by Laura Abbot
Annie was stunned. “You’d do that?”
“Of course. What are friends for?”
Then the tears came, gushing from aching places Annie hadn’t known existed.
CHAPTER NINE
THE SUN SHIMMERED. Puffy whiter-than-white clouds floated lazily across an azure sky. Like an invitation, the songs of seabirds sounded more plaintive than raucous. Geneva smiled, relaxing into the scene. If only she could reach out her hand, she could surely touch the cottony substance of the clouds or skim over the tops of the blue-green waves rolling, rolling toward the shore. The sound came again. Hoarse and insistent. From somewhere inside her?
She struggled to open her eyes. But her lids were so very heavy. The foam-tipped breakers meeting the shore played lulling music, almost impossible to resist.
“Auntie G.!”
Warmth. A caress. She flailed, summoning consciousness. Someone. Someone important. A spasm shook her. When she opened her eyes, the seascape vanished. For a moment she considered closing them again, giving in to the siren lure of the majestic ocean. But the call came again.
“Auntie G.! It’s Annie.”
A hand clasped hers. Fingers lightly brushed her forehead. In a voice she didn’t recognize as hers, she whispered, “Petunia?”
The dear, dear face of her great-niece nearly filled her range of vision, those hazel eyes overflowing with love. Behind Annie, she barely made out other faces. One lined and familiar. Carmen. Tears leaked from Geneva’s eyes.
In the distance, the cry of gulls. The lap of water on sand.
“Señorita.”
Geneva turned her head. The companion of her days. Why did these women look so sad? Couldn’t they see the clouds or hear the wash of waves swirling through tide pools?
“Auntie G., you’ve been my anchor. I love you so.”
“Love.” With great effort she found the next word. “Too.”
She tasted salt air on her lips. Then, borne on the sea breeze, another voice summoned her, lilting, joyous. “Geneva! Sis! I’m waiting.”
Across the beach he came, running toward her, his arms flung wide in welcome, his hair tousled, a cherubic smile lighting his features. She knew him. She started running, slowly at first, then faster and faster. “Caleb!” She couldn’t contain herself, laughing with delight as the space between them narrowed.
For the flicker of an instant, she thought she heard someone say, “She’s gone.” Then, in a miracle, her brother’s arms enclosed her and the two of them floated weightless high above the sea.
AFTERWARD, Annie had no recollection of how long she sat by Geneva’s bedside. Not even when Carolee finally led her into the kitchen, wrapped her in a blanket and set a cup of piping-hot tea in front of her. Through the night her tears had dried to dust, making it nearly impossible to speak.
Carmen was doing what she always did—taking care of others. She rolled biscuit dough on the breadboard, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with her apron. Under her breath, she intoned the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish. After encouraging Annie to drink the tea, with a nod toward Carmen, Carolee picked up the phone and disappeared into the living room. As if from a very great distance, Annie could make out snippets of Carolee’s conversation. The doctor. The mortuary. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t make it in for my shift today,” she heard Carolee explain, she supposed to her nursing supervisor.
Tea. She took another mouthful. The drink she had always shared with Auntie G. Even though Carmen worked quietly just a few feet from her and Carolee was taking care of the necessary details, Annie felt totally alone. She shivered, drawing the blanket closer around her shoulders. She had lived in dread of this moment, but never had she imagined the depth of her grief. Of course, she had mourned before, but this time, she had been present when death came with overwhelming immediacy.
And yet…with such beauty. Such dignity. Through these few weeks, Auntie G. had put up a valiant fight, saving her energy to expend on Annie’s behalf. A last gift. The end itself had been…spiritual. That was the only word for it. In that final moment of recognition and farewell, Geneva had expressed love, her face infused with color, all stress fading, a beatific smile gracing her lips. As bereft as Annie felt, she could not begrudge her aunt such a swift, serene passage.
