by Judy Fischer
My resolution was to finish the last chapter I had so abruptly abandoned upon Larry and René’s arrival. I had changed the intended course of it, but I had to follow the general outline.
The typewriter was staring at me and I was staring at it too; however, my fingers were not moving.
I got up and took a cold shower and decided to go for coffee. Visiting with Irma would help, I knew, but before I left the house, I wanted to make the bed and tidy up after our night of passion. I was still self-conscious of my new-found sexuality, to hide it, was imperative.
On my night table, I noticed a small package. It was professionally wrapped, with a big red bow. There was also a card attached and my name, Melissa, was beautifully written on it. I opened the card first, reading René’s loving message. Next, I opened the box carefully and found a golden heart on a necklace. Inside the heart, both our initials were engraved on one side and on the other side, the word ‘forever’ stared back at me.
At first, all I had wanted to do was to hold it in my hand, to treasure the emotion he must have possessed when choosing it. I was fascinated by the message that lay between the lines of the card. I was touched to the core with his expression of love.
I placed the necklace around my neck and stood in front of the mirror. Tears streamed down my face. I was disheartened as well, I could not thank him for it.
Without thinking about anything other than René, I left everything in disarray and ran up to the main house.
Irma and Fred were sitting in the kitchen when I arrived drinking their first cup. They were surprised to see me, most likely thinking I had a very busy night and was still sleeping it off.
“Missy, we thought you were still sleeping,” Irma said softly.
“No, I couldn’t. I started writing again but the words were not coming. I think I need a little more time to readjust. Seeing René has cut my concentration and focus. I will try again tomorrow.”
“Don’t hurry, darling. You have all the time in the world. You are welcome to stay as long as you want to or need to.”
“Thank you but I do need to go to Montreal, it’s long overdue.”
We talked for most of the day and I shadowed Irma around the house. Being near her helped me to calm down and to find my way back again. I slept better that night because of her.
Somehow, during the following week, I completed the nagging final chapter and after spending three days editing, I placed the completed manuscript on the kitchen table of the main house. I asked Irma to read through it. I learned to value her judgement and even though she was a little biased, I knew she would give me an honest opinion. I took her hand and led her out onto the beach, I pushed her gently into a lawn chair and I told her I would take over her other chores while she read.
I prepared meals, did the laundry, chatted with Fred, and for the next few days, repeated those duties. Before completing her evaluation and when she was nearing the final chapters, I took Fred and we drove into Hampton to visit with Oliver. Fred went to visit a few of his old colleagues at a local coffee house while I recounted all the details I had not revealed to Oliver since our last visit.
“I come to you again, Oliver, with my miserable life stories. However, I do need to unload to someone (oops, I did mean something) and you are such a good listener.”
“Missy, I will always listen. It’s my vocation, I am God’s representative. There is nothing you can say that will shock me. I have heard stories that would shock you. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I feel ashamed, I think I have sinned.”
“You? That’s not possible. You have the heart of an angel. Love surrounds you, Missy.”
“I had sex with a strange man. This happened in Florida while René was out of town. The man drugged me but for my part in it, I am guilty.”
"What part, Missy?
“I was naïve and stupid. I trusted him.”
“He is to blame, not you. You are too trusting, and you let people into your life who may not be worthy of your love. Don’t blame yourself. Move forward. Forget this ever happened.”
“I can forget, Father, but I can never forgive. So, maybe I am not guilty of reckless indulgence, but I am guilty of holding onto resentment and the inability to forgive.”
“Missy, Missy. God doesn’t want you to be perfect, only human. And you are one human who deserves his love and forgiveness. I think God has given you a lifetime of forgiveness for the kind and loving person who you are. Cash in.”
“You make me feel humbled, Oliver. Maybe you have placed me on a pedestal too.”
“Not a pedestal, Missy, but, yes, on a much higher scale than most. Go, be happy. Love René and let him love you back.”
“Thank you, Oliver. I have a lot to do.”
“Goodbye, Missy, see you soon.”
“I will call you when I get back from Montreal. Take care of Irma and Fred.”
I met Fred later. Our rendezvous spot was next to the Rover in the Publix parking lot. Fred was tuckered out from his visit and I was all talked out myself. We drove home in respectful silence.
By the time Fred and I returned home, Irma was already in the kitchen preparing our dinner. The manuscript was neatly laid out on the desk in the den with a short note.
“Missy, another Best Seller”
Although I respected her outlook on life and her devotion to those whom she loved, she did possess an over-enthusiastic favouritism toward me. Her message about my work was more imbedded in devotion than from a mere objective appraisal. Only the impartial eyes of an unknown editor or publisher would evaluate the manuscript without prejudice.
I found a local publishing company in Richmond and sent the manuscript with the mailman who came to deliver the mail twice a week. His mandate was to deliver and pick up mail from people on his route. I paid the necessary fee for a registered package and after seeing his truck pull away, I released all the thoughts, commitments and responsibilities I owned until the completion of The Guest House.
