In the darkened living room, David parts the curtains just enough to peek out into the driveway. A silver BMW convertible sits next to the garbage cans.
David trudges to the front door as if he’s on a schoolboy’s trip to the principal’s office. He tries to quiet the dogs and then opens the door. There on the front porch stands Max Dryer.
Max would look like a caricature of an incredibly polished and self-important Big Manhattan Law Firm Rainmaker if you didn’t believe his claim that he was in fact the initial model for that caricature. He is fifty-four, tall, thin, handsome, dressed in a custom-made charcoal pin-striped suit, purple tie, and sparkling Allen Edmonds shoes. As soon as he sees David through the screen door—the first time in three weeks—Max pulls out a box of Davidoff cigarettes, lights one with a gold Dunhill lighter, and inhales deeply.
“Max, Max, Max,” David scolds and shakes his head. “Those cigarettes will kill you.”
Max offers a tight smile. “I’m assuming my clients will get to me first.”
“There’s always that hope. I guess you want to come in?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Fine. Leave the smoke outside, though.”
Max tosses his cigarette into the snow, where it sizzles dead, and then he steps into the house.
David, ignoring his visitor, addresses the three dogs. “Fellas, I believe you know Max.”
Max bends down to invite the dogs to come to him, but they decide instead to return to their meal in the kitchen.
“Don’t take it personal,” David says. “As you might expect, they’re not themselves. By the way, neither am I. That is your one and only fair warning. Drink?”
“A little early, isn’t it?”
David shrugs off the question. “It’s some time after Helena’s death. That makes it late enough in the day for me. But suit yourself.”
“I’ll pass for now.”
David enters the kitchen while Max heads for the living room. Max opens the curtains and in the sudden light winces at the scene before him. The only part of the room that is not in disarray is the long bookcase that lines one of the walls. The bookcase holds the books I’d read and used for research during my illness. My books still remain as I’d left them. I’m not surprised. Change has been cruel to David in the past, and he has learned to avoid its proof until events overtake him.
Max walks over to the bookcase and scans the titles—
Animal Rights Today; When Elephants Weep; Being with Animals; Kanzi; Animal Behavior and Communication Studies
. Every title concerns animal behavior, animal rights, communication theory, or American Sign Language, but to David they might as well have been in Latin.
David returns with his glass and the dogs at his heels. Pointing to the shelves, Max asks, “All of these Helena’s?”
“She read a lot once she became sick. I guess she felt she was running out of time to learn. She was right.”
David drops into an overstuffed chair by the fireplace, leaving Max to fend for himself. All the seats by this point have been taken by the dogs. Max tries to make room on the couch next to Chip, but Chip holds his ground.
David enjoys Max’s confused discomfort for a minute before calling Chip to join him by the chair. Max quickly takes the open spot.
Max cares about three things—money and women (loved in that order, I believe) and last, my husband. Max, who recruited and trained David from day one, saw him as his protégé. This was a problem for both of them. Although I know David felt a great deal of gratitude toward Max and, when pushed, would admit that
he had a deep but inexplicable fondness for his mentor, Max had a recurring tendency to confuse his
c
-words—
care, concern,
and
control
. Max wanted David to be more like him and ultimately replace him on the firm’s governing executive committee. The prospect of becoming any more like Max, however, used to keep David awake at least two nights a month.
“So, what is it that gets the great Max Dryer to leave Manhattan on a weekday?”
“You knew I’d need to come to you at some point,” Max says. “You don’t pick up the phone and you don’t return messages. Even my messages.”
“Don’t beat me up about my communication skills right now.”
“I’m not. I was just worried.”
David rolls his eyes, a gesture he has perfected around Max. “I can only imagine.”
Max glances at the wedding ring that David still wears. David follows his gaze and then self-consciously hides his hand in his pocket.
“Look, I understand how you must feel,” Max says.
“Really? Do tell. How many wives have you buried?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. You’ve every right to be bitter, but don’t be an asshole.”
David looks away as he tries to compose himself. “Sorry, but I warned you.”
