“Beth, this is Kate. Kate this is Beth. And this is Sylvie.”
Beth peeled her eyes off the screen for the briefest moment and said hello. Sylvie turned and tucked herself against Lawrence’s leg. She held the side of his trouser leg between her fingers. I fought the impulse to squat down and try to make better contact with Sylvie. All in time, I thought. Or maybe never, but not right now.
“Okay, I’m going to run. You’ll have her back by seven?” Beth asked.
“Yes. We’ll grab something to eat, then scoot uptown to you.”
Beth clicked out of whatever she was doing on her phone. She squatted and kissed Sylvie.
“Bye, pumpkin,” she said.
Sylvie, on cue, flung her arms around her mother’s neck. It was hard to know who wanted the contact more. Beth kissed the girl on the cheek and then petted her hair.
“Just a few hours,” she said, standing. “Daddy wants to show you the tree.”
“I see the tree!” Sylvie said. “I already saw it.”
“Well, there’s more to see, I’m sure. And Daddy will take you to a good dinner.”
“Not pork chops.”
“No, not pork chops,” her mother assured her.
Sylvie looked at me. If she thought she could get away with sticking her tongue out at me, she probably would have. I smiled. Children could be intimidating as hell, I realized.
Beth kissed Sylvie again, then darted off into the crowd. Lawrence held Sylvie’s hand. He looked at me and smiled.
“It all takes a little getting used to,” he said, then whispered, “she’ll warm up.”
But she didn’t. Not really. We walked around Rockefeller Center and admired the tree. I couldn’t help thinking that any child would have been more comfortable with her hands in the hands of both parents. Whether that was fair or not, it seemed to be what Sylvie wanted. But I wasn’t her mom. I was a stranger with a peculiar relationship to her father that she couldn’t possibly understand. I wasn’t sure I understood it myself.
The tree, though, was spectacular. It was tall and dark and beautiful, and seeing it made me miss my tiny cabin. It made me miss New Hampshire. And deep down I had a pearl of delight slowly growing and becoming stronger in my belly. A book, I told myself.
We got cocoa in the restaurant just off the ice rink. It was crowded, but the crowd was jolly. Sylvie did not want marshmallows in her cocoa. She did not like the Styrofoam cup they served it in, and I sat with her while Lawrence talked to a counter person to get a ceramic mug. I watched him. Sylvie watched me. I tried to coax her into talking, but she simply stared at me, unhappy in everything around her.
“There we go!” Lawrence said triumphantly when he returned with the mug. “A mug for my princess.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“How are the skaters?”
My phone buzzed. I had it on vibrate. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have answered it. But I was away from home and it seemed important to make sure the cabin hadn’t exploded with its propane gas feed or that a tree hadn’t fallen on top of it. It also occurred to me that it could be Edna calling back with additional information. Something. I pulled it out and checked the screen.
Incoming call, it said.
Nora Crean.
29
“I have to take this. Sorry.”
Lawrence nodded. He dabbed at Sylvie’s chin to rid it of a stream of chocolate. The café was loud; it was a tourist trap, really. Maybe to Sylvie’s young eye it felt magical. For her sake, I hoped so.
I stood and walked outside. I waited until the third ring before accepting the call. I said hello, but for an extended interlude no one spoke on the other end. I heard the crackle of a long distance call. Then I heard Nora Crean’s voice, older, somewhat reedier, but unmistakably Nora.
“Kate?”
“Hi, Nora. Can you hear me?”
My eyes began to water. I loved Nora Crean.
“I’m calling you about Ozzie. We fear he’s dead, Kate. We just received the news.”
I felt the words in my stomach. I felt them punch me over and over. For a moment, I thought I might vomit. I leaned forward and held on to the metal railing around the skating rink. I couldn’t reconcile the news I had just received with the sight of so many people in colorful clothing sailing around the white rink. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on Gran’s quiet voice.
“I’m sorry, Gran … tell me, did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes, Kate. He’s gone.”
“How?”
I could only speak that one word.
“The Ferriter went down. Lost at sea.”
“I can’t…”
“I know, darling. It’s terrible to deliver such news on the phone, but I didn’t know how else to get hold of you. We’re just getting the information now. None of it is clear at the moment. I thought you’d want to know. I thought Ozzie would want you to know.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I know you’ll have a thousand questions, Kate, but I’m afraid I have few answers. This has just happened. Would it be too much for you to fly over?”
“No, of course not. No … I just…”
I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t feel my feet or legs or the pulse of blood in my wrists. Ozzie dead. Ozzie was dead. It couldn’t be. In the haze of my grief, I tried to picture my calendar. I could leave by the middle of next week. I could free a few dates, cancel a dozen student appointments and make accommodations. Pack a bag, get on a plane. It was Saturday. I could be in Ireland late Wednesday night. That’s what my internal calendar told me.
“I’m so sorry to drop such news on you this way, Kate. If there were another way…”
“No, I had to hear, of course. I just can’t take it in.”
