taste—for a guy. You love to look at pretty things—trees, the ocean, light sources, of course.

You also like to tickle the ivories on our piano, which is so cute.

And you love to
clean.
You push around a toy vacuum cleaner and wipe up messes with paper towels. Maybe I can take advantage of that when you’re
a little older.

Anyway, you are such a joy.

I treasure and hold close to my heart every giggle, every laugh, every needy cry.

“Wake up, beautiful. I love you even more today than I did yesterday.”

Matt wakes me this same way every morning since I got home from the hospital. Even if I’m still half asleep, I don’t mind
being awakened by his soothing voice and those words.

The weeks passed, and I was getting my strength back. I began taking long walks on the beach in front of the cottage. I even
saw a few patients. I exercised more than I ever had in my whole life.

A few more weeks passed, and I was even stronger. I was proud of myself, actually.

Matt was hovering over my bed again one morning. He was holding you, and smiling down on me. You both were grinning. I smelled
a conspiracy.

“It’s official! The three-day-long Harrison family weekend has begun. Wake up, beautiful. I love you! We’re already late for
today, though!”

“What?” I said, looking out the bedroom window. It was still dark outside.

You finally looked at your father as if he had gone completely bonkers.

“Down,
pup,
” Matt said, putting you on my bed, beside me.

“Pack your bags. We’re going away. Take whatever you need for three glorious days, Suzanne.”

I was leaning on one elbow, staring curiously at Matt. “Three glorious days where?”

“I booked us into the Hob Knob Inn in Edgar-town. King-size beds; full country breakfast, and afternoon tea. You won’t have
to lift a finger, wash a dish, or answer a telephone, Suzanne. Sound good?”

It sounded wonderful, exactly what I needed.

This is a love story, Nicholas.
Mine, yours, Daddy’s!
It’s about how good it can be if you find the right person. It’s about treasuring every moment with that special one.
Every single millisecond.

Our three-day adventure began at the Flying Horses Carousel, where we mounted the enchanted horses and circled the high hills
of Oak Bluffs. There we were, riding the painted ponies under the bright umbrella, just like old times. What a rush!

We visited the beaches that we had been away from for as long. Lucy Vincent Beach off South Road, Quansoo and Hancock Beaches
. . . private beaches that Matt, somehow, was able to get a key to gain entry.

We walked hand in hand in hand along Lighthouse Beach and Lobsterville Beach—and my very favorite, Bend in the Road Beach.

How invigorating it was to see those beaches again with Daddy and you. I can still see them now, and I can even see the three
of us.

We took a carriage ride at Scrubby Neck Farm, and you couldn’t stop laughing. You fed carrots to the horses, and you laughed
so hard that I was afraid you might get sick. You glowed under the manes of the magnificent Belgian giants.

We ate at all the nicest restaurants, too. The Red Cat, the Sweet Life Café, L’Etoile.

You looked like such a big boy in your high chair, sitting with us, so grown up, smiling in the candlelight.

We saw
Rumpelstiltskin
at the Tisbury Amphitheater and went to storytelling night at the Vineyard Playhouse. You were such a good boy at the
theater.

Not far from where we were staying, there was a craft store called Splatter. We made our own cups and saucers.

You painted your plate, Nickels, drawing little splotches we took to be me and Daddy, and yourself, in bright blues and soft
yellows.

And then it was time to go home.

Nicky,

Do you remember any of this?

I noticed cars parked helter-skelter all along the side of Beach Road as we turned the last curve to our house. Several more
cars, SUVs, and trucks were leading up to the driveway, but the strange thing was that
the driveway was no longer there.

Instead, a new addition covered its place, and a new driveway lay on the far side of the addition, just as your daddy had
promised.

“What,” I asked Matt, shocked, “is all this?”

“A little extension, Suzanne. At least the humble beginnings of one. It’s your new home office, and it has everything your
old office didn’t have. Now you can make less house calls, or
no
house calls. It’s all right here in our backyard. Your office even has an ocean view.”

Dozens of our friends and Matt’s worker pals were on the lawn, applauding as we climbed out of the car. You started to clap
your hands, too, Nicky. I think you were clapping for yourself, though.

“Suzanne! Matt!” our friends were chanting in sync with the clapping. I was in awe, speechless, struck dumb. For three days
Matt’s coworkers and friends must have hammered day and night to create this unbelievable space.

“I still have to do the electrical work and plumbing,” Matt said in an apologetic tone.

“This is too much,” I said as I hugged him tight.

“No,” he whispered back, “it isn’t nearly enough, Suzanne. I’m just so happy to have you home.”

Nicholas, sweet Nicholas,

Everything seems to be moving in the right direction again. The time is really flying. Tomorrow, you will be one! Isn’t that
something?
Dang!

What can I say, except that it is a godsend to watch you grow up, to see your first tooth, watch you take your first step,
say your first word, make a half sentence, develop your little personality day by day.

This morning you were playing with Daddy’s big, bad work boots that he keeps at the bottom of the closet; when you came out,
you were standing in them. You started to laugh; you must have thought this was the funniest joke anyone has ever played.
Then I was laughing, and Daddy came in, and he started laughing, too.

Nicholas, Suzanne, and Matt! What a trio.

We’re going to celebrate your first twelve months tomorrow. I have your gifts all picked out. One of them is the pictures
from our vacation. I selected the best couple of shots, and I’m having them framed. I won’t tell you which picture I like
best; that’ll be a surprise.

But I will tell you that it will be in a silver frame with carved moons and stars and angels all around it. Just your style.

It’s almost time to sing “Happy Birthday!”

Nicholas,

It’s late, and Daddy and I are being silly geese. It’s a little past midnight, so it’s
officially your birthday. Hooray! Congratulations, you!

We couldn’t resist, so we sneaked into your room and watched over you for several moments. We held hands and blew you kisses.
You know how to blow kisses, too. You’re so smart.

Daddy brought along one of your birthday presents, a bright red Corvette convertible. He placed it carefully at the foot of
your crib. You and your dad are both caraholics: you boys live for cars; you feel the need for speed.

Matthew and I hugged each other as we watched you sleep—which is one of the greatest pleasures in the world—
don’t miss watching your child sleep.

Then I got a little playful, and I pulled the cord on your music box. It played that simple, beautiful song “Whistle a Happy
Tune,” which I know I will always associate with you sleeping in your crib.