Carolee came into the kitchen, pulling a stool next to Annie’s. “I’ve phoned the doctor and the funeral home.” She went over the thrust of those conversations. “Is there anyone else you’d like me to call?”
Annie’s body shook with the force of her sigh. “Not right now.” Later she would notify the attorney, Nina Valdez, and Geneva’s publisher. She picked up the mug, slipped from her seat and walked to Auntie G.’s favorite bay window. Dawn was streaking the eastern sky. Looking to the west, she watched the ocean become more and more distinct as morning sunlight slowly dappled the water. Auntie G. had loved this view with its constantly changing elements—light and shadow, calm and storm. The Pacific. For the first time this morning, Annie smiled. Pacific. Peaceful.
She took another sip of tea, relishing the warmth. A new day. One full of arrangements and legalities. But in this moment, all was quiet. Carolee had asked if there was anyone Annie wanted her to call.
There was one. But that was a call she had to make herself. And only when she could control her own need to have Kyle’s arms around her.
GENEVA HAD NOT WANTED an organized religious service. “I’ve traveled the world, Annie,” she had explained, “and so far as I’ve seen, no one religion has a corner on the spiritual path. I’ve been in cathedrals, synagogues, mosques, ashrams and temples. The Creator is everywhere. Please don’t invite a horde of people. A simple sunset gathering of friends on the beach will be the perfect send-off.”
And so, two days after Geneva died, on a beautiful May evening, a small group gathered—Carmen, Nina, Kyle, Carolee and her husband, Frances and her daughter, Dr. Woodruff, Geneva’s attorney, her New York editor, a few elderly townspeople and Annie. A friend of Carolee’s husband brought his guitar and played softly as people gathered at the water’s edge. Draped around her shoulders, Annie wore a colorful Indian shawl Geneva had favored. In her hands, she cradled a tall, delicate vase Auntie G. had purchased in Tokyo—one she had selected to hold her great-aunt’s ashes.
When the last haunting notes of the guitar faded, Annie welcomed everyone and invited those who wished to offer a special memory of Geneva Greer to speak. She was touched by the doctor’s remarks concerning her respect for Geneva’s courage in the face of death, by Frances’s tribute to the enduring quality of Geneva’s friendship, by the uplifting comments of her editor, and, most especially, by Carmen’s words. “Señorita, she love me like a sister. How would I, a poor woman, have ever seen so much of this world without her? For me, it was privilege to serve such a one. Unselfish. Steady. And so I say to my beloved sister, vaya con Dios.”
After a long silence, Annie, too choked up to utter a word, simply nodded to Carmen, who began, “Our Father…” The blended voices, as others joined in, lifted Annie as if on wings. After the “Amen,” she slipped off her shoes and walked barefoot to the water’s edge. The others followed, forming a semicircle around her. “My aunt Geneva was a traveler. More than anything she loved the smells, the sounds, the sights of exotic places. She never met a stranger and shared her joy of living with all whom she met. Now she is on her last, great adventure—a voyage to the most beautiful place of all. She asked that we scatter her ashes in the vast and boundless ocean that she loved so passionately. And so now we commit our precious Geneva to the sea.”
With a heavy sigh, Annie waded knee-deep into the water, which swirled around her legs, the sandy ocean bottom shifting slightly beneath her. Hesitating, she took in the scene—the dear ones gathered around her, the splendor of the sunset, the sparkle of the waters that would embrace the ashes and carry them to distant lands. Then she plunged her hand into the soft powder, the essence of a life, and cast the particles into the air, finally upending the vase t
o send the last of Auntie G. to the four corners of the globe. She stood quietly, anticipating the end of the service. But instead of raised voices, the one she heard was much deeper and achingly familiar. Kyle’s rich baritone.
“Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.”
Incredulous, she slowly turned, listening to the words of Tennyson’s immortal “Crossing the Bar.”
