Finding Tranquility

by Laura Heffernan

  What if I’d told Brett before he left? Would he have gotten on the plane and died in the attack? Or would he have still had a panic attack and come home, grateful for a second chance at life, excited to start a family with me?

  Christa wore the same question on her face, but I wasn’t about to ask. Maybe knowing about the child would’ve convinced Brett to make a commitment to his family, but maybe that would have killed him. Besides, I couldn’t go back and change anything, even if I wanted to. The train of thought starting with “what if…?” led straight off a cliff.

  Her question interrupted my thoughts. “What’s his name?”

  My gaze dropped to the table. I’d spent a lot of time debating the best name, almost choosing “Brett” before I decided it would simply be too painful. “Ethan. After his grandfather.”

  “That’s a lovely name. Ethan Cooper, II.”

  “Thank you. I always thought his father would have appreciated the gesture.”

  “I do, Jess. Really.” Our eyes finally met. The storminess in Christa’s brown eyes mirrored my own inner turmoil. “Is he here?”

  I shook my head. “I left him with my mother for a few days. I always take September 11 off work, but this year, I needed to get away. Most of the time, I bury my pain, but on anniversaries, everything comes rushing back.”

  She reached toward me, but I pulled away. Maybe we were talking, but I wasn’t ready for hand-holding. Part of me still wanted to run away and forget all of this ever happened.

  “I’m so sorry to have put you through this,” she said. “I never meant to hurt you. But it would mean the world to me if I could meet him, even once.”

  “I know, I guess. I’m still processing.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll think about it. This is a lot to take in, and I don’t want to make any rash decisions. I mean, I know, legally. . . Give me time. Ethan’s almost eighteen now. I’ll have to talk to him about it.”

  A hurt look crossed her face. After all she put me through, it was petty, but part of me was glad to see that she even had feelings.

  “Sure. Take all the time you need,” she said.

  A thought hit me, and a slight smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “If you come to Boston, I can’t wait to see the look on my mother’s face.”

  Christa chuckled. “She hasn’t changed?”

  “Oh, she’s mellowed a lot since my father died. But she might see your resurrection as proof of the grace of God and go back to trying to make me and Ethan join her at church every Sunday.”

  “Tell me more about him. His birthday, anything.”

  Brett should’ve been there with me. Should have been my birth partner, gone to Lamaze classes, brought me kale and peanut butter or whatever to satisfy cravings. He should have held my hand during the birth, smoothed my hair back, brought me ice chips. Should have held his baby in his arms, signed the birth certificate himself. If he hadn’t left us, he’d know everything already.

  Part of me felt like he didn’t deserve to know anything, that he’d forfeited that right by walking away. But that wasn’t fair. He didn’t intend to leave me with a baby. And it was impossible for me to understand what he was going through when he left.

  “He was born a week early, in April 2002. Maybe he sensed how lost I was, I don’t know, but he was a perfect angel. Slept, ate, hardly ever cried. I had the life insurance money, so I didn’t bother looking for work right away. I’d already been accepted to medical school, so there was no point. That fall, Ma moved in with us and I started classes.”

  “I’m so sorry you were alone for all that.”

  “Me, too.” I glared at her for a minute. “Don’t think for a second that you’re forgiven. But I think I kinda get that you were going through something huge. You were scared. My upbringing suggested I wouldn’t understand, and who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t have. The world has changed a lot in the past eighteen years. Trans people made enormous strides in the past few years...at least among younger people and liberals.”

  “We made progress, and then we lost it after the 2016 election.”

  I heaved a big sigh. I couldn’t begin to figure out how to feel about anything anymore. “Maybe you did the right thing. If you’d told me what you were going through back then, we still would’ve lost each other. Maybe I’d have tried to stop you from knowing Ethan, just because I didn’t understand. I don’t know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m still furious with you, of course. But, maybe one day, if you win Ethan over, we can be friends again.”

