Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Madison
“Where are you now?” Beverly asks.
I look out the hotel window at the less-than-stellar view of a parking lot below. The suite I reserved reminds me of my lonely city apartment back home. I exhale a long sigh.
“Chicago.”
“Geez, you haven’t been home in weeks. I don’t know if this promotion of yours was such a great deal after all.
I mean, I get moving up the hierarchical levels, and that corporate ladder thing, but this level of responsibility sounds like pure torture.
I hate your boss for putting you through this. ”
I sink into the swanky chair next to my bed and kick off my heels. My sister has a point.
I’m tired.
Tired of traveling. Tired of living out of a suitcase. Tired of pining for a handsome flower farmer who deserves an explanation for my absence.
I can count on one hand the text messages he sent me.
Granted, he was honest and told me from the beginning how he wasn’t very good at typing on his tiny phone.
I was usually the instigator, texting or calling.
But when he did surprise me with a message, it was easy to read between the lines. Simple really.
He missed me.
And I miss him.
But then everything went haywire after my promotion.
Word got out about my big save at Global, and I was suddenly in high demand.
It felt good to finally be enthusiastically welcomed by my male counterparts.
It felt good to be making top dollar in my field of expertise.
My job took off like a rocket and took over my life. I’d caved to the accolades and money.
And I’m disgusted with myself.
“Are you okay?” Bev asks.
I sigh again and stare out the window at the moody Chicago skyline in the distance. “I’m tired. And to be perfectly honest, I’m lonely,” I admit. “Are you sure you can’t hop on the next plane and join me?”
“Girl… I wish I could. But school has already started.”
“Darn.”
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What happened to the autistic farmer and his grandfather? Do you still keep in touch with them? Is he running the farm by himself now? Sorry. That’s more like a boatload of questions, isn’t it?”
I shake my head, knowing George would’ve texted me if Ralph took a turn for the worse. “Mr. Jamison hasn’t passed away.”
“That’s good. And his grandson?”
“He’s still at the farm.”
At least I hope he’s still there. But where else would he be?
“Good to know.”
We’re silent for a beat.
“For what it’s worth, Maddy, I think you’re tired and lonely because you made a huge mistake.”
I scowl. “What?”
“You made a mistake not leaving your job when you had the chance.”
“Beverly…”
“As your sister, hear me out, okay? I mean, look at you right now. You’re alone in a hotel room in a big city full of strangers.
You’ve got no one but me to talk to, and that’s not even in person but over the phone.
What happened to the ‘soft life’ you were so excited about, huh?
I thought you were going to make some changes and finally live?
I thought you really liked Heartsboro and the handsome flower farmer? ”
I rub my temple with my free hand and close my eyes. “George.”
“Huh?”
“His name is George. And I know what I said. I just need to see these contracts through, and then I promise I’ll make some changes. I have to.”
“Yeah, you do,” Bev scolds.
“Hey, did I tell you Mom’s show is here in Chicago?”
I hear my sister gasp as I boldly change the subject, the ache in my heart when it comes to George Jamison too painful to discuss any further.
“No.”
“Oh yeah. She’s insisting we meet for dinner before her show at the Cadillac Palace Theatre. She even got me a comp ticket to see it. Wants to introduce me to the actors and give me a tour backstage to see all her wigs.”
“Oh no,” Beverly laughs. “Are you going to do it?”
I nod with the phone pressed against my ear. “Yes. It’s time. I haven’t seen her since last spring, when she came through Atlanta and stayed with you.”
“Gosh, has it been that long for you two? I saw her in Atlanta over the summer, but you were out of town, as usual.”
“Yup. Shame on me.”
“Well, don’t let her talk you into any after-show shenanigans. And for goodness sake, don’t let her have any alcohol at dinner. That wouldn’t be good for her or her employer.”
“Or me.”
“You got that right.”
We’re quiet again for a few seconds. I drum my freshly manicured nails on the upholstery of the chair, unsure of what to say. Why had I said yes to meet my mom when all I want is to climb into the king-size hotel bed and sleep for days?
“I miss happy Maddy from the Steamhouse Lounge a few months ago. Can you tell her to come back, please?”
I groan. My sister is the only person in the world who knows me better than anyone. That she’s worried about me is strangely comforting. I also miss that version of myself before all the crazy started.