It took me two more days to put my own life in order, to regain my place in reality and the flow of my own destiny. For weeks, the characters and storyline of The Guest House was my only reality. All my thoughts, my emotions, my fantasies, my energy was absorbed and monopolized by the story and the characters. As they were part of me, a big part, it always took some time to re-enter my own world as myself. Like an actor, I had to shed the skin of the characters I assumed. Sometimes it was more difficult because of the intensity and depth of the protagonist’s soul.
I organized the cottage, packed my bag and resigned myself to facing my parents. I spent my final day enjoying Fred and Irma’s company. It was the perfect way of closing another chapter of my own life’s journal.
Both Fred and Irma drove me to the airport in Richmond, where I said my goodbyes and boarded the flight to the place I had once called home.
“Take care, you two. I will miss you and think of you daily,” I said, giving them a tight squeeze.
“You too, Missy, be gentle with your folks. They missed you. I know this because I missed when you went to Florida. Go. Don’t look back. Just hurry back,” Irma said as she blew me a kiss from afar.
Montréal
I arrived at the Dorval airport, in Montreal, knowing there would be no one waiting for me. All those people who I once called friends were now individuals who lived their own lives and, without intention, had forgotten Melissa Drake. I had barely or briefly touched their lives. Even my parents were forced to continue the course of their own lives without the daughter who they had raised with love and care, only to be abandoned by her for reasons they never understood.
I took a taxi to the address where I had lived with my mother and father, to find them both sitting alone in their living room, reading. They looked so much older; time had not been gentle with their aging. All the sorrow and pain that was caused by a wayward daughter took a heavy blow. I cried but embraced their frail bodies and tried to restore some of the comfort I had
robbed. My father wept as my mother held him up, giving support to his ailing limbs. She had a bewildered expression on her face but in spite of her misery, she tried to show relief in my return.
“Why didn’t you call, Melissa?” she asked. “Your father isn’t well. He is so tired and sad these days.”
“I am so sorry, Mom. I didn’t know.”
“He had a small stroke a few months ago, he is getting better but the doctors say he will never recover fully.”
“Oh. Mom. I’m so sorry. Are you OK?”
“Well, it’s behind us now. We have a long battle ahead, but hopefully we will still have a, somewhat, good quality of life ahead of us. I just can’t work anymore. I know I am still young but taking care of your father is a full-time job.”
“Did you sell the shop?” I asked.
“Yes, the papers are being notarized, we should be closing the deal soon.”
“What will you do now?”
“I really don’t know, Melissa,” she sobbed. All the frustration of having a sick spouse, a forced end to a career and a daughter who appeared out of the blue, was released.
We placed my father back into his comfy chair and I followed my mother into the kitchen to make some tea.
“Mom, I’ve been published. I wrote a book and now I have just sent in the next manuscript. I’ve made some money and I would like to help you. I want try to make up for the sadness I have caused.”
"Melissa, I’ve read your book, it was one of the most emotionally charged books I have ever read, and you know I’ve read many. You did well! I am happy you have found your calling. We are very proud of you.
“Now that we are about to retire, I was thinking that your father and I would like to move to Florida, at least for six months of each year.”
“Well, that sounds fantastic,” I yelled in joy. “We would be closer and perhaps reconnect. What if I buy you a nice little house or condo? I have enough money to do that. It would be a small token to replace the unhappiness I have inflicted on the both of you.”
“Let’s wait and see. Your father will need his doctor’s consent to leave, it may not be for a while.”
“So, we will wait, but plan, we can plan in the meantime.”
“How long will you stay, Melissa?”
“I can stay for a little while but if they call me regarding my latest book, I may have to tend to that.”
“What happened with that boy, the homeless one?”
“Mom, René and I are still together. He is no longer homeless, and I love him more than life itself.” I had to be honest with my answer.
“Oh! Are you sure he is right the one for you?” she pressed.
“Please don’t be judgmental, Mom. He is a wonderful man. I am sure when you meet him, you will understand. I wish you could see him like I do. And if possible, love him as I do.” I pleaded. I don’t know why it was important for me to have them love René, yet it was.
“You’ve changed so much, Mom. What happened to the Carla who was carefree, passionate and who was my idol? Where is she, Mother? What have you done to her?”
“Melissa. I am here. In a body much older, with responsibilities I didn’t have when I was young, and when life takes away some of the idealism of yesterday. The idealism you inherited, it seems, from me. I don’t wish to sound defeated, there is still some fight left in me,” she said sadly.
I went back into the living room to see my father and sat beside him placing my head onto his lap. I cried for his physical pain but also for his emotional one. He patted my head with his gentle touch, yet the words could not come out of his mouth, instead his touches told me how much he had missed me.
I sat then on the couch beside him and we cried together; I, for my youth; and he, for my future.
The following day, after I drove them to one of their many doctor’s appointments, I took it upon myself to revisit some places I had frequented in my youth, especially those still reminding me of the first day I found René sitting alone in the night.