  She grinned. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  A rush of college students entered the tiny eatery, bringing bursts of noise and gusts of cool air that would turn frigid in another couple of months. It wasn’t worth trying to talk until they left, so instead I stood. Christa stood as well, offering me her hand, and I put my empty tray in it. That probably wasn’t what she was going for, but whatever.

  At least I didn’t dump poutine in her hair. I still wanted to.

  We walked back toward the hotel in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Tourists milled around the shops; children ran in the streets and played nearby. I wondered what it would’ve been like to come to Mount Tremblant as a family. Me, Brett, and our son.

  Would Ethan grow to love Christa? Or would he resent her for not being around while he was growing up? What if our son hated her for being different? Would he one day be okay calling her Mom? Did I mind sharing that title? Would Christa object to being called Dad? Was I more OK with that?

  When we reach the hotel lobby, I finally spoke. “Did you ever think about coming back? As the world got more progressive?”

  “No. You and Ethan would be much better off if I’d stayed dead.”

  ∞ ♡ ∞

  When I got back to the room, Christa’s words still ran through my head. The idea that she’d think she was better off dead than in my life tore at my heart. I thought of all the things she’d missed after she left, moments that could never be recaptured. If only Brett had told me what he was thinking, maybe I could have helped somehow. But that wasn’t true. This wasn’t my experience, was miles outside my comfort zone. What could I have possibly done?

  How could I have missed something so huge going on inside the person I was supposed to know better than anyone else in the world? How had he hidden this from me?

  I shook those thoughts away. It was impossible for me to understand what had been going through Brett’s mind when he chose not to get on that plane. Impossible to understand how it felt for him to be at war with his own body. The only thing I understood was that I may have stumbled into the one thing I’d never been able to provide for my son: his father.

  My first inclination was to call Ethan and tell him what happened. But somehow, “Hey sweetie, guess what? Your father is alive!” didn’t seem like the best conversation to have over video chat at eleven o’clock on a school night. Especially when the explanation involved gender reassignment surgery, and the boy was going to be alone with my deeply conservative, everyone-who-isn’t-just-like-me-is-a-whackjob-or-a-deadbeat mother for the next few days.

  Ethan was a smart young man, but I couldn’t risk him giving in to the temptation to ask his grandmother for advice. Worse, if she caught him looking at websites on being transgender—and he would definitely look—she’d make his life miserable until I got back. She’d probably force-feed him testosterone supplements while he read the Bible or make him beg Jesus for salvation while doing push-ups or something.

  This trip was supposed to clear my head, help me cope with my loss finally so I could move on with my life. It wasn’t supposed to set my whole world spinning.

  I chuckled bitterly to myself. At least I didn’t feel sad about my husband dying anymore. Instead, I was sad about many, many other things. Confused. Was I even legally married? Brett’s death was recorded and a certificate issued in October 2001. Brett Cooper, as such, no longer existed. Was I now married to Christa McCall?

  A full nig
ht’s miserable tossing and turning gave me no real answers, but at least I made one decision in the wee hours. When dawn peeked through the slit in the curtains, I rose, throwing the few items I’d used back into my suitcase. Christa would have to understand if I took off, after all; she was in no position to bitch about it.

  We’d been best friends once. Brett was the person I cared about more than anything in the world. When he died on that plane, part of me went with him. I couldn’t just walk away.

  After much debate, I dropped a letter at the front desk for her. It would’ve served her right to vanish without a trace, but I owed our son more than that. He had a right to know his father, if and when he was ready. Maybe I also owed the relationship we once had a chance, I didn’t know. I owed it to myself to leave the door open to get closure.

  Dear Christa,

  I know things seemed okay when we parted last night, but my senses are still reeling. Having never run into a deceased loved one before, I don’t know how to feel about any of this. Of course, I’m glad you weren’t murdered by terrorists, but there are so, so many more emotions beneath that.

