Journey

by Karina Sharp

  The room collectively gasps, then erupts into laughter. Various voices are saying, “I remember that!” and, “That was quite a scandal at the time.”

  At that moment, something miraculous happens. The weight and tension is immediately lifted from the room. No more are there scowls staring back at me with accusing eyes.

  Rita Ray stands. “I, for one, support Doctor Ferrer. She’s the best doctor we could ask for and an integral part of this community. When I was in the Miss Lobster pageant in 1961, I purposely tripped Annie Rice so that I could win. Sorry, Annie.”

  Annie stands. “During that pageant, I cut the thread to your sequins so that they would fall off of your dress.”

  The two shake their heads and laugh at one another. One by one, and in increasingly rapid succession, fellow citizens- my friends -stand to speak.

  “I was in a student film in college and was topless in it.”

  “I used to have a marijuana plant in my basement.”

  “I replaced the salt with sugar at the cafe.”

  “I put a Chuck-e-Cheese token in the collection plate and took out a quarter.”

  I stand with my mouth open, refulgent. Not only are these wonderful people supporting me, they’re publicly admitting to things they’ve done wrong. While some of them may not seem as scandalous as my snafu, they were all secrets that each of them has been keeping, worried that if someone found them out, they would suffer the serious consequences.

  Most faces are happy and postures relaxed, except one. Glowering in a shadowy back corner of the room is George G. Foster III.

  My father stands up, distracting me from George’s evil glare. “Hi, everyone, I’m William Ferrer, Journey’s father, and I just want to say that one time, I got so drunk that I passed out on the floor of a bowling alley. No one knew I was there, and they closed the place down. In an effort to get out, I attempted to slip out of the bathroom window, but wound up getting stuck. I looked like damn Winnie the Pooh stuck in his doorway. Because I had ties to the police department, no one, with the exception of a few people, ever knew.”

  My eyes fill with grateful tears. My father, the man whom I believed never did anything wrong or anything to make people think less of him, did have embarrassing secrets after all. This is another side to my father that I had never known.

  My mother stands up, “And I’m Rebecca Ferrer, Journey’s mother. I used to be a fashion model and at one time believed you had to pose nude for photographers. I was in Milan and did so, only for the pictures to be passed around by men looking to get their rocks off. Sure, the internet didn’t exist at the time, but it was quite the topic of gossip, yet somehow I continued to be successful and respected. Who hasn’t been caught, or almost caught, in a compromising situation? I have a sneaking suspicion that a particular issue of that magazine she posed in is going to suddenly become popular. Admit it.”

  I witness collective nods and mumbles spread throughout the crowd. I would blush, but the thing is, I’m not ashamed. I’m not ashamed I chose to pose nude for a magazine. I’m not ashamed that I’ve made some less informed decisions in my life, because they all draw a road map that leads to me and the person I am today. At one point, I very much gave a decision too much thought, which was to not admit that I was deeply bound to Jack many years ago. It’s a decision that I could regret, but it’s highly probable that it’s a decision I wasn’t ready to make at the time.

  Jack, looking handsome as always, stands, causing all of the women, and some men, to stop and take notice. He commands the room with only his presence and is able to make a building chock full of people reduce to a hush with a simple smile. Not only is he gorgeous, but he exudes positivity and loyalty, which everyone can feel. His Mediterranean features are striking and his warm eyes meet mine, displaying widened pupils and a brilliant smile.

  Jack speaks in his smooth, baritone voice. “I grew up in this community and know many of you, although I managed to lose touch with everyone over the last several years. I would like to thank all of you for your support of one of most kind, dedicated, and beautiful people any of you will ever have the privilege to know. I too have a mistake for which I need to atone. Many years ago on vacation, I met a woman who had a fire in her spirit unlike any I had ever encountered. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Within seconds of being in her presence, I knew she was someone special. Nine years ago, I took that connection for granted. I was too proud to open up to her and trust her with details about my personal life, and she was too proud to give us a chance because it didn’t seem logical. Due to those faults, she slipped through my fingers.” Jack begins to make his way toward me with his broad smile still intact. “My omission of the issues I was facing such as my parents becoming ill, the Fosters attempting to get them to sign over their fortune and property to them by telling them I had abandoned them, and producing false letters stating as much, caused me to become disconnected with you all and the love of my life.”

  Tears gently streak my cheeks as I listen to Jack open up in a very public way. “You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

  Jack wipes my tears with his thumb and says, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” He looks back to the crowd, awaiting his next words with baited breath.

  “I didn’t want to bring shame to this community or the prominence of the Fosters, so I settled a lot of these issues behind closed doors; however, I feel it is only right to share with this respectable community the knowledge I have gained. I have evidence that proves George Foster, the Second; his cousin John Foster; and their wives placed my parents into a nursing home when it was not necessary. Because I lived out of state, and the Fosters were close family friends, I gave them Power of Attorney over my parents’ medical decisions and limited financial decisions. I allowed the welfare of my parents to be in the hands of evil, money-hungry people, all because I couldn’t bring myself to deal with the fact that my parents were aging.

