by Gina Elle
“I read somewhere that this is the resting place for more than 168,000 people,” Leslie says taking in the view. There lies a sea of hundreds of bouquets of fresh and dried flowers on each side of us brightening the lawns and slate tombstones everywhere.
“That’s a lot of funerals,” I add taking my water bottle out and having my first sip of the ride.
“Tell me about Danny’s funeral.” And that is how our conversation begins. Over the next 45 minutes, we talk about Danny, about our friendship and about all the ways I miss him. I share with Leslie about the imminent death of Mr. Callahan and about my visit with him yesterday at the hospice.
Sitting next to him on the bed and watching his frail, pale, and much weakened body take the better of him, I realized that death this way, slow and pain-free, could be peaceful. As I sat there holding his hand, I felt Danny’s hand in mine comforting me. Between staring at the pictures of Danny posted on the walls of Mr. Callahan’s room and watching Mr. Callahan’s labored breaths, a single tear trickled down my cheek. Another ending in my life with a Callahan. Finally, when it was time to leave, I reached down and gave a hug to the man who was like a father to me. I held tight to the green and white cycling jersey Mr. Callahan was wearing, one of Danny’s I remember, and took a last whiff. It no longer smelled of Danny no matter how deeply I breathed into the shirt. He’s gone. I know. He’s gone.
“There’s something I haven’t told you, Leslie…that I think I’m finally ready to share,” I say as we make our way back to our meeting point from earlier this morning.
“Please do…I’m listening,” she says this time a little more out of breath.
“I have someone…who’s been stalking me. It’s a woman…seriously haunting me,” I say staring at the road ahead.
“Really? How long has this been going on?”
“About a month or so now. Emails, hang up phone calls, blocked texts…she sends me cryptic messages about wanting to talk to me and not liking that I’m ignoring her . . .she even sent me a dozen black roses.”
“Black roses? Wow. Sounds like someone is pretty upset with you. Any ideas who it might be?” I pause before answering, embarrassed about what my answer will be.
“It’s… one of the women…one of the married women. That I know for sure.” We reach our stop and both Leslie and I get off our bikes. The look on Leslie’s face speaks volumes.
“So, what are you doing about this woman? Why haven’t you replied to any of her emails or texts?”
“Because I was hoping…she’d just go away…that I . . . wouldn’t have to face her…what I did was something I did on my travels, miles away from my life in Toronto…I never thought it would’ve caught up with me,” Leslie is silent for a few seconds.
“And now that it has caught up with you?” her voice trails off and I’m left with my nagging conscience weighing down on me. I think of disgracing Danny’s memory by taking on his identity in such a sick act of deceit. I picture a future relationship with Caroline and know that I have to come clean with my less than stellar ways of the past. I think of moving forward with my plans for my post-Wells and Fraser life and understand that, in order to help others, I will need to ask forgiveness from not only myself but from my stalker.
“What I did was wrong, Leslie. I’m going to own up to it. I’m not sure how, but I will. In the mean time, I have an amazing plan for my future and I’m dying to share it with you. Can I take you out for breakfast and tell you about it?” I ask as the two of us climb up the steep hill and make our way to the parking lot.
“Well, since we’ve already shared some tear soup this morning, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some bacon and eggs,” she smiles as we hook both of our bikes onto the bike rack at the back of her Honda and make our way to one of Toronto’s many greasy spoons.
____________________
Cate knocks lightly and I look up from my computer. Walking over with an espresso in hand, she places it on my desk and takes a seat in the chair opposite me. Suddenly, the energy in the room has changed entirely and I’m not sure why. Cate and I have been working together for over three years and over that time have become friends. I’ve come to respect her not only as a big sister, my big sister here at work, but as a friend. Last summer at her wedding in Jamaica, I was honored to have been asked to give a speech. I remember the laughs from the crowd when I described some of the pranks I’ve played on her and Adrian, her husband. Cate is professional, discreet and intelligent which is why I am sad to think about our working relationship coming to an end much sooner than later.