“None of us can. Seamus informed me that there are some legal matters as well. You are still married. Legally, I mean. You’re needed as next of kin. It’s horrible, I know. Everything is upside down right now. Please be patient with us.”
“I understand. Yes, I think I can get there by Wednesday. Would that be early enough?”
“Yes, of course. There’s no rush in that sense, Kate. Nothing can be done on this end.”
“I’m so sorry, Nora. I know how much you loved him.”
“And how much he loved you, Kate.”
“Yes, I know.”
She paused. Then she said she had to go. She said Seamus could pick me up Wednesday night, but I declined the offer. I didn’t want him waiting for me at the airport late into the night. She told me to come and stay with her. I accepted. I had stayed with her a number of times in her grand old mansion. It felt like the right place to be.
“Travel carefully as you can, Kate,” Nora said as we readied to end the call. “There is no need for haste. What’s done is done.”
“I understand.”
“He never got over you, Kate.”
“And I never got over him. I tried to deny it, but that’s the truth. It’s devastating news.”
We ended the call. I stood for a long time watching the skaters. I stood so long that eventually Lawrence and Sylvie came out to fetch me. Lawrence carried my coat over his arm. He held it for me and I slipped into it. I had tears in my eyes.
“Bad news?” he asked. He studied my face.
“I’m afraid so. My husband, my ex, died at sea. Is missing. They don’t know yet.”
But he’s not your ex, I could hear Dr. Kaufman say. That’s the point.
“I’m sorry, Kate. Are you okay?”
I didn’t know how he thought I could be okay, how anyone could be okay hearing such news, but I shook my head and let it go. I supposed he meant to ask if I felt faint or unsteady in any way. It was just a way of checking with me. It was merely a social convention.
“I have to go to Ireland. I have to get there.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Nothing really. I have to go tie up a bunch of loose ends back home and then book a
flight. There are some legal matters, I guess.”
“At least the semester is winding down. You’ll have some time.”
“Yes,” I said, “there’s something to be happy about. But there are still a few weeks to go.”
“I’m sorry this happened, Kate.”
“So am I. Sorry to have to go.”
“That’s okay. I understand. We understand, don’t we, Sylvie?”
Sylvie had her eyes on the skaters. She had the glazed look of a child who had just consumed a cup of cocoa.
“I’m going to leave from here,” I said. “Would you bring my bag back to Dartmouth?”
“Of course.”
“Tomorrow is such a big day for you, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Life always gets in the way of itself.”
“You’re a poet, Lawrence.”
“I’ll show you the clip when you get back. Or I can email it to you.”
There he was again, always in the center of the camera shot.
“Bye, Sylvie,” I said, squatting to be at her eye level. “Nice meeting you.”
She sank back against her dad’s trousers again. I stood and kissed him on the cheek.
“You must have loved him a lot,” Lawrence said when I pulled away to depart.
“For a time,” I said, “he was my sun.”
* * *
“Of course, the feelings return. That’s only natural,” Dr. Kaufman observed. “Deaths are crisis rites. They are in every culture. That’s why we ritualize them.”
“I’ve been fanaticizing about not going. About putting my head in the sand and pretending nothing has changed.”
Dr. Kaufman smiled. She didn’t smile often.
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow night. I’ve got my classes all set for a while and whatever committee work I am supposed to do is done. I’m fine that way.”
“The boat is missing. That makes it more difficult. The uncertainty.”
“Yes, I received two phone calls from an Irish solicitor. I have to meet with the authorities. It’s complicated because they have no body. He was lost at sea.”
She nodded. The birds were less active on her feeder today. It was warmer than it had been last week. Maybe the birds found food elsewhere. She wore a different scarf today. It was as beautiful as the last one I had noticed, a dark, mysterious green that reflected the color of her eyes. I wanted to ask her if she would go scarf shopping with me or at least give me the name of her store.
“You’re going back to his world. The world you built together.”
“I know.”
“You’re older now. Wiser?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Does anyone become wiser?”
“We’ll let the philosophers handle that one. You could see this as a chance to heal.”
“I’ve thought of that.”
“To bring peace to a chapter of your life.”
I nodded. I had thought of that.
“I’m hoping it helps me understand what happened between Ozzie and me. In our marriage.”
“That’s a lot to hope for.”
“It is. But it feels like a natural piece of punctuation. His death, I mean.”
“Death often is.”
She remained silent after that. I knew she didn’t like guiding the conversation. As Milly said, all therapists are counter-punchers. They punch only after you throw a punch. For a little while we sat and watched the birds. I liked watching them. I could see their appeal. It was rewarding to see them, to try to identify them, but it was also cathartic to watch them dash away. They flew off into trees and into the dark winter afternoons.
“I feel as though I still love him,” I said. “That I’ve always loved him.”
“I’m sure you have those feelings.”
“But I mean really love him. That I had been some sort of idiot to end things with him. I felt like I had to end it almost out of some strange political stance.”
“Political?”
“Maybe social is a better word. Social proprieties. He was drinking. And he could be a jerk. I had this idea that he had to be this one way. This one way that suited me. And that if I settled for anything less, then I was shirking my responsibility to women everywhere. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Not crazy. Maybe not useful.”