  “My parents’ health declined greatly once they were under the watch of the Fosters. The evidence I’ve collected suggests that it was a decline more rapid than normal. In fact, since I’ve been back home, my parents have flourished and may get to move out of assisted living soon. I have collected documents that show the Fosters were in great debt, and all of those flashy cars, parties, and donations to the city were bought with borrowed money. Their need to replenish their ill-begotten funds is what drove them to take a sudden interest in my parents. I believe that this is not the first time this has happened either, and that they keep amassing their fortune by swindling other families out of theirs.”

  A low rumble moves across the mob of people as speculation and realization takes over. Faces display shock, disgust, and remorse. I feel awful for each and every person. Everyone seems to have forgotten about George Foster in the back of the room, because when heads begin to turn their accusing stares toward him, he is not there to receive them.

  Voices begin to say, “He’s not here,” and ask, “Where did he go?” I envision this town turning into an angry mob wielding pitchforks and torches, hunting down George Foster, but they surprise me by staying calm and collected. Instead of running after George, they settle their eyes back onto me, still standing at the podium, and Jack kneeling in front of me, holding out a black velvet box with what I can only describe as one of the most beautiful, and large, diamond rings ever. Women gasp, men clear their throats, and I choke back tears, fidgeting nervously.

  “Journey Ferrer, you’re my candle on the water- always there, guiding me home. For a long while, I was afraid it had burned out, but it was just further away in the distance where I couldn’t see it. But, it was always there. You make me happy beyond belief, and it would be an honor if you would become my wife. Will you marry me?”

  “Of course I will,” I whisper out between tears.

  Silence sweeps over the room, so much so that you could probably hear a mouse sneeze from within the walls. Jack places the ring on my finger, and we share a sweet, publicly acce
ptable, kiss to loud applause.

  Then, the most brilliant moment of the night happens: Mrs. Hoffman, a sweet lady with a head of short, white hair, a floral dress, and a face that wears all of her experiences in life, stands.

  “I have something to say,” she declares meekly. “I have outlived my wonderful Walter, but when he was alive, we had a very active sex life. It’s very important in a long marriage, you know. One time, we were staying in a hotel and security threatened to kick us out due to noise complaints from other guests. The noise was caused by us having sex.” She looks over the sea of people and smiles so that her full mouth of dentures is on display. “Does that in any way change who I am? Absolutely not. Frankly, if I had a hot little body like hers, I’d show it off too. I propose that we quit wasting everyone’s time and go about our business. I’m sure these two kids have some celebrating to do.”

  I begin to giggle as does the rest of the group, then I announce into the microphone, “I second that motion. If you all will excuse me, we indeed have some celebrating to do.”

  Walking infinitely taller, I take Jack’s hand, and walk out of Foster Auditorium unscathed and with my fiancé.

  Chapter 28

  December

  Jack

  After a long day of working with a non-profit to help organize meals and Christmas presents for needy families, Journey and I attended a dinner benefitting the same organization. The irony of a fancy dinner to raise money to buy food for the less fortunate is not lost on me. My father used to chair the organization, but has since stepped down, allowing John Foster to chair; however, I continue to sit on the board and am set to be the Chairman beginning next fiscal year.

  Journey kicks off her heels on the way to the bedroom, so that they are laying in the middle of the living room, and collapses into bed. We quickly fall asleep, only to be awakened by Journey’s phone ringing right by her head, jolting us both out of our restful state.

  Journey groans and reaches for her phone, the only source of light in the room. “Why is Jenny calling at three o’clock in the morning?”

  I rub my eyes, trying to become more coherent, as Journey answers the phone. Jenny has never called Journey, especially not in the middle of the night. It stands to reason that she is out and wound up without a ride or something or she is anxious and needs someone to talk to. The bedside lamp casts ominous shadows on the walls after I turn it on.

  “Jenny, where are you? Hello?” Journey sounds alarmed. Her call ends and I wait for Journey to tell me more. Journey’s face is full of worry. “Jenny sounded very upset.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Not a lot. She mostly cried and then the call ended.”

  “Did she say where she is?”

  “No. I have a bad feeling, Jack.”

  “Maybe she had a fight with a boy or something.”

  “This was different. She didn’t sound like herself.”

  Before I can spout off any other logical scenarios, sirens wail down the street in the direction of the Foster’s Estate. My body comprehends the meaning of the sound before my mind. Journey and I look at each other, seemingly reading the other’s thoughts, and without speaking, we bound out of bed, throwing on clothes and shoes. Quickly, we are in the Range Rover, speeding toward Jenny’s house. Snow is falling heavily, blanketing everything it touches as is typical of winter in Maine.

  The bright lights of the emergency response vehicles create wild shapes and colors on the heavy cloud cover that looms above. Before I can place the vehicle in park, Journey jumps out, storming toward the front door.

  “What’s going on?” she asks a young paramedic I recognize to be Steve McClellan.

  “Not sure just yet, Doc. We just got a call about a young female who may have fallen down the stairs and is pregnant. I assume it’s Jenny.”

  “I will help you assess her,” Journey calls out to him as she continues bounding toward the home’s entrance.

