Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel

“YOU DON’T MISS YOUR HOUSE?” MICHAEL ASKS. I’VE FILLED him in on a little of my background, including the fact that I recently moved in with three other women.

“I miss it a little, every now and then,” I say. “But I realize I was ready to move long before I did.”

I smile at him. I brought him some Tootsie Pops and he has one stuck in his cheek; he looks like a lopsided chipmunk.

“It’s just the stage I’ve come to,” I say. “I never thought I wouldn’t want all these things I worked hard to get. But …” I shrug. “They weren’t it. It turns out to be true that what matters—”

“I get it,” he says and looks away from me. He takes the pop from his mouth and lays it on the nightstand.

A moment, and then he says, “Anyway. Going from living alone for so long to living with so many others—wasn’t that weird for you?”

“It just seems natural, and it did from the very beginning. I guess I miss not having to compromise about anything. But it’s offset by so many good things. I find I like the company. I’ve come to rely on it, in fact.

“But mostly … Well, life is always changing, right? And I think it’s human nature to be fearful of change. Even if the changes you dread most end up being the ones that are best. That’s what happened to me, anyway.”

“Yeah. For me, I guess I’m a little worried that I … that I … Wait a second. Hold on.” He puts his hand up to his forehead, touches it lightly, touches it again, then puts his hand back at his side.

“Michael, are you … Do you need something for pain?”

“Not yet.”

“I could go and ask for something for you. Annie told me it’s important to not let the pain get too bad before taking something.”

“Oh. Is that what Annie said?” His tone has become sharp.

“You just seemed to get really uncomfortable.”

“The pain medication makes me go to sleep,” Michael says. “And I don’t want to go to sleep now.”

“I understand. But you’ll let me know if—”

“I’ll take care of getting something when I want it. What with it being my decision.”

A moment. And then I say, “Okay. Good. Then I can goof off a little more. I mean, this is too much work, running around and getting you this, getting you that. I’m exhausted.”

He smiles. “So, what, are you retired?”

“I’m taking some time off.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a motivational speaker.”

“Ah. I guess that fits.”

“It does, huh?”

“Anybody besides your parents ever die on you?” he asks, abruptly.

The question is so sudden and out of the blue, I answer it before thinking: “Yes. My best friend. Fairly recently—a few months ago. Penny was her name.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Were you with her in the time leading up to it?”

“Yes.”

“Was it hard? Didn’t it just make you sadder, seeing her decline that way?”

“Well, of course it was sad. But also …

“Look, I know how this might sound, Michael. But also it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life, and I am so grateful for having been with her. For me to have been there just in case, you know? And to try to tell her in every way how much she meant to me. Before, then, always.”

“Do you ever …” He looks at me, his face full of longing, of such delicate weariness. “Do you ever see her? You know what I mean? Do you ever see her?”

“I feel her. And I believe I hear her.”

“Really?”

“Really. Not often, but … sometimes. I don’t tell everyone that, but it’s true.” I pause, then say, “I suppose it might be my own voice I’m hearing, some thought that comes from me that I assign to her. Who knows? I guess I don’t want to know. Or need to.”

Michael winces, touches his head again, then presses the call bell. His hand is trembling now.

I stand. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Just keep talking,” he says.

Just then, a nurse in a pale pink smock appears. She goes over to Michael and turns off the call light. “Need some pain medication?” she asks, gently.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Michael looks over at me. “So tell me about your friend.”

I smile. “Well, she was smart and perceptive and she had no problem letting you know what she thought about things. She was fun. She would take chances. Once, on a hot summer day we—”

“F*ck!”

“Michael.”

“What?”

“I let you wait too long. I’m sorry.”

He closes his eyes again. “Not your fault. It will get better. Oh, Jesus, f*ck! Sorry. Sorry. It will get better.”

I have no idea what to do. Stay? Go? But then the nurse comes back and says, “I’ll take care of him. Thank you.”

I gather my things. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes,” he says, from between clenched teeth, as the nurse turns him on his side to give him an injection. “Cece?”

“Yes?”

“What did you … on the hot day, what did you …?”

“Oh. We broke into someone’s backyard and went swimming in their pool.”

“Cool.”

“We were in there for forty minutes before one of the teenagers who lived there came home. We told him we were from Pool Pros and everything looked fine. And he thanked us and went inside, and Penny and I went home and grilled hamburgers.”

I see the nurse smile as she helps Michael onto his back and straightens his covers. He closes his eyes and says, “See you tomorrow, Cece.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I stop by Annie’s office in order to confess about letting Michael wait so long for pain medication. But did I do something wrong? She’s not there. And anyway, he said yes, about seeing him tomorrow.

I walk home under a still gray sky, the air heavy with moisture. One thing about doing this kind of work, you develop a keen appreciation for the fact that you can walk. And see the sky. And feel the air on your face. And that you can check high and low and no, nothing in your body is hurting, not one thing.


I AWAKEN FROM A NAP to hear someone coming in the door, then hear an unfamiliar voice greeting Riley. I go downstairs and find a young woman standing there, dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

“Who’re you?” she says.