He glanced up from the book he held in his hands, and their eyes met. In that moment it was as if Auntie G. stood beside her smiling and saying, “See, I told you he’s a good man.”
The words of the poem washed over her.
“Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark.
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.”
When Kyle finished, he closed the book and walked toward Annie, stopping beside her and gently relieving her of the vase.
At that moment the guitarist spontaneously began singing. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…” As others joined in, the golden orb of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. “Safe travels, Auntie G.,” Annie whispered.
The mourners then turned and walked silently toward the cottage where a supper, lovingly prepared by Carmen, awaited. Near the porch, Annie hung back, letting the others go ahead. She reached out and stopped Kyle, her hand on his chest. “How did you know? Who…?”
“Your aunt and I had several private conversations before she died. Last week she sent me a letter. She must’ve sensed the end was near. In it, she enclosed the poem and told me how much it would mean to her if I read it today. When Carolee told me Geneva had passed away, she also said you weren’t accepting calls. But, Annie, I want you to know something.” His gray eyes, now tinged with a blue so like the sea, fixed on hers. “I would have been at the service. For you.”
Her hand lingered on his chest, as if the connection grounded her. For the first time in these past few days, she knew peace.
“She left the cottage to me,” Annie said softly.
He nodded. “That must be why she was so anxious to have the repairs made. Will you keep it?”
Her hand dropped to her side and she turned to look at the house, the soft lights in the windows welcoming. “I don’t know.”
The spell was broken when Kyle stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers. “I, uh, I’ll be going now. You have my card, my numbers. If you need anything, anything at all—”
She finished for him. “I’ll call.”
BUT SHE DIDN’T. Kyle rationalized that Annie had Carmen and others to help her or that when they’d bid Auntie G. farewell, his work with the Greers was finished. But in his heart he knew better. Without an excuse to show up at the cottage, he was forced to turn the spotlight on his true motives. He needed to see that she was all right. But it was more than that. Much more.
He went through the motions at work, then lost sleep at night debating what to do. He’d sit in his darkened living room, holding Pete’s letter in his hand, as if its mute testimony was an indictment. Why couldn’t he give it to her? Get it over with? The answer came from his gut. Would whatever Pete wrote turn Annie’s thoughts to the past? Ruin any connection between Annie and him? Bottom line, he was in love with her and terrified of breaking the fragile bond they’d forged.
Like flames licking at kindling, guilt curled around him, a hot blaze. Had Pete known about the stolen embrace? About Kyle’s mute adoration of his friend’s girl? Could he have been more encouraging and helpful in those years when Pete tried so hard to locate Annie? And, for God’s sake, why hadn’t he been more alert, instead of sitting there in that Humvee looking at the mountains when that Afghani sniper was sighting Pete in his crosshairs?
Mornings were no better. He’d tuck the letter back in his drawer, then, red-eyed from lack of sleep, he’d head for work, preoccupied. Miserable.
Saturday came, yawning before him, empty of purpose. Not that he hadn’t had offers. Wade Hanson had invited him to go fishing. Bruce had suggested a round of golf. Bubba seemed to be avoiding him and his foul mood, slinking under the kitchen table or dozing on the sofa.
Stepping out of the shower that morning, he knew he couldn’t continue living in this purgatory. What could it hurt to check on Annie? A neighborly gesture. He pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a navy-blue long-sleeved knit shirt. The morning was cool, so he grabbed a windbreaker and whistled for Bubba. “C’mon, sport. We’re going for a ride.”
Bubba leaped from his perch on the sofa and padded eagerly toward the door.
“Yeah, I know I’ve been a surly bastard. It’s time to do something about that. Cross your paws, buddy. Nothing’s certain where women are concerned.”