“Is everything all right?” I ask her sitting back in my seat. I remove the lid from the espresso cup and take my first sip. Cate looks down at her hands uncomfortably.
“I just heard the news, Eric. I’m in shock, I have to say. You’re selling out.”
“It’s true. I couldn’t say anything until it was official,” I say looking out at the bright and sunny skies. I can’t wait to get outside.
“So, what are your plans…after the takeover, that is?” I pause before answering her trying to contain my excitement.
“Umm…I have a few ideas in mind…very early stages, of course…but I think I have… a plan.” I look over at Cate and suddenly think of how I could include her in my new venture, somehow or some way.
“What will you do after I’m gone? Start by looking for a better boss, I’m sure,” I tease.
“Oh, Eric, I’ve no clue what I’m going to do. Part of me would love to try something different….to get back to working with my hands again like I did when I completing my fine arts degree years ago…sculpting, clay creations, painting… I’ve been with Wells and Fraser for sixteen years and I’m ready for a change…but . . . .”
“Yeah, change is…important. But what?”
“Well, there will be enough change happening…with the baby coming…” Cate’s face breaks into the greatest smile and so does mine.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Just seven weeks along…early stages,” she replies nodding her head while rubbing her as of yet nonexistent baby belly. Suddenly, a surge of happiness swells through me, real excitement for Cate and Adrian and the arrival of their baby.
“Congratulations,” I say as I make my way over to her and give her a big hug, “tell me, if you have any cravings, any cravings whatsoever, I’m on it…French fries with cottage cheese? Root beer and pickles? All of Tim Horton’s donuts?” Cate laughs and I see a slight tear form in the corner of her eye. Tears of happiness, I’m sure.
“So will this make me an Uncle Eric for a second time then? David is going to have some competition…”
“Uncle Eric it will be,” she replies, wiping her nose with a tissue.
“You’ll see, everything will work out once the deal is done. I’ll make sure you’ll end up in a good place with someone who deserves having the best assistant anyone can ask for. But in the interim, you’re stuck with me for two more months.”
Cate gets up from her seat and heads for the door. She looks back after she has crossed the threshold.
“By the way, someone named Caroline called for you…from France…said she couldn’t reach your cell this morning and hoped you were all right.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her the truth, of course…that you went bike riding and never came back,” she says with a deadpan face. “Just kidding…I just told her you’d be in later today. Is that all right?”
“Yes, of course. Thanks for letting me know,” I say as Cate shuts my office door behind her. I quickly reach for my iPhone and see 3 missed calls, all from Caroline. And a text from her as well.
Haven’t heard from you from you since Saturday night. You didn’t reply to my email from earlier today. Everything all right? C
I check my inbox on my desktop. It’s 1:10.
From: Caroline Durand
Date: Monday, June 25, 2012 12:06 PM
Subject: HystERICal without you
Hi Eric;
Hope things are all right with you and that you had a great weekend.
All day yesterday, I waited anxiously for a reply to the email that I had sent you the night before. I was looking forward to hearing from you, anything from you, that when a reply didn’t come, I started to worry. Did I upset you in any way?
Yours,
Caroline
I read the email a couple of times and think about why I haven’t contacted her. Of course I’ve been thinking about her and wishing she was here but I’ve purposely kept away because I want her to figure out her feelings for this guy, if any, now that she’s with him again. You’d think jealousy would cause me to react impulsively or threateningly towards her: it’s either him or me, you choose, Caroline. But, I refuse to stoop to that level.