I tell her, then wait for her to introduce herself. As I suspected, she’s Lise’s daughter, Sandy. She doesn’t look like Lise at all: her features, her bone structure, are much coarser, though she is a very attractive young woman. She must take after her father.

“Is my mom here?”

“She’s not home from work yet. She said she’d be late tonight; she’s finishing up some things before we leave. We’re going—”

“I know where you’re going.”

I nod, and she stands there.

“So … can I ask you something?” she says.

“Sure.”

“Do you like my mom?”

I keep myself from reacting in any way. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

Sandy shifts her weight, crosses her arms. “She’s a good doctor.”

“Yes, so I’ve gathered.”

“Yup. She’s interested in healing everyone but her own family.”

I say nothing.

Sandy shrugs. “Never mind.” She starts for the door.

“Should I have her call you?”

She doesn’t turn around. “No.”

“Tell her you stopped by?”

She looks over her shoulder at me. “Yeah. Tell her I stopped by to tell her not to go. Again.”

“You know, maybe—”

“Or nothing. Tell her nothing. That’s all she hears anyway.”

I watch her go out to her red Corolla and drive away. I’ll tell Lise her daughter stopped by to say goodbye, if I tell her anything.


I’M FINISHING UP a letter to Dennis when from downstairs I hear Renie call, “Hey, Cece!”

I open the door and stick my head out of my room. “Yes?”

“Can you help me make dinner?”

“Sure,” I call back. “Two minutes.”

I go back to the letter, where I’ve been telling Dennis about Michael. I finish the paragraph, then write:

I’ll see you soon. Consider yourself mapquested.

When I come into the kitchen, Renie is at the stove, her back to me. “Okay. What do you need, you slacker?”

When she turns around, I regret having said it. Her face is full of misery. I’ll bet she got fired. You can’t be as out there as Renie and not expect that at some point it’s going to catch up with you. “What happened?” I ask. “Did you get fired?”

Her face changes. “No! Why would I get fired?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would they fire me? They love me!”

“Then … Your daughter?” I ask, and she turns back to the pot she’s stirring.

“Chicken chili with salsa verde,” she says. “Can you make the corn bread?”

“Is there a recipe?”

“On the cornmeal box. And yes, my daughter. I just had the brilliant idea of calling her.”

“What did she say?”

“Not a lot. First hello, then … Click! Well, she didn’t say ‘click.’ The phone did. On her behalf.”

“Yeah, well, guess what?” I say.

“What?”

“I don’t know, nothing.” I had been going to say, We’re going to see her anyway. But now that seems ill-advised. Especially when Renie says, “Forget my coming on the trip. I can help Joni watch Riley.”

“He’s coming. Lise is all excited about bringing him. He’s getting ice cream at every Dairy Queen we pass.”

“He’d probably rather have a hamburger. Before they cook it.”

I get out the measuring cups. “How come Joni never measures anything?”

Renie snorts. “Once I asked her the same thing. She reached in the flour sack and said ‘Okay, one third of a cup.’ And she pulled out a handful and put it into the measuring cup. Exactly one third of a cup.”

“So?” I say, and Renie says, “Yeah. Exactly. La-di-da. Who even cares. Are you done with the quarter-cup measure?”

We’re about half an hour away from dinner when we hear the front door slam, then slam again. We stand still, waiting, and then Joni walks in. She’s wearing her chef’s jacket and her face is flushed. She stands before us with her fists clenched. “Okay. There are two words I never want to hear again. Chef and restaurant.”

“What happened?” I say.

“Where’s Lise?” she asks. “Get Lise down here. Lise!”

“She’s not home yet,” I say.

“What happened?” Renie asks.

“I’ll tell you all at dinner. I’m only telling this once.”

She starts to walk away, but then she comes back into the kitchen. “Okay. I just got yelled at for nine minutes straight. A sauce separated, and Gaetano yelled at me for nine minutes straight. In the kitchen, in front of everyone. Then he followed me into the walk-in and yelled at me some more. In the time that he yelled at me, I could have made three more sauces. I could have fixed the problem! But he wanted to yell at me because he loves to yell at me. And swear at me. And pound his fat fist into his fat hand half an inch from my face. So this time? I just walked right out of there. Right when I was supposed to baste the veal. I hope it’s ruined. He told me I didn’t have the skills to work at Denny’s. He told me he was going to put me back on salad prep and that I should consider myself lucky for that. I am a very talented chef! Person! When I met Grant Achatz he asked if I wanted to come on at Alinea!” She starts to cry. “Now I won’t have any health insurance. But I don’t care. Because at least I will never have to be in that goddamn kitchen ever again. I am never taking that kind of abuse again. Never! I quit!”

She takes a breath. “Sorry to yell at you. I’m going up to take a shower. And I’m going on that road trip with you all. I am taking a vacation. Which I so deserve.”

She leaves the room, and Renie and I look at each other. And to think I thought it was Renie who was having problems at work.