  I’m checking out early and heading back to Boston. All things considered, I can only assume you’ll forgive me for leaving like this. If you need to contact me, I’ve enclosed a business card.

  But I’d prefer that you don’t reach out to me. I’ll call you at the hotel when I’m ready. There’s a lot to work out, and I need to figure out what to tell our son. Thank you for understanding.

  Best,

  Jess

  It seemed a little formal, but what level of familiarity was best for these situations? I was on the road before four o’clock in the morning with a paper cup of hotel lobby coffee in one hand and a sworn promise to myself that I’d stop at the first open Tim Horton’s I passed.

  Adrenaline and whirling thoughts fueled me throughout the long drive. I’d expected to pull into a rest stop to sleep for a couple of hours once I crossed into the United States, but there was no need. After a couple more coffee breaks on the MassPike, I arrived in Boston early enough to be grateful I hadn’t passed through any speed traps.

  Not wanting to go home yet, I instead turned the car toward downtown Quincy, where Teddy and I kept our office.

  When I finally pulled into my parking space, the dam I’d been holding back for the past several hours burst. Tears streamed down my face. Time stopped as all the anger and shock and frustration and fear poured out of me.

  Finally, I managed to pull myself together enough to wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and stagger through the back door into our break room.

  Once I saw the box of donuts sitting on the table, a bone-deep weariness hit me. I’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours. In that time, I’d had the shock of my life, driven hundreds of miles (kilometers?), and consumed nothing but coffee and a few bites of poutine. Still, the sweet smell of the doughnuts turned my stomach. I never wanted to eat again.

  Not knowing what else to do, I sank into a chair, rested my head on the table, and closed my eyes, just for a minute.

  “No, no, no,” a voice said some time later. “You’re supposed to be living it up at a fabulous resort, getting massages, climbing mountains. You can’t be here. Jess, you’re fired.”

  It took me a minute to even realize where I was, how I’d gotten there, and who spoke to me.

  “You can’t fire me, Teddy,” I mumbled through the mass of hair covering my face. “We’re partners, remember?”

  When I lifted my head to meet his eyes, the snappy comeback on my best friend’s face faded away. “Oh, shit. Who died?”

  The question led to another round of tears, just when I thought I was all cried out. I couldn’t answer. Teddy quickly pulled over a chair and sat, putting one arm around me. Leaning into him, I sobbed, grateful to have someone to lean on. Coming here had been the right decision.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Seriously, did someone die? Is it your mom? Is Ethan okay? What are you doing here? Why did you come back so early?”

  Behind me, the break room door opened. Teddy shook his head at whoever entered, and the door closed again. I didn’t know how long we sat there before the tears subsided enough to let me speak.

  “Br...Alive,” I croaked out through a wad of napkins.

  “Bra Live? What’s that? some kind of fancy new undergarment that makes your breasts sing and dance?”

  A snort of laughter sent me choking into the snotty mess in my hands. When I finally got myself under control, I said, “It’s Brett. He’s alive.”

  “Brett Who?” My eyes met his, and realization slowly dawned. “Wait. You don’t mean your husband?”

  I nodded.

  “The one who was on United Flight 175?”

  I nodded again.

  “Your dead husband.” It was a statement, not a question, so I didn’t answer. Teddy took a deep breath, blinked repeatedly, then ran one hand through his hair. “What the fuck?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  He stood with a glance at the clock. “Hold on. I’m going to cancel my one o’clock, and then we’re going to find a bar with a lunch menu, and then we’re going to have a long, private chat, okay?”

  This wasn’t the place for all the things I had to say, and knowing I had someone to listen made me feel better already. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  Twenty minutes later, we settled into a booth in a dark corner of a nearby pub. Teddy ordered two pumpkin beers and two shots of vanilla vodka from the hostess as she sat us and tapped his foot under the table when she walked away.

  “Okay, spill. Let’s start with—what the fuck?”