Before I reply to Caroline’s email, I decide to refer to my friend Google and type in Marc + Vins Durand Tricon, the name of her father’s winery. Within seconds, Google delivers the goods and I proceed to click on every link connecting me to Monsieur Marc Tricon. Why I didn’t research him earlier is beyond me but here I’m staring at some pictures of the man himself. Good looking Frenchman, I was right. Looks to be in his late thirties or early forties or so, tall, blue eyed, short buzz cut-like hair. He reminds me of that James Bond actor, the British one…what’s his name again…Daniel Craig? Many of the images I see are of him with a much shorter, older man. I look closer and see that this man is Caroline’s father, Monsieur Gerard Durand.
There’s another image of Marc, this one, standing beside an attractive shorthaired blond woman who looks to be in her late thirties or so herself. I squint my eyes to read the woman’s name…Yvonne Tricon. Tricon? Hmmm . . . I scroll down some more and find yet another image of Monsieur Marc with this Yvonne but in this one there are two young children in the photo with them…Marc Tricon et sa famille. His family…his wife Yvonne and their beautiful daughter and adorable baby boy. Immediately, I click on a few of the web links to try to find anything I can find in English. After a few tries, I stumble upon a British newspaper article written last summer about the Durand Tricon winery. I scan it rapidly for what I’m looking for. And here it is:
Taking over his late father’s share of the decades-old winery is his son, Marc Tricon, pictured below with his wife Yvonne and their two young children, Alice, 4 years and Christophe, 6 months. The family home is located right on the winery right next to the Durand residence.
I stare at the screen blankly. The only thing that I can think about is that conversation Caroline and I had at the 7 West Café a few weeks ago when we were talking about all the things we had in common. I sit here numbly realizing that I just found something else we share in common…our secret lives…with married people. I feel fucking sick to my stomach. No wonder she said it was complicated…why she’d never take over her father’s business…why she was less than proud of this relationship…And that’s where the difference lies… she has had an on again, off again, not to mention long distance, relationship with a married man for the past four years. Didn’t the article mention that his daughter was 4 years old? The families have been in partnership for decades. They’ve known each other their entire lives. Clearly, she’s been in love with him…and maybe still is. I take a deep breath. Actually, a few of them. Time to take the bull by the horns, I tell myself, and find out.
“Cate!’” I holler from the top of my lungs and she appears in seconds at my door.” I need you to book me on the next flight to Bordeaux, please.”
“Sure. Paying a surprise visit to the woman who called this morning, I take it?” She asks on her way out the door.
“That would be one way of putting it,” I am reminded of Victor Hugo’s definition of romantic love; ‘that love is not a thing of the mind, but of the heart, a feeling.’ My mind would tell me you are crazy to fly all that way to see her, especially with her former lover so close by, but my heart is the one I’m listening to.
From: Eric Martin
Date: Monday, June 25, 2012 1:55 PM
Subject: Just one LINE for Caroline
To: Caroline Durand
Counting the hours until I see you in person.
Eric
In a flurry, I hit send. For the next several hours, I rush through mountains of work as efficiently as I can. Once I told Cate to hold all my calls and all interruptions, I was able to get a lot accomplished. With a 10:00 P.M. flight booked to Bordeaux for this evening, I’ve only got a couple of hours left to get home, pack a few things and make it to the airport. I’m scheduled to be back on Wednesday in time for an important meeting with senior management on Thursday. Making this rash decision to go to France and see Caroline, particularly at this time with everything that the company is going through, is nothing short of crazy on my part. But if anyone knows crazy, that would be me.
After a quick goodbye to Cate, who is working late tonight, I make my way towards the elevator when I feel my iPhone vibrate in my breast pocket. I fish it out of my jacket. It’s Claudia.
“Hey, JFK, Jr., is this a bad time?” she asks with the grimmest of voices. My heart drops.
“Is everything okay, Claud?”
“He’s gone, Eric. Mr. Callahan died a few hours ago.” I stand numbly watching the elevator doors open and then close. I remember wondering when I was hugging him goodbye yesterday how much longer he’d live. Words do not come to me.