The last few months have been a paradox. Happy moments running through purple fields of heaven at sunset. Stolen kisses on a front porch. Wind chimes pinging the summer air.
On the other hand, my ever-growing feelings of inadequacy and burnout from my job continue to spiral, impacting my daily life. I’ve lost pieces of myself, becoming a shell of who I once was… hindering my relationships, including my undeniable connection with George.
I’ve spent weeks on the road trying every tip and trick in the book to help cure my anxiety.
I’ve taken supplements, meditated, done breathwork, and exercised.
But nothing has worked. Nothing compares to being at Jamison Farm with George, watching the sky, or marveling at the lavender fields.
Only then did I find myself doing something I hadn’t done in months:
Breathe.
Inhaling what felt like the cleanest country air, I’d go hours, even days, without checking my phone for the latest email.
I stopped ruminating over presentations or replaying my interactions with coworkers on Zoom.
I wasn’t franticly driving all over the place or flying into strange airports feeling alone and vulnerable.
I’ve realized that my brief time in Heartsboro with a gentle flower farmer was what gave me relief.
And now, more than ever, I yearn for time to recharge, reset, and refill my cup again.
I need to cut ties with what isn’t serving me anymore.
Maybe I’ve finally hit the proverbial wall, and it’s time to quit my toxic, six-figure-earning job with nothing else lined up.
On purpose.
So, why can’t I do it? Why can’t I walk away?
“She’s still here, Bev. She just needs to sleep until next year and get through these contracts, that’s all. I promise to make changes when I get caught up at work.”
“Oh, girl,” Beverly moans. “That’s what you always say.”
My phone pings with an incoming call.
“I gotta take this, Bev. I’ll let you know how it goes tonight. Love you.”
“Okay. Love you back.”
One mustn’t ever forget their I love yous…
I click over to the new call. “This is Madison Adler.”
“Madison! It’s Jenny from the Wild Daisy Inn.”
I sit up with a start. There could only be one reason for Jenny’s call. I struggle to find my voice.
“Is it… is it Ralph?” I croak. “Oh no. Has Ralph died?”
A flood of guilt sweeps through me like a tidal wave, the thought of Ralph dying before I could make it back to Heartsboro filling me with pain.
“No, sweetie. It’s about George.”
“George?” Now I’m really confused.
“Yes. He asked me to call you. He’d really like for you to come back to Heartsboro. Ralph has taken a turn, and George needs you here.”
Concerned, I stand and walk over to the window. Staring out at the drab scenery, I shake my head. “I’m so sorry to hear about Ralph. But Jenny, I know George doesn’t want me there during this trying time. In fact, I’m the last person he probably wants around.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with him wanting you here. He needs you here, sweetie. I think having a familiar face around would do him a world of good. Someone he can trust.”
The word “trust” is like a dagger to my heart. If Jenny only knew.
I look at my watch, knowing I have to see my mom first.
“Okay, Jenny. Give me a couple of hours, and I’ll get back to you. I’m in Chicago on business and meeting my mom for dinner tonight. It will take me some time to rearrange my itinerary.”
I roll my eyes, listening to myself speak like a corporate idiot. Inhaling a deep breath, I tone it down. This is Jenny from Heartsboro, not some bigwig trying to arrange a deal.
“I’ll do my best to get there in the next day or two. Sound good?”
Her tone holds relief. “Yes. We need you here, Madison. George needs you here, now more than ever before.”
***
The bright-red awning in front of the entrance to Petterinos is easy to spot, located in the heart of Chicago’s theatre district. This Italian restaurant is the perfect place for me to treat my mom, where high-profile folks often dine.
Caricatures of famous politicians, celebrities, and influential Chicagoans decorate the walls, and many of them have probably eaten in the same booth I reserved.
Being just steps away from famous Michigan Avenue will tickle my mom’s addiction to the rich and famous, much like her obsession for naming me and Bev after Beverly Hills and Madison Avenue.
Unfortunately, my mom is always late. I wait fifteen minutes before ordering a signature drink from the bar, a spiced limoncello martini, to take the edge off. My mind is swirling with thoughts of George and Jamison Farm. Ralph and his illness. And Jenny’s words:
George needs you here.
As I lift the perfectly poured cocktail to my lips, my eyes land on my mom as she enters the restaurant, chattering away with the hostess.
