by Robbi McCoy
Lauren opened a can of tuna, gave Cocoa a hunk of it in a bowl on the floor, and then mixed the rest with lemon juice, celery and parsley for her lunch. She took her sandwich to the living room and turned the TV to a baseball game. The Braves were playing the Indians today, a quirky pairing that made her laugh. Beyond that, she knew the game wouldn’t hold her interest, but the familiar sounds provided a soothing backdrop.
As she ate her sandwich in front of the game, she contemplated calling Cassie. It was Saturday and there was a good chance of actually getting hold of her on a weekend, she imagined. Once she’d made up her mind to do it, she immediately began wondering if Cassie had been sincere. Was she just being polite? No, Lauren told herself, she could still read Cassie, even after a ten-year hiatus. She really had been delighted they’d run into one another.
It was during this discussion with herself that the phone rang. Illogically, Lauren’s first thought was that it was Cassie calling her. She leapt for the phone and immediately saw that the unrecognized number was local.
“Hello,” said a pleasant female voice. “Is this Lauren Keegan?”
“Yes,” Lauren answered somewhat reluctantly.
“Oh, good. This is Emma McKinley.”
Stunned, Lauren dropped to the stool beside the phone, recognizing the name with disbelief.
“You may not remember me,” Emma said, “but I was a student of Faith’s years ago. She was a tremendously influential person in my life. She was my mentor, in fact.”
Emma’s voice was hesitant, as if she were choosing her words carefully. Lauren wasn’t surprised. What she knew of Emma McKinley was mostly through the letter that had been returned as undeliverable right before Faith died, the letter that was sitting at this moment in the bottom of the drawer of her bedroom nightstand where she’d left it nearly two years ago.
Emma continued. “I was devastated to hear about—it was shocking. I’m so sorry.”
Emma waited and Lauren realized she was expected to say something. “Thank you,” she said, unable to think of anything else to say.
“It’s sort of ironic because I’ve just returned from sabbatical with the idea of calling Faith to ask to see some of her work on Alaska. I’ve been living up there for the last several months, doing research.”
“You’re an anthropologist,” Lauren said, not asking so much as reminding herself.
“Yes. I’ve been teaching at the university in Eugene for several years.”
Lauren tried to gather her thoughts, to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity. After reading that letter, she’d been left with so many questions.
“Did you keep in touch with Faith?” she asked.
“No. I haven’t spoken to her since grad school.”
That would explain why Faith didn’t have a good mailing address, Lauren thought. They’d had no contact, a comforting fact.
“Now,” Emma said, “I feel really bad about that. I wish I’d taken the time to look her up again. I wish I’d known she was sick. I would have liked to have told her—”
Emma stopped. What? Lauren thought. What would you have told her?
Talking to Emma now, the real person, as strange as that seemed after so long thinking of her as some mysterious unknown entity, Lauren felt guilty all over again for having read the letter Faith had never meant her to see. That letter, as lovely and thoughtful as all of her farewell letters, would probably have meant something special to Emma. But Lauren wasn’t feeling particularly charitable toward Emma, despite the sincerity in her voice.
“You said you wanted to talk to Faith about some of her research?” Lauren asked.
“Yes. I remembered she’d done some work on the tribes in British Columbia and Alaska. Some of the sites she visited, there’s just nothing there now. And the people she interviewed, they’re gone too, most of them. They were old people even then.”
Emma sounded intelligent, reasonable, not at all like a woman who had nearly destroyed her education by recklessly falling in love with her professor.
“Can you tell me what happened to her papers?” she asked.
“They’re still here. I’m intending to donate everything to the university. I just haven’t gotten it all organized yet.”
“Would it be possible—” Emma began, sounding unsure. “Would you mind if I looked through them?”
Lauren fought her first impulse, to deny Emma’s request, which she recognized as immature, and tried to focus on what Faith would have wanted instead.
“I don’t know,” Lauren said. “I don’t really know you. Maybe if I knew more about your work and what it is exactly you want to do with Faith’s research—”
“Yes. I understand. I’d be happy to explain. Would you like to get together somewhere and talk about it?”
This was yet another unanticipated opening. Lauren hesitated, struggling with her conflicting emotions. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’m actually free today if you are.”
“That would be perfect. I’m in Portland this weekend visiting my parents, so today would be easy. Wherever would be convenient for you.”
Home turf advantage, Lauren advised herself, and proposed that Emma come to her house. They agreed on three o’ clock.
In addition to straightening up the house, there was one other thing she needed to do in preparation for Emma’s visit. An unpleasant chore, but she felt it was necessary because she hadn’t read that letter in a long time.
She went to her bedroom and dug down through some magazines to the bottom of the nightstand drawer to pull out an envelope with its red “Undeliverable” stamp on the front.