  The frost in the air stings more than normal as I catch up with Journey to find Jenny lying on the floor at the base of their grand staircase. She’s on her side with some blood pooling below her torso. I witness the scene as if I’m watching it all play out on a life-size screen. Journey commands the situation like the pro that she is, but I can tell by subtle nuances in her voice and actions that she is not as collected as she seems. I gather from everything that’s going on that Jenny has taken a tumble down the stairs, she’s currently home alone, and she is feeling the urge to push.

  “Hold on if you can, Jenny. If you can resist the urge, please try. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  I hear Jenny ask faintly, “Jack, is that you?”

  With that, I immediately spring into action and am no longer a spectator.

  “It is, J squared.” I walk over to her and place the hand she has extended toward me in mine.

  “It hurts, Jack,” she whispers.

  “I know, sweetie. Journey’s here and she’s going to take care of you, okay? Where are your parents?”

  “I don’t know. Jack, I’m scared.”

  “It’s okay to be scared. Journey and I will be with you.”

  “We’re going to put you on this board and put you onto a stretcher, okay? I really need you to do everything you can to try and not push, okay?” Journey pleads.

  “I’m trying,” Jenny responds as she squeezes my hand.

  Journey’s fearful gaze pauses on mine for a moment and suddenly I feel less confident in telling Jenny things will be alright.

  In a flash, Jenny is moved onto a backboard and rolled into the back of an ambulance. I let go of Jenny’s hand, promising that I will follow the ambulance in my car and will be back by her side when we arrive at the hospital. Flying down the road behind the truck, I attempt to call her father, John Foster, along with George Foster II and III to no avail. Frustration is replaced by concern, and I focus on getting to the hospital as quickly and safely as possible.

  Arriving at the hospital, everything is a blur. Journey calmly and assertively gives all of the details to the ER doctors as well as the attending OB/GYN. It is determined that the baby is in distress, and despite only being twenty-eight weeks, a C-section is ordered. I’m told to change into scrubs, put booties over my shoes, and a cap on my head. Journey is allowed to scrub in on the procedure, but I think it was mostly so that we could both be in the operating room with Jenny. We stand on either side of Jenny, holding her hands, as they deliver a tiny baby girl. She is only two and a half pounds and can fit in the palm of my hand. They don’t allow Jenny to see her baby because they immediately hook the newborn to a breathing machine and place her in a special bed before sending her straight to the Infant Special Care Unit or NICU.

  Jenny seems oblivious to everything around her, and I don’t realize she’s not talking or even reacting emotionally until the sounds of alarms and beeps fill the room.

  “Vital signs are dropping,” someone calls out.

  “We need to stabilize her,” another voice says.

  “Let’s go in the other room and get out of their way,” Journey suggests, tears pooling in her eyes.

  I silently follow her lead, reluctantly exiting the operating room, full of worry.

  After what seems like an eternity, the ER doctor comes out to speak with us.

  “She took quite a fall and had some internal hemorrhaging. The fall caused placental abruption, but fortunately bleeding from that was not so severe. We were able to stop the bleeding and she is stable and resting.” Journey and I let out a collective sigh of relief and hug one another. “They’re taking her to a room now and you should be able to see her soon.”

  We thank the doctor for her time and attention. I can’t help but notice that Jenny’s family is still nowhere to be seen.

  “We should go check on the baby, that way we can let her know when she wakes,” Journey suggests cautiously.

  I glance over at my beautiful, smart, and caring fiancée, smile, lace my fingers in hers, and walk wit
h her to the NICU. Her talents never fail to make me proud.

  Several small babies rest in the room with Jenny’s daughter- Baby Girl Foster. Journey speaks with the NICU staff and they inform her that Jenny’s baby is very strong, but “not out of the woods just yet.” However, the prognosis is good. We are not allowed to hold the tiny babe, because she is on a ventilator and in an isolette. Although we cannot touch her, I can see that she is already a beautiful and strong human being. She’s so tiny, the hat they put on her almost swallows her whole. I smile in awe at the magnitude of this moment. Jenny has brought this miracle of life into the world. How is that not amazing to everyone? My thoughts turn to Jenny who has been unable to meet her baby and how she is missing out on these precious moments.

  Monitors beep, tubes push oxygen through them, and occasionally, other babies cry out. The site is cold and sterile, with the only source of warmth and beauty being this lovely being, fighting for her life. Fear must show clearly on my face as Journey presses her lips into a reassuring smile while she discusses the baby’s progress with the nurse. She abandons the nurse’s station and makes her way over to me.

  “Hey,” she whispers through her brave smile. “They say she’s doing great, considering. For her age and for not having any shots in utero to help with lung and organ development, she’s doing very well. She will have to be on a ventilator for a while and in an isolette, or crib that keeps her isolated and in a sterile environment, but there are a lot of positive signs.”

  “That’s good news. When will Jenny get to meet her?”

  “That depends on Jenny’s progress. She’s resting and they’re going to let me know when she wakes so we can go see her. In cases like this, they usually bring the mother down to the NICU to see the baby as soon as she’s strong enough to get out of bed long enough to ride in a wheelchair down.”