“It’s just that… well, it’s been over two weeks since the funeral and four weeks since you’ve even seen the office.” Max once again takes in the disarray that is the living room. “What have you been doing to yourself here? Didn’t you have someone coming in to take care of things?”
“She was only a home care aide for Helena. I haven’t replaced her yet since…” The sentence hangs between them.
“I think you could use some help around here,” Max says while avoiding David’s stare.
“You didn’t come up here to talk about my housekeeping, did you?”
“No, but you could’ve made this a little easier.”
“But it is so seldom that I get to see you fumfering. It’s the most fun I’ve had since the funeral.”
“Lovely.”
“So, I’m out of time?” David looks at his watch. “Note to self: The exact duration of the firm’s compassion in the event of death of wife. Three weeks, three days, ten hours, and twelve minutes.”
“That’s not it at all. We only want to know how you’re doing. That’s not unreasonable.”
“I don’t really know how to answer that. Seriously, what’s the appropriate benchmark? My wife is dead. I can’t see her again on this earth. Not today. Not ever. So, how am I doing? I’m doing just great.”
“Is sarcasm a sign of healing?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Let’s start with the basics. Do you need anything?”
“Sure. I need a device to go back in time and get back all those nights I spent out with you reliving your greatness, or in the office working on the next draft of a brief that mattered little or not at all, or following you around the country on rainmaking trips. I want—no, I need—all that time back.”
Max nods. “I know,” he says softly. “If I had the power, I would give it to you.”
David looks at Max skeptically at first and then in growing disbelief. “Wow. Do you actually feel guilty? Max Dryer? Is that really you in there?”
“Please stop it. I loved Helena in my own way and subject to my own many limitations—of which I am well aware, thank you.”
David searches Max’s eyes, but Max quickly looks away. “I think I believe that,” David says. And so do I, Max. It’s just that you always seemed so proud of your limitations. Perhaps I should’ve looked at you harder and longer.
“Would you like us to get you a place in the city? Temporary, you know, until you can get your own?”
“The city? Who said anything about moving back to the city?”
“This is me, David. I know you and how you work. I’ve seen you prepare for trials and I’ve seen you try cases. How’re you going to handle this place? What happens when you’re in trial? How can you take care of all Helena’s animals?”
Really, David. How can you? I asked him this same question months ago. I was the gaunt woman with the eyes hollowed out by chemo and the scarf wrapped around a bald head. Propped up on pillows in our bed, David’s arm around my bony shoulders, I tried to reason with him when all he wanted to do was avoid looking at what I’d become.
“I can tell that you miss it,” I told him. “Ordering Chinese food for delivery at midnight, jumping into a cab home instead of racing to catch a train or fighting traffic. Think of how much easier it’ll be for you.”
“Why are we talking about this? Why is this even relevant?” David asked me, beginning to get upset.
I pulled back from him then, suddenly hot and angry. “Relevant? Look at me. It’s the most relevant question we have left, don’t you think?”
“Stop it,” he begged, turning away from me.
I took David’s face in my hands and made him look directly at me while I spoke. “Please don’t make me pretend. It is what it is. We both know it. The animals have needs and they’re not going
to stop having them just because I’m gone. I’ve given this a lot of thought and made arrangements for placing everyone.”
“How could you have decided this without me?”
“Because someone needed to and you won’t talk to me about it. Please don’t be angry. I’m just trying to be realistic and think of your life.”
“This is my family you’re talking about, too. You can’t just break us up.”
“Those are just words, David. Nice words, but just words. We both know the truth. I dragged you up here. You’ve been great about it all, but you’re here because of me. These were never your animals. You’re even still afraid of the horses and Collette. You barely know the others. How will you care for them and work sixty hours a week?”
“We’ve done okay so far,” David argued back. “I’ve made accommodations, haven’t I?”
“This isn’t a criticism of you. It’s really not even about you at all. We knew the demands of your career going into this. But this can’t be an accommodation; this is the rest of your life we’re talking about. You’re not going to be able to count on my friends to take care of everyone forever. People will move on. You will move on. You must.”
