Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas (15 page)

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 Edgartown. 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 so 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. Hoo-ray! 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.

Matt and I held each other and swayed to the music. I think we could have stayed there all night. Holding each other, watching you sleep, dancing to your music-box tune.

You didn't wake up, but a little smile crossed your face.

“Isn't it lucky?” I whispered to Matt. “Isn't this the best thing that could ever happen to anyone?”

“It is, Suzanne. It's so simple, but it's so right.”

Finally, Daddy and I went to bed, and experienced the second best thing. Matt eventually fell asleep in my arms--guys do that if they really like you; and I got up to write this little note to you.

Love you, sweetie. See you in the morning. I can't wait.

Hello, my sweet Nicholas, it's Dada.

Have I told you how much I love you? Have I told you how precious you are to me? There--now I have. You are the best little boy, the best anyone could ever hope for. I love you so much.

Yesterday morning something happened. And that's why I'm writing to you today instead of Mommy.

I am compelled to write this. I don't know anything for sure right now, except that I have to get this out. I have to talk to you.

Fathers and sons need to talk more than they do. A lot of us are so afraid to show our emotions, but I never want us to be like that. I always want to be able to tell you what I'm feeling.

Like right now.

But this is so hard, Nicky.

It's the hardest thing I have ever had to say to anybody.

Mommy was gong to the store to pick up your birthday present, your beautiful framed pictures. She was incredibly happy. She looked so pretty, deeply tanned and toned from all her walks on the beach. I remember seeing her leave, and I can't get that image out of my mind.

Suzanne had such a beautiful smile on her face. She was dressed in a yellow jumper and gauzy white blouse. Her blond hair was full of curls and swung with her body as she walked. She was humming your song, “Whistle a Happy Tune.”

I should have gone to her, should have kissed Suzanne good-bye, should have hugged her in my arms. But I just called, “Love you,” and since her hands were full, she blew me a kiss.

I keep seeing Suzanne blowing me that kiss. I see her walking away, looking back, giving me her famous wink. Imagining that playful wink of hers makes me tear up as I try to write this.

Oh, Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. How can I say this? How can I write these words?

Mommy had a heart attack on the way into town, sweet baby. Her heart, which was so big, so special in so many ways, could no longer hold out.

I can't imagine that it really happened; I can't get it into my head. I was told that Suzanne was unconscious before she crashed into the guardrail on Old Pond Bridge Road. Her Jeep dropped into the water, landing on its side. I haven't gone to look at the actual scene of the accident. That is an image I don't need inside my head. What I can see already is too much.

Dr. Cotter says that Suzanne died instantly after the massive coronary, but who really knows about those final seconds? I hope she didn't feel any pain. I hate to think that she did. It would be too cruel.

She was unimaginably happy the last time I saw her. She looked so pretty, Nick. Oh God, I just want to see Suzanne one more time. Is that too much to ask? Is it unreasonable? It doesn't seem so to me.

It's important to me that you know it wasn't Mommy's fault. She was such a safe driver; she would never have taken any chances. I always teased her about her driving.

I loved Suzanne so much, and I can't begin to explain how lucky it is to find someone you can love that much and who, miracle of miracles, loves you that much back.

She was the most generous-hearted person I have ever known, the most caring and compassionate. Maybe what I loved best about her was that she was a great, great listener. And she was funny. She would make a joke, right now. I know she would. And maybe she is. Are you smiling now, Suzanne? I'd like to think that you are. I believe you must be.

I went today to the cemetery on Abel's Hill, to choose Mommy's special place. She was just thirty-seven when she died. How sad, how completely unthinkable to me, and everyone else who knew her. What a shame; what a waste. Sometimes it makes me so angry--and I get this strange, irrational urge to break glass. I don't know where it comes from, but I want to break glass!

Tonight I sit in your nursery and watch your clown lamp throw happy shadows against the walls in the half-light. The oak rocking horse I made for you reminds me of the Flying Horses Carousel. Remember when we all went there on our vacation and rode the colorful horses? Nicholas, Suzanne, and Matt.

I held you in front of me, and you loved to stroke the real horsehair mane. I can see Mommy riding ahead of us on National Velvet. She turns--and there's that famous wink of hers.

Oh, Nick, I wish I could turn back time to last week, or last month, or last year. I almost can't bear to face tomorrow.

I wish this had a happy ending.

I wish I could say, just one more time: Isn't it lucky?

Dear, sweet Nick,

There is one image that keeps coming back to me about Suzanne. It captures who she was, and what was so special and unique about her.

She is kneeling on our front porch one night. She wants my forgiveness, even though there is nothing to forgive. If anything, I should have been seeking her forgiveness. She had gotten some sad news that day but, in the end, could only think about how she might have hurt me. Suzanne always thought about other people first, but especially about the two of us. God, did she spoil us, Nicholas.

I was startled out of my thoughts and reveries this afternoon by an unexpected phone call.

It was for Mommy.

Obviously someone had no idea what had happened, and for the first time, those strange and awful words passed through my lips like heavy weights: “Suzanne has passed away.”

There was a long silence on the other end, followed by quiet apologies, and then nervous condolences. It was the man from the frame shop on the other side of the island, in Chilmark Center. Mommy had never made it there, and the pictures she had framed for you were still at the store.

I told the shop owner that I would come around for the photos. Somehow, I would manage to do it. I feel so out of it all the time. I have a hollow feeling inside me, and it seems I could crumble like old tissue paper and blow away. At other times, there is a stone column inside my chest.