I walked most of the way on the street pavement, retracing the steps leading me to the flat. To my dismay, the building had been since torn down and an ultra-modern one replaced it. I stayed to study it from across the street and smiled when the symbolic significance become obvious. Where once a condemned structure stood, now a vibrant edifice of great worth and beauty was proudly standing. I thought only of René. The comparison was befitting all too well.
I left the car near the hospital, where I had dropped off my folks, and to return there by foot was causing me to be late. I decided to take the metro back. As I walked through the passageway of the metro station, near the part of town where I knew René had travelled. Maybe as a homeless boy, he had used it for shelter too. I noticed an extensive array of graffiti on the long stretches of walls.
I was always intrigued by the skills of the artists who were forced to hide their talents in the dark and dismal areas of the city. Instead of embracing their gifts to humanity, their art was washed away, painted over or left in the most obscure places. I took the time that day and showed my respect to them by spending a few minutes of my time observing and admiring their talent. I examined the different styles of art and they all left me in awe.
Hidden amongst the many graphic and artistic displays, I noticed a small drawing of a red heart almost too hidden to see. It caught my attention, mainly because it stood out in contrast to the others around it. I tried to get closer and closer until I saw the words someone had carved into it. The words I finally saw were “René loves Missy”. I was so overcome that I sat down on the cold cemented floor in front of it, frozen there for minutes, until my brain finally grasped what my eyes had seen so readily. I reached for the heart around my neck, I held it in my right hand, appreciating its value with a new empathy and love. René had loved, me, and he wanted the world to know. However, sadly, he never found the words to tell me.
I stayed there, not caring about where I was supposed to be, and cried till no more tears came.
Before I realized so much time had escaped, I hurried to meet my parents, who were waiting for too long outside the hospital.
We drove home in silence, I was lost in my thoughts about René and my mother and father were lost in their own thoughts loaded with my dad’s health issues.
For the following days, I tried to help at home, relieving some of my mom’s burdens with the household chores. She was busy with the care of my father, whose prognosis was positive but the recuperation period, according to his doctor, was expected to be a long one.
I called Irma to inquire about René, but she had not heard from them since my departure. However, a letter did arrive from the publishing company. She had forwarded it to me by mail. I had left her with all my contact information; I needed to feel we were still close, even though distance had temporarily put a pause into our lives together. I missed them so much; at times, I made my mother feel like an outsider and a person who no longer held the attention in my life. She expected I’m afraid, that somehow we could resume our former lives. I explained to her I was no longer a child and that my life had changed, drastically. I had grown up. However, I reassured her I would never abandon them again.
Secretly, one evening after they went to bed, I called an agent in Florida. I found her name in the Yellow Pages. I explained my situation.
“I’m looking for a house or condo with wheelchair access. I am planning to buy in the Hollywood area, close to 115 Sunrise Road. It should be ready-to-move-in condition. Price is not an issue,” I said.
"I can do that, no problem. Your name?
“Melissa Drake.”
“The Melissa Drake? The author?”
“Yes.”
She promised to give it her full attention. She vowed to get back to me with relevant results.
It was my wish to make true on my promise to my mother; it was my intention to make, it, one of my priorities.
Just as being home started to feel natural, the letter from the publish
er arrived. They were very interested in publishing and promoting The Guest House, so, they sent a cashier’s cheque for $50,000 and a contract to sign. However, they wanted me to fly down to Richmond immediately to seal the deal.
I broke the news to my parents and although they were disappointed, they wished me luck. I also called Irma to give her the good news and to tell her I would be seeing them after my business was taken care of in Richmond. I begged her a second time to keep Larry and René at the estate until my return if they stopped by for another surprise visit.
I also had every intention to seek out a personal agent in Virginia who could represent me in such cases to free me up in order to pursue my writing. Instead of wasting time negotiating with the publishers, I preferred to spend time writing or loving René.
Russell had given me one good advice. He proved the importance of having an agent on your side. If only he had not meant in your bed too.
Saying goodbye to my parents was brutal. We huddled and cried for a long while.
I pledged my word to stay in touch with an honest resolve. Walking out the door of their apartment, my former home, did slip a few nostalgic wrenches into my heart.
I flew with Delta Air Lines, non-stop, from Montreal to Richmond, Virginia. The deal for the book went through without any complications and I was promised a free summer, without any out-of-town obligations. Yes, I did agree to promoting the book through the regular channels but not until the end of the summer season. In the midst of summer, people were usually too busy, anyway, with family and vacations to be bothered by a new book release.
With all that taken care of, I rented a car and drove to Hampton. Irma had agreed to pick me up. I already had two cars parked on their lot and to get rid of Nana’s was on my ‘to-do list’. I thought of my Nana often. I wrote to her from time to time and I was sorry I didn’t have the time for any visits. I received only one short letter from her after Christmas. She sounded confused and didn’t quite know where I was and why I was not coming around as before. She brought up a few memories she had managed to hold on to and I cried for days afterward. I wrote her again and again, but I never got a response from her again. But, I did remember our special bond and it made me sad and at the same time happy having her in my mind, soul and genes.