Faith had spent many hours composing these letters. It hadn’t been easy for her to find the right things to say to people and she’d been determined to say just the right thing to everyone. She wrote to old friends and distant relatives, to colleagues and mentors, people she had loved and people who had touched her in one way or another. For some of them, this was how they found out she was ill. For others, it was a final, formal farewell they could hang on to. It was a thoughtful, although painful, thing to do. She was frequently in tears as she wrote those letters, recalling old joys and sorrows, and knowing the person she wrote to would probably be in tears as well, reading her words.
Since Lauren had taken the letters to the post office, she knew who received them, including Emma McKinley, a former student who had apparently made an impression on Faith. There were several of those, the special students whose lives and careers had been more than marginally influenced by their association with her.
Lauren hadn’t read most of the letters. They were very personal and she felt no need to intrude. Sometimes when Faith was writing to some old friend, she would stop and tell Lauren about an incident she remembered, some memory the letter writing had triggered. These were usually happy memories. This process of saying goodbye was Faith’s way of reliving the joys of her life. They were beautiful letters, by all accounts. Lauren had seen a few of them, later. People had shown her. Like Faith’s sister Charity during her recent visit. Despite all of their disagreements, Faith had written about their childhood together and the special bond of sisters. She had managed to fill that letter with love and humor. The way Charity spoke now, it sounded as if she had completely forgotten the two of them had ever quarreled.
The letter to Emma had been returned only days before Faith died. Lauren had set it aside without mentioning it, something to be dealt with later. With everything else that was going on, it wasn’t important. At least, that had been Lauren’s assumption. Just another student. Not worth troubling Faith over. And then she’d forgotten about it for a while.
A couple months later when she rediscovered the letter, she decided to track down a current address and mail it, but she’d opened it and read it instead. In those early days, she was desperate for any reminder of Faith, and her familiar handwriting on the outside of that envelope was easily enough to overcome the ethics of reading someone else’s mail. It would be like
hearing her voice again. Who wouldn’t open it, she rationalized, under the same circumstances?
But she’d been completely unprepared for the words Faith had written to Emma. The letter had sent her into a tailspin and she’d put it away, unable to face it. She sometimes thought about it, but hadn’t looked at it since.
She took the letter into the family room and sat in her recliner. Unfolding the pages, Lauren swallowed hard, hoping it wasn’t as shocking this time around.
Dear Emma,
It’s been so many years since we spoke, but you’ve often entered my thoughts, as you do today as I prepare to go, as Dylan Thomas euphemistically put it, “into that good night.” I have terminal cancer and not long left now. So I’m saying goodbye to those who touched my life significantly. I’m not sure you ever understood how thoroughly you were one of those.
I hope you’re content with whatever gifts your life has brought you, personally and professionally. I hope you found someone who makes you as happy as Lauren has made me. I’ve had such a good life with her. She’s been the perfect companion. Our adventures together have been thrilling. We celebrated our twenty-third anniversary last month. Not bad, don’t you think? Frankly, it makes me furious to think what I’m doing to her. She doesn’t deserve to be left like this. If there were any god or devil to make a pact with so I could keep from leaving her, I would do it. But neither gods nor devils have ever spoken to me, as you know.
The main reason I’m writing you is that I’d like to apologize for what happened between us. I feel responsible and I hope you can forgive me. If I’d been stronger, you wouldn’t have lost that year of your education. I also want you to know that it wasn’t just because of your feelings that I sent you away. Other students came to me, before and after, with their hearts in their hands. Life continued and we all survived without much of a tremor to the planet. But it was different with you. It was because of my own feelings that I sent you away. I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t know what else to do. I was so sorry I couldn’t tell you, then, how I felt, but I’m telling you now because I want you to understand how important you were. I sent you away because I was afraid of you and what you could have meant to me. I cared more for you than circumstances allowed me to admit.
I’m so glad you were able to recover and finish up, which says a lot about your determination and strength of character. I’ve always been extremely proud of you. I’ve watched you from afar in your professional achievements, blossoming and gaining confidence. I’ve read everything you’ve published. Despite my cautions to you early on, I love your literary voice. It reminds me of my own style, and how could I not love that? You’re such a careful researcher, so thorough and controlled. I’ve often wished we could have worked together as you originally imagined. It would have been such fun and I’m certain my own work would have benefited greatly from your conscientiousness.
I know you’ll continue to make remarkable contributions to our science. I wish I could be around to see them. I really did love anthropology. The human animal has always fascinated me. Such a complicated creature. So complicated, in fact, we never complete our studies of even our own selves no matter how long we live. There is enough mystery in just one human being to confound universes of scientists and philosophers.
Enjoy unraveling the mystery. I did.
Love,
Faith
Lauren let her hand fall to her lap and leaned her head back against the headrest. It didn’t have the same shock value this time, but, of course, she had known what to expect. After reading this letter the first time, she’d tried to remember anything she could about Emma McKinley, anything at all that might explain the contents and the apparent truth that Faith had been so attracted to this student she’d been unable to continue working with her.
