Anyway, there were other things I wanted to do. Since Cecily and I had written the book about the girl in the magical forest, I had begun spinning another tale. It was still a glimmer of an idea, but I knew it would be about a child who had lost something dear to her. I needed the time—and yes, the mental space—to write it. And what about having evenings to read Sanjay’s book and being able to pick my kids up after school—especially given that I had just told them I wasn’t glued to my desk anymore?
“You’ll apply, yes?” I asked Russ.
“Obviously.”
“Good.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Remember when we talked about how I wanted to be a writer?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I thought about that a lot while I was in New York. I need this job, but I need to make my own writing a priority again, too. Plus, I’ve still got a lot of stuff to work through.”
“By stuff , you mean your marriage and Jenny’s death.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure moving up the ladder will make that more difficult than it needs to be.”
Russ was leaning in the doorway now. “Well, good for you, Penny. You’ve got guts to admit all that.”
I thought of Jenny’s letter. She seemed to be so close to finding her way out of that dark hole. Once again, it occurred to me how incredibly fortunate I was. “A couple months ago, I would have responded to that compliment with a self-deprecating comment,” I told Russ. “But now I’ve got to agree with you. It takes courage to be yourself when everyone expects you to be someone else. I’m just glad I still have the opportunity to make that decision.”
THIRTY
I visited Jenny’s website frequently after her death, and each time I wondered the same thing: if she had never started her blog, or maybe if it had not become the sensation that it had, would she have found it easier to admit she was struggling and seek help?
Because sharing her life online meant strangers—and even loved ones, me included—came to think of her in the particular way she presented herself online. People had expectations about how she should look and what she should say and do. And the more everyone expected of her, the harder it must have been to disappoint us by deviating from the image we had already bought into.
Perhaps Jenny wanted to unshackle herself from the golden handcuffs of internet fame. I would never know now. The draft I had discovered on her computer didn’t hold that answer. Nor did it provide closure, though it was close.
Still, that letter was the last thing I expected to see when I clicked on her site before shutting down my computer at the end of the day. It took me several seconds to process what had popped up on my monitor.
A new photo of Jenny and Cecily had been posted at the top of the page. They were sitting under the enormous oak tree in her backyard; Cecily was in Jenny’s lap, looking up at her as Jenny gazed down at her adoringly.
Below the photo, Jenny’s letter had been published in full, followed by a brief note saying she had accidentally died of a prescription painkiller overdose on June 26. Just beneath the note was a list of resources for people struggling with addiction.
A sob flew out of my mouth.
Matt had done the right thing.
After I had composed myself, I picked up the phone to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. I glanced at the clock and saw that I needed to pick up Stevie and Miles from their school’s aftercare program. I would have to try him again later.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the school parking lot. I was itching to see my kids, to put my arms around them and let their hugs lighten what had turned out to be an incredibly heavy day. I had just closed my car door when someone called out my name.
I spun around and saw a man jogging across the asphalt. As he got closer, I realized it was Matt. No wonder I hadn’t recognized him—he was wearing a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt and jeans and had grown a short beard.
“I called you earlier,” I said. “I saw the post.”
“Good,” he said. He kicked at the ground with his sneaker, the way Miles often did when he was bothered by something. I expected him to explain why he’d made the decision he had. Instead he said, “You should probably know that I left my job.”
I stared at him with disbelief. Jenny often said she wished Matt would quit. She always followed this remark with a disclaimer that she was joking—but there was truth in most jokes. If only she were there to learn her wish had come true. “Wow. When did you do that?”
“Last week,” he said. “The job isn’t important. Wasn’t important. We’ll be fine for money for a while, and I need to be with Cecily. She’s my focus. And dealing with Jenny’s death.”
An old instinct surfaced, and I almost blurted out that I hoped his decision had nothing to do with me. But that wasn’t true at all. I wanted what I had said to have influenced him. Wasn’t that the entire point of saying it? “That’s great, Matt. How wonderful that you can make that choice.”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m making some changes. I already told Cecily that Jenny accidentally died from taking too many pills, and for the time being that’s where we’ll leave it. Later, I’ll tell her the rest. I’d appreciate it if you took the same approach with Stevie and Miles. But otherwise use your judgment with whoever needs to know.”
“Sonia and Jael?” I said.
He shook his head. “That shouldn’t fall to you. I’ll call them myself tonight.”
“Thank you.” I had to take a few deep breaths before I could find the courage to speak again. “Are we going to be okay? You and me, I mean?”
The lines in his forehead deepened. “I don’t know, Penny. You’re probably not out of line to call me on the stuff I’ve done wrong, but it’s hard to be around you sometimes.”
“I know that. It hasn’t been my intention to make you feel bad. But I know Jenny would have wanted me to say what I did.”
“Yeah, I get that. But like I said, it’s still tough to hear.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ll choose my words carefully. But please, Matt—don’t punish me by keeping Cecily away from me. It’s bad enough to have lost Jenny. I don’t think I can handle losing her, too.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I know. And believe me, she can’t handle losing you, either. Whatever differences you and I have, they’re not as important as what Cecily needs. That’s one thing I’m clear on.”
I blinked furiously. “Thank you.”
“Welcome. Well,” he said, looking away, “we should probably get the kids.”
“Right.”
We were about to walk into the school when I stopped. “Hey, Matt?”
He turned to me. “Yeah?”
“Jenny would have been so proud of you.”
Maybe it was just the light, but I was pretty sure there were tears in his eyes, too. “I believe you, Penelope. Because no one knew Jenny better than you.”
When the kids and I got home, Lorrie and Olive were sitting on their front porch. I expected Lorrie to scurry away, the way she had been lately whenever she saw me. But she stayed where she was. I hesitated, then lifted my hand. Olive scowled in my direction, but Lorrie waved and then smiled faintly. I almost didn’t return it—what if she took it as an invitation? Then I realized even if that happened, it would be fine. I smiled back.
Inside, I found Sanjay in Miles’ bedroom. The usually cluttered bookshelf was in perfect order, and the floor was free of toys and stuffed animals.
“I was going to ask how your first day went, but now I just want to know what on earth you’re up to,” I said.
He was still dressed in his work clothes. He smoothed Miles’ comforter and looked up at me. “Were you expecting me to turn into a slug around the house just because I have a ‘real job’?” he said, making air quotes around the last two words. “And today went great. Mostly training, but I met the entire department and got set up on my computer.”
“I’m glad. But you have two real jobs now. Who cares if Miles’ room is clean?” He was staring at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Honey, do you have another fever? Because if you think it’s okay for Miles’ room to be a mess . . . well, I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t make me pinch you,” I warned.
He laughed. “Let’s go relax before the kids start hollering for dinner. I got more of that wine you like.”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
“Is it working?”
I grinned. “Yes.”
“Then yes,” he said, grinning back at me.
Ten minutes later we were on opposite ends of the sofa, our legs tangled together in the center. He had just told me about his first day, and in turn, I told him about my conversation with Yolanda.
“Will you apply?” he asked, watching me intently.
“I really don’t want to,” I said. As soon as I heard the words come out of my mouth, I knew them to be true. “But I feel bad about that. It’s probably the best opportunity I’ve ever had, and another one like it won’t come along anytime soon. Don’t you think?”