Free The Pursuit of Happiness (2001) by Douglas Kennedy

you go - eleven days off. Not bad, eh?’

‘It’s especially not bad for him - as it gives him a real easy out. He doesn’t have to see me before he vanishes to LA.’

‘Do you really want to see him?’

‘No.’

‘The defence rests.’

I hung my head.

‘This is going to take time,’ Meg said. ‘A lot of time. Longer than you think.’

I knew that. Just as I knew that I was heading into the longest Christmas of my life. The grief hit me in waves. Sometimes dumb, obvious things - like seeing a couple kiss on the street - would trigger it. Or I might be riding uptown on the subway (in reasonably cheerful form after happily squandering an afternoon at the Museum of Modern Art, or engaging in some retail therapy at Bloomingdale’s) - and then, out of nowhere, I’d feel as if I was falling into this deep abyss. I stopped sleeping. I lost a lot of weight. Every time I castigated myself for over-reacting, I quickly fell apart again.

What disturbed me most was the fact that I swore, vowed, pledged never to lose myself to a man - and was always less than sympathetic (if not downright contemptuous) of friends and acquaintances who turned a break-up into an epic tragedy; a Manhattan Tristan and Isolde.

But now there were moments when I wondered how I would get through the day. And I felt like such a stupid cliche. Especially when - in the middle of a Sunday brunch at a local restaurant with my mother - I suddenly burst into tears. I retreated to the Ladies’ until I got the Joan Crawford melodramatics under control. When I returned to the table, I noticed that Mom had ordered coffee for us.

‘That was very worrying, Katherine,’ she said quietly.

‘I’ve been having a bad week, that’s all. Don’t ship me off to Bellevue yet.’

‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ she asked.

I sat up, blew on my coffee, and eventually nodded.

‘It must have been serious if it’s causing you this much upset.’

I shrugged.

‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ she asked.

‘No.’

She bowed her head - and I could see how deeply I had just hurt her. Who was it who once said that mothers will break arms and legs to remain needed?

‘I wish you could confide in me, Kate.’

‘I wish I could too.’

‘I don’t understand why …’

‘It’s just how things between us have turned out.’

‘You sadden me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She reached over and gave my hand a quick squeeze. There was so much I wanted to say just then - how I could never penetrate her protective coating of gentility; how I’d never been able to confide in her because I always felt that she sat in judgment on me; how I did love her … but there was just so much baggage between us. Yes, it was one of those moments (much beloved of Hollywood) when mother and daughter could have reached out to each other over the divide, and after shedding some mutual tears, reconciled. But life doesn’t work that way, does it? We always seem to balk, hesitate, flinch at these big moments. Maybe because, in family life, we all build protective shields around ourselves. As the years evaporate, these defences solidify. They become hard for others to penetrate; even harder for us to tear down. Because they turn into the way in which we protect ourselves - and those closest to us - from assorted truths.

I spent the rest of my week-off in movie theaters and museums. On January second I returned to work. Everyone at the office was very solicitous about my ‘terrible flu’ - and did I hear about Peter Harrison’s transfer to LA? I kept to myself, I did my work, I went home, I laid low. The outbursts of grief lessened; the sense of loss didn’t.

In mid-February, one of my copywriting colleagues, Cindy, suggested lunch in a little Italian place near the office. We spent most of the meal talking through a campaign we were still fine-tuning. As coffee arrived, Cindy said, ‘Well, I guess you heard the big gossip from the LA office.’

‘What big gossip?’

‘Peter