“Look, I won’t keep you,” Claudia continues, “but I wanted you to know that the funeral is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Not much time, I know, but Mrs. Callahan wanted the whole funeral piece over with as quickly as possible. Oh… and Mary asked me to ask you if you could be a pallbearer?”
Slowly, I walk back to Cate’s desk and ask her to cancel my flight. Instead of the elevator, I decide to take the stairs all the way down to the underground parking garage, allowing me time to collect my thoughts. On my way down, I think about the irony of my day. Celebrating the beginnings of a new life with the news of Cate’s pregnancy while honoring the end of a very decent man’s life. Then, I think about my conversation with Leslie from earlier this morning and shake my head at this thought; by finally unburdening myself from the full weight of my secret life, I find out Caroline has been harboring secrets in her own life, far too similar to mine. And for some reason, that’s when today’s song of the day comes to me. I hear it. We are all the same, aren’t we? One of the best songs of the 90s by none other than U2. “One.”
I approach my car and unlock the doors while Bono is singing in my head. That’s when I spot the note on my windshield. I pull out the envelope tucked inside the windshield wiper blades and read my name handwritten on the cover. Carefully, I pull out the plain white card and read what it says:
I’m closer than you think. See you soon. Very soon.
AXC
18 My Favorite Song
We are all massed together in a large semicircle facing the burial ground. I’m standing in the front row with Claudia on one side of me and Lara on the other. Next to Claudia is Ryan and then my parents who are standing by Mary and Mrs. Callahan. Rob is here as well, standing on the other side of Lara. My hands are resting on top of David’s shoulders who is in front of me. Claudia and Ryan wanted David to be here at Mr. Callahan’s funeral since he too has grown up knowing the Callahans. Various neighbors, relatives, and old work friends of Mr. Callahan’s are also here. Although I haven’t seen many of these people in years, I recognize them and remember them fondly. When you grow up and live on the same street all your life, your neighbors become your family and you become theirs. It is with sadness that I concede that the only person missing is Danny.
I look up and turn to my left and see Raj standing by himself on the roadside between parked cars. With the stalker leaving the note on my windshield last night promising me the grace of her presence sometime soon, Raj thought it a safe idea that he follow me from now on. It’s not as though I’m afraid of this woman but
you can never be too safe when there’s a psycho in your midst, I guess.
Just then, I feel the vibration of my phone in my left breast pocket, a text coming in. I resist the urge to pull my phone out and check it. I haven’t heard a word from Caroline since I sent her that email yesterday afternoon. Now, a day later, all I do is picture her running, like you see in those romantic movies, straight into the arms of her beloved Marc. Jealousy is a new emotion for me…another issue to add onto an already long list.
I turn my attention back to the service. Mary is standing beside Mr. Callahan’s casket and begins to read the poem titled He is gone.
When she is finished, Mary places a single rose on top of her the casket. Mrs. Callahan, frail and weathered, follows behind her and does the same. Soon, a line of mourners each resting flowers cut from Mrs. Callahan garden on the mahogany casket bid their final farewell to their friend. I stand back and watch the procession of guests thinking about Danny and find myself repeating some of the last lines of the poem Mary read in my head.
Mrs. Grandy, in the book Tear Soup, allowed herself to cry, to close her mind and turn her back. It was her grief journey. I’m not sure we should deny ourselves the pain of the grieving process. The celebrating of a life, cherishing their memory or smiling because they lived, that will come in time. The pain of loss, I’m learning, is better felt and experienced than denied and expected to just be accepted. I now see more clearly through the facade we sometimes put up or feel we should carry because society expects us to. I think of Mrs. Callahan and Mary and hope that their grief journey is an authentic one.
As the priest recites final prayers, the cemetery workers begin their work of lowering the casket into the already dug ground. The mourners’ eyes are focused on the workmen and apart from the creaking of their tools, silence envelops us. David, watching a burial for the first time, is mesmerized. I pull him closer to me and rest my hands on his shoulders.