“You’ve met couples where the man is not exciting at all. And the woman is much more accomplished. More present. And sometimes you ask yourself, what is she doing with him? It’s such a horrible question. What is anyone doing with anyone? I had some strange feeling projected onto Ozzie that he had to be something. Something that matched me. If he didn’t match properly, then we didn’t belong together.”
“An idealization?”
“Yes, you could say that. Yes, I suppose so. We were so much in love that I felt overwhelmed. When I think back to it, I can barely breathe.”
“And now he’s lost. Both figuratively and in reality.”
I put my face in my hands. I couldn’t cry. I felt too furious with myself. With Ozzie. With life. How could we never get things straight? Why did the dresser drawers always get scrambled and messy despite our good attempts at order? Why did things always slip away, not in a grand fashion, but in small, negligent ways that left one grabbing for the meaning of it?
“Our time is almost up, Kate. Maybe you should keep a journal when you’re in Ireland. It might provide a sounding board for you. A place to reflect.”
“Maybe I will.”
“I’m sorry about Ozzie. I know you’re in pain.”
“I am.”
“Time will pass, and the pain will soften, but it does no good to know that now.”
“Thank you.”
I stood, my mind already flashing forward to what I had to do to get ready. Teach a class, grade six papers, call for an oil delivery, cancel my mail, and on and on. Details. I stood and put on my coat.
“Do birds come to any feeder you put out?” I asked her, my mind glazed and still. “They’re comforting.”
“They’ll come if you put it in the right place. Like us, they need to feel safe when they dart in for nourishment.”
“Maybe I’ll do that when I get back.”
“I recommend it,” she said.
FIFTH LETTER
Robert Smith, Barrister
Peal, Simmons, Hassleton
77 River Liffey, Dublin, Ireland
Dear Ms. Moreton:
As we discussed by telephone, you have been designated the executrix of Oswald Ferriter’s estate. Although he is at this time still legally missing, not declared dead, it would benefit us to have a brief meeting at this juncture to secure your legal standing. Please, at your leisure, review the enclosed documents. When you have finished, contact our offices and we will set up an appointment to review the intent of Mr. Ferriter’s last will and testament.
With our heartfelt condolences,
Robert
30
Seamus met me at the Limerick airport. I suspected he would, because he was Seamus. I saw him before he saw me. He looked older, less steady on his feet, but when he spotted me finally, his face grew merry. Gottfried sat patiently beside him on a purple leash. They waited just outside the terminal doors. Gran had texted me to be on the lookout for them both. She couldn’t keep him away.
It was late, three in the morning, and I could not imagine how long he had waited. It was cold, and he likely waited outside to keep company with Gottfried. Or he wanted Gottfried to be the first thing I saw when I set foot on Irish soil. It was one of countless acts of kindness he gave freely to me. He always had.
I felt myself choke on seeing Gottfried. He was the same good boy. I dragged my pull-behind duffel through the automatic doors and began to cry as I approached them both. The crying took me over. I thought I had cried things out, was ready to be in control, but the sweetness of them standing patiently waiting for me wrenched me deep inside.
“Hello, you two,” I said.
I hugg
ed Seamus for a long time. He hugged me. Then I went down on my knees and put my hands on either side of Gottfried’s head.
“Oh, you darling, darling dog,” I whispered. “How did you let this happen to our boy?”
He licked my face. I hugged him. I cried harder.
“The car is just over here,” Seamus said after a little while. “I have a driver. My eyes aren’t up for night driving.”
“Thank you, Seamus.”
“How’s the dog look?”
“Perfect,” I said, standing, my hand still dangling on Gottfried’s head. “As dear as ever. And so are you.”
“Sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”
“So am I.”
“Nora was going to try to wait up for you, but I don’t think she can quite manage it. Night wearies the old.”
“But not you?”
“I’ve made a bargain with the fairy folk to stay young.”
“They seem to be holding up their end of the bargain.”
He led me to the car, where a young man sat asleep behind the wheel. Seamus rapped sharply on the window beside the boy’s head and he jerked awake. Seamus motioned for him to wind down his window.
“Are you awake enough to drive, Johnny?”
“I am,” the boy said, rubbing his fists in his eyes.
“This is Kate Moreton. Johnny Lewis.”
“Hi, Johnny.”
“You might think about getting out of the car and helping the lady with her bag,” Seamus said. “You’re going to have to learn that sleep is not work.”
Johnny scrambled out and stowed my bag in the trunk of the old Plymouth. Then he held the door open for me. Gottfried waited while I moved across the seat, then he jumped in beside me.
“I’m going to sit up front to guide the boy through his troubles,” Seamus said. “Nora had some food packed for you. You’ll find it in the little basket there. She was worried you wouldn’t eat on the plane.”
“That’s too kind.”
“I hope Johnny didn’t eat it in his sleep. He has the appetite of a gladiator.”
“I am a little hungry, actually,” I said. “The food on the plane wasn’t great.”
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