ANNIE HAD BEEN UP since dawn, determined to box up Auntie G.’s clothes and personal belongings. Carmen had delayed her departure until the day after the memorial service, and Carolee had been faithfully checking in on Annie after work. But, oddly, the solitude she had feared was a blessing. Surrounded by the furnishings and treasures she had loved ever since she was tiny, she felt Auntie G.’s comforting presence. Annie had given herself time before determining the course of her future. The house was hers. She could stay. The attorney, however, had told her it was Geneva’s wish that it be sold if that was what Annie wanted. He said she’d called it “Annie’s seed money.”
She was torn. The cottage was home. Eden Bay was not, yet gradually she was finding it more difficult to imagine herself anyplace else. As she opened the bottom drawer of Auntie G.’s bureau and began sorting the nightgowns and robes, she promised herself she’d think about the future another day. Carefully she laid the garments on the bed, inhaling the unique fragrance that was Auntie G., longing for one more game of gin rummy, one more family story, one more hug.
She’d finished with the bureau and was starting on the closet, unaware of the tearstains on her cheeks, when she heard a knock on the door. She ran her hands through her hair, wiped her nose and made her way to the front hall, wondering who would be stopping by. When she opened the door, she was startled to see Kyle.
“You never called,” he said gently.
Her heartbeat accelerated to double time. “No, I didn’t.”
Neither moved for the longest time. “May I come in?”
As if recovering from a trance, she remembered her manners. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that…I’m not thinking quite straight lately.”
“Understandable,” he said, crossing the threshold.
She’d forgotten how big he was. How his broad shoulders blocked the sun and how his solid chest was the perfect place to lay a weary head.
He brushed a hand over her hair. “How are you?” he asked in a way that convinced her he wanted the truth.
“It’s rough. Very rough.”
It was then that he reached out. Then that she caved into the overwhelming need she had of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck so tightly she feared she would strangle him, lost in the sensation of his broad hands caressing her back, his sturdy legs bracing them both against the onslaught of her emotion. To be warm, safe, comforted, cherished—stars burst behind her closed lids and she felt every muscle in her body relax as Kyle held her, murmuring her name over and over.
Then, in a synchronous movement, their lips met in a breathless kiss, which deepened and increased in intensity. Annie’s knees buckled, but Kyle supported her, his mouth urgently exploring hers. Time fell away. She was lost in the smell, the feel and the taste of this man. Until…
When his fingers grazed her breast, like the click of an automatic switch, she turned to ice, pushing him away, hearing her voice cry raggedly, “No!”
His muffled words barely penetrated the
dizziness filling her head. “Annie? I’m sorry. What is it?”
She turned away, leaning over with her hands on her knees, inhaling deep breaths. “Please, just don’t touch me. Not…like that.”
“My God, Annie, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never do that. Here, let me help you to a chair.”
Like a dazed victim, she permitted him to lead her to the living room sofa.
“Can I get you anything?”
She shook her head, flushed with shame and overcome by revulsion. She buried her head in her hands, powerless to avoid the image crowding her brain. She felt the man sit down next to her, but he did not touch her. Only waited.
She clamped her arms around her stomach, rocking back and forth, willing calm. Outside the window, a gentle rain had begun. Cleansing. She felt hysterical laughter building in her chest. That’s what Auntie G. had called it. God’s cleansing. A harsh sound ripped from her lips. She would never be clean.
“Annie? Something is very wrong. Has someone hurt you?”
She made the mistake in that moment of looking at Kyle, his face drawn with worry, his eyes searching for answers. And instead of purging herself of bile, a torrent of words came, one piling on top of the other, forced from somewhere in the most hidden part of her. She tried, but was helpless to stop them as they spewed forth in a thundering cataract.
“He raped me!”
“Who did?”
“George. My stepfather. He…he wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept creeping into the bedroom at night. Smiling and rubbing my arm and telling me I was his kitten. He’d buy me these awful slinky nightgowns, but I’d hide them. ‘Try one on for Georgie,’ he’d say. He hadn’t really done anything then, so I thought I could get away when I went off to summer school, but—” a giant wrenching gasp escaped her “—it was too late.”