But it had been too long ago and all she could remember was the occasional mention. She wondered if she had just not been paying attention or if Faith had purposely never talked about Emma. Lauren had met other graduate students now and then, eager young people who admired Faith and did their best to prove their worth to her. She couldn’t imagine Faith ever falling in love with any of them, or even thinking herself capable of it. What was so different about this one? Lauren wondered.
That was one of the reasons she’d agreed to meet Emma. She wanted to find out. She also wanted to know the rest of the story. The letter didn’t make it entirely clear what had happened between them. She was both afraid and determined to know.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Emma arrived, right on time, Lauren extended a hand to her and she immediately moved past that to hug her warmly and for several seconds. It was the kind of hug people give you to express sympathy. Lauren had gotten many of them in the last two years. But in this case, she had the feeling the expression of condolence was as much for Emma herself as for Lauren.
“Lauren,” she said, standing back, “I’m so glad to meet you.”
Emma was a poised and attractive woman with thick hair flowing in loose curls over her shoulders. She was tall, wearing tan pants and a tailored jacket. Her face was thin and pale. Her light blue eyes were intelligent and unreadable. Lauren had expected a younger woman, someone around thirty, but Emma was clearly older. Because of that, Lauren’s whole concept of what had happened ten years ago started rapidly revising itself.
“Come in,” she said, standing aside.
“Your rhododendrons are gorgeous!” Emma said, coming into the living room. “Such a profusion of blooms.”
“Yes, we usually have a good show this time of year.” Lauren realized she had said “we” out of long-established habit, but decided not to correct herself. “Would you like some coffee?”
“If you have some made, yes, I would.” Emma remained in the living room as Lauren went to the kitchen.
“Not too surprising that your flowers are exquisite,” Emma called from the other room. “You’re an expert in soil, agriculture, that sort of thing. Isn’t that right?”
Lauren carried in a tray with coffee, sugar and cream and set it on the table between the couch and chair. Emma was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at the photos on the mantle.
“I was. I’m retired now.” Lauren wondered how much this woman knew about her, how personal her knowledge was.
“I remembered that,” Emma said, looking briefly over her shoulder. “Faith talked about you all the time.”
“Really?” Lauren heard how cold her voice sounded.
“Yes. Oh, not in the classroom. Just between the two of us.”
What am I supposed to say to that? Lauren wondered, walking over to the fireplace.
Emma was looking at the photo of Faith and Lauren at their commitment ceremony, Faith holding her hand as she slid the ring on.
“She looks incredible!” Emma said, then turned to look at Lauren. Her expression, which had been one of delight, rapidly dissolved as she said, “You look gorgeous too. That’s a wonderful picture.”
“Yes, I’ve always liked it. I don’t photograph well, but that was a rare case where we both looked really happy.”
Emma returned her attention to the mantle, moving past the vase containing Faith’s ashes, which stood directly in the center between two matching picture frames. On the other side was a photo taken at Faith’s fiftieth birthday, an elaborate gathering at Mount Hood where their group had taken up a good chunk of the lodge and loudly dominated the restaurant, ski lifts and lounges for three days. As much trouble as it had been to plan that event to fit in with everyone’s schedules and book all the facilities, it had been worth it. Faith had been so happy with all the attention. In the photo she was standing on skis, wearing a heavy parka and knit cap, laughing at Lauren who had fallen and was half buried in snow. Lauren was laughing too. Nobody had known it at the time, but that was Faith’s last milestone birthday, which made Lauren more grateful than ever that she’d managed to arrange a bona fide celebration.
“This one’s very good of you both too,�
�� Emma commented.
Lauren forced a smile and led the way back to the sitting area where they sat across from one another over the coffee table. Emma took her coffee and stirred a spoonful of sugar into it.
“I want to say again how sorry I was to hear about Faith’s passing,” Emma said. “I’m sure I would have heard about it sooner if I hadn’t been living in Alaska. It’s a different world up there.”
“I’ve been there,” Lauren said, examining Emma’s features and mannerisms, trying to understand what it was that had appealed to Faith. “How old are you?”
“Forty-four,” Emma said without hesitation.
She was only three years younger than Lauren. She would have been ten years younger than Faith.
“Can you tell me about your project?” Lauren said. “How you want to use Faith’s material?”
Emma spoke about her work haltingly at first, but she soon became less self-conscious and more animated, allowing her enthusiasm to guide her discussion. She sounded knowledgeable and professional, a serious scientist with a passion for her work. Her area of expertise was the myth and magic of the whaling tribes of the Pacific Northwest. Lauren listened without comment. Emma was aware of the research Faith had done on the Nootka tribe of Vancouver Island. She was hoping to reference that.
“She used to talk about a burial site where several chieftain skulls were collected as a power center for the whale hunt rituals. I don’t recall all the details, but I’m sure she would have kept records. There were other, similar stories. I’m basically hoping to see whatever she had. I’ve been through all her published papers. Nothing about the Nootka there.”