Viola Adler looks nothing like she did last spring. Gone is her graying brown hair, replaced with a strawberry blonde color teased into a classic Marilyn Monroe style. She’s wearing what looks like a vintage dress, her cleavage accentuated in the dramatic V-neck.
I watch, shocked by my mother’s friendly mannerisms with the hostess, her hips sashaying as she happily swings her shiny black pocketbook by her side, coming toward me.
Her lips are painted a fire-engine red, matching her fingernails.
And are those fishnet stockings she’s wearing with her high heels?
“Mother?” I utter, standing.
“Madison!” my mother coos, air kissing both of my cheeks. She turns to the hostess and grins. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. And I’ll be sure to check out the show.”
“You do that.” Her voice still holds a tinge of a Southern twang that doesn’t align with her obvious makeover.
“Mom, what is all of this? Is this part of the show?”
She waves me off and scoots into the booth across the bench seat. “No, honey. This is the new me—the new Viola Adler.”
I slowly sink into the soft leather and stare. “Wow. Well, I must say, you look…”
“Fabulous? Well, I feel fabulous. And I’m so happy to see my little girl.” She wrinkles her nose with an over-exaggerated grin.
Who is this woman, and what has she done with my mother?
A waiter approaches our table, the handsome older man eyeing Viola up and down as if impressed. “Hello. My name is Todd. I’ll be taking care of you lovely ladies this evening. I see you already have a cocktail.” He nods at me before turning toward my mom. “What can I get for you?”
Her attention is immediately diverted as she coyly looks up at him, her red lips curling at the corners. “Hmmm. How about a mocktail? Something sweet and delicious, but with no alcohol, please.”
Todd understands. “Coming right up.”
I can’t help but stare during the exchange. I know my mom is in there somewhere behind all the makeup and the outfit. I really have no idea what to say.
“Now, tell me everything and anything you’ve been up to since I last saw you,” she gushes.
I give her a one-word answer. “Work.”
“Fiddle-de-dee, my dear. All work and no play isn’t good for my gorgeous firstborn daughter.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve been up to.” I take a hefty sip of my cocktail. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing? You’re obviously happy being on tour, right?”
My mom dramatically spreads her arms across the back edge of the booth and smiles. “Life is grand. The show is a huge success, and the travel has been divine. I love being the Hair Supervisor on tour. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
I lick my lips. “I’m happy for you, Mom. Really.”
“I am happy. I’ve finally found something I’m good at. Something that brings me joy.”
“Wigs bring you joy, Mom?” I cock an eyebrow and give her the side-eye.
She sighs and looks right at me as if disappointed in my unintentional dig.
“I’m sorry,” I chuckle. “I haven’t seen you in a while, and when you walked through the door, I didn’t recognize you. You’ve completely changed.”
“And you haven’t changed one bit, have you?
Being a workaholic has definitely taken a toll, I can tell.
Where is your sense of adventure, huh? Being on a Broadway tour has changed my life.
I took a chance, and I’m glad I did. You should do the same.
Do something fun and frivolous with your life. It worked for me.”
Todd drops off her mocktail. The pink drink comes in a hurricane glass topped with a pretty flower.
“Mmmm. Thank you, Todd. This looks delicious.”
“I’ll be back in a few to take your order.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Oh, honey. You’ve got to try this. It’s so good.” She smacks her red lips together and slides the drink across the table toward me.
“No, thank you. I’m good with mine.”
“Suit yourself.”
I take a good look at my mom.
It’s not just her hair color and the clothes that are different. Her entire attitude has changed. Maybe she’s finally free from her demons? It’s obvious she’s enjoying her new path in life. But there’s something else… something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“You really look amazing, Mom. I’m happy you’re happy.”
“Good.” She grins. “Because I have some big news for you. I wanted to tell you when you called and said you were here in Chicago. But I thought it’d be better if I told you in person.”
My stomach drops to my feet. This could either be really good news or something bad.
For example, Beverly and I had to fork out thousands of dollars when she was almost evicted from her first apartment.
Or when she told us she was joining a team of traveling carnival workers moving from town to town with a fair, thrilled to be the carousel operator.
“What big news, Mom?” I ask.
My mother takes another sip of her drink before dropping the bomb in the middle of the table. The caricature paintings of Bob Hope and Liza Minelli mounted on the wall appear to look on with interest.
“I’m getting married!”