  The entire story tumbled out, from the moment I saw Christa’s face, to the jolt of recognition that hit me, to telling her about Ethan, and slinking out in the middle of the night like a coward. I didn’t even pause when the waitress brought our drinks. Neither of us opened our menus.

  When I finished, Teddy stared at me, the drinks untouched in front of him. Before he spoke, he downed the vodka. Then he picked up a beer and swallowed three-quarters of the glass in one gulp.

  “Congratulations,” he finally said. “You’ve always wanted to be the star of your very own Lifetime Original Movie.”

  “Gee, thanks, Téodoro.” He winced at my use of his full name. “I’m so glad I came to see you instead of a therapist.”

  A plate of French fries appeared on the table, although I didn’t remember either of us ordering it. My stomach growled, reminding me that most people ate at regular intervals. Now that I’d unburdened my soul, the aroma tantalized me. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with the works, which I never let myself eat, and Teddy asked for the same. There were times to worry about health, and times to eat garbage while you marveled over the shitshow your life had turned into.

  “Honestly, honey, you’re going to need a therapist. Ethan will, anyway.” He pulled out his phone and started tapping the screen. “Here. My ex does child psychology. And while he’s completely incapable of figuring out how to keep his dick in his pants, he’s brilliant. He’s got a few patients with transgender parents, and he counsels transgender teens. I’m texting you his number, and I’m texting him a note to expect your call. He owes me, so he’ll see you and Ethan as soon as you’re ready.”

  “He owes you an emergency psychology session because he cheated on you?”

  “No, he owes me because I made three house calls to his mother when I was a resident trying out oncology for a few months, and her ‘eye tumor’ turned out to be a spot on the contact lenses she hadn’t removed or cleaned in over a year. He’ll make time for you.”

  A thousand-pound weight lifted off my shoulders. Just knowing someone else had my back made this whole thing easier. Having a plan to hold onto felt like solid ground beneath my feet. Finally, my world stopped teetering.

  A few minutes later, my phone beeped inside my purse. A quick glance confirmed that Teddy’s ex had already sent me an email introducing himself and offeri
ng to arrange a phone call before meeting with Ethan.

  I reached across the table to squeeze Teddy’s hand. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

  Chapter 13

  Teddy’s “beach house” was amazing, a three-thousand-square-foot Cape Cod with a sweeping wraparound porch, heated floors throughout, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the ocean, and a master bathroom the size of my kitchen at home. He’d gotten extremely lucky buying a rundown foreclosure when the housing market crashed and did most of the restoration himself on the weekends. The realtor living next door estimated that it was worth about four times what he’d paid for it. If a person needed to hide and decompress, doing it in style sure beat sleeping in the break room of a medical office. I wasn’t ready to go home yet.

  For about twenty minutes after I arrived, I sat on the back porch, sipping a glass of red wine and looking out over the water, waiting. Seeing my dead husband again only raised about four billion questions, so I pulled up Google and got to work, looking for as much information as I could: what it was like to be transgender, the process of transitioning from male to female, what gender reassignment surgery entailed, how a person is declared UN-dead, what happens to life insurance proceeds if the insured turns up alive.

  My head spun with the potential ramifications. Was it legal to fake your own death? Had Brett unknowingly made me an accessory to felony theft when I accepted a two-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance payout? What about the money from the government? I needed a lawyer.

  With a start, I realized that I knew a lawyer. We’d gone on dates. Two dates, at least. He hadn’t made my heart go pitter-pat, but Steve was a nice enough guy, he seemed smart, and maybe he could answer some of my questions. I slugged back the rest of my wine and picked up the phone to call him before I lost my nerve.

  When he answered the phone, I told him I was staying at Teddy’s place on the water for a few days, that a legal problem had arisen, and asked if he’d made plans for dinner. He volunteered to pick up takeout on his way. Half an hour later, white lights swept across the backyard as a car turned into the driveway. I barely had time to put a dent in my second glass of wine.