“It is my decision to make now and I want to keep us together.”
“Why? I still haven’t heard one reason why.”
“Do I really need to say it?” David’s voice rose.
“It would be nice if I finally understood what you thought,” I said, my frustration and fatigue getting the better of me. “You’re a lawyer. You know words. Use them with me for once!”
“Because…”
“Because what? You’re still not saying anything.”
“Because there is nothing else, okay? There’s nothing else,” David shouted. “There never was!”
I melted at David’s desperation. “I know you feel that way now, honey, but—”
“Don’t tell me how you understand! You don’t! You can’t! I’m the one who’s left behind. Again.” David rose, but I pulled him back down to me and waited for his breathing to slow.
“Okay,” I told him, finally. “You’re right. I won’t be able to tell you what to do, but I need you to know that you don’t have to do this. You’ve nothing left to prove to me. Just do what’s best for them
and
for you. There might come a time very soon when this may not be the same thing.”
Now David tells Max precisely what he told me during that conversation months ago. “I’ll handle it.”
And hearing those words again, I can’t help but feel that somehow I failed my own creatures. I should’ve tried harder to make David understand that their purpose in the world is not merely to serve as proof of his ability to multitask.
“I guess you know best,” Max says.
“Yes, I do.”
“Any thoughts about when we can expect you back? Just so I can tell the committee.”
David sighs. “Tell ’em I need until the end of the week to make arrangements.”
Max rises to his feet. “That would be great.”
“I know the firm is just grinding to a halt without me.”
“Don’t underestimate your value. You control a lot of business and the clients love you.”
“Only because their alternative is to deal with you.” David smiles for the first time since Max’s arrival.
“No doubt. Your cases for the time being are being covered, but Chris is spread pretty thin and—”
“—yes, it’s an important year for her. I know.”
“Actually, I was going to say that they need your special touch.”
David walks Max to the front door as he talks to the dogs at his side. “This is the part of the conversation where Max gets manipulative.”
“You know me too well, partner,” Max says with a shrug.
“It’s the ones you sneak past me that I worry about.” A light snow is falling again. The two continue to Max’s car in silence.
“You don’t have to answer this,” Max finally says, “and heaven knows, you don’t have to tell me the truth, but…”
“Spit it out. I’m cold.”
“Did Helena ever, you know, forgive me?”
Poor Max. He does not yet know that seeking forgiveness from the dead is like looking for the wind in a field. But David takes the question with surprising seriousness. He turns his face up to the sky for a long moment. When David looks back at Max, melted snowflakes run down his face.
“It took two people to turn the sad and frightened little boy she met at Cornell into the hard-assed corporate litigator he became. He was not an unwilling pupil. In some ways, you saved that boy as much as she did. There was a cost, though. Helena understood that. Helena also was smart enough to realize the benefits of my employment. This,” David says as he gestures to the barn, the paddock, and the wooded acreage beyond, “wasn’t going to happen if I was out trying to save the world.”
“And so…?”
“So, yeah, I think she forgave you. I think she probably was always a little disappointed at where the elevator let me off. But she forgave you.” David wipes the snow from his cheeks.
Max eases his tall frame into the tiny car and lowers the window. “I guess that’s something then,” he says, gives David a small wave, and drives away.
David watches the red taillights progress down the steep driveway through a screen of ever-increasing snow. “Yeah. Something,” he mutters, then jogs back to the house.
David is wrong; I was never disappointed in him.
How could I be? Under Max’s tutelage, David soon became very good at being a lawyer. David’s success brought financial security to our home, and for this I was grateful. We could not have lived the lifestyle “we” (meaning “I”) chose on my salary alone or something too much lower than the absurdly high six figures David’s hard work and Max’s favorable support at the firm commanded. Because of David, I not only was able to avoid the mayonnaise sandwiches and Cup Noodles of my youth, but also obtained the freedom to create a very special home surrounded by my animal companions.