by Carol Hutton
Anna and Chris met regularly to hash out both business and personal problems. They would discuss each other’s work over lunch or dinner, each benefiting from the other’s complementary perspective. She was the clinician, and he was the jock who could translate her insights into a concise message that resonated with some of the most powerful players in corporate America. Their business understanding was based completely on trust. Not a penny ever exchanged hands. Their first venture at visible collaboration was the book they apprehensively had agreed to write the week before Beth died.
“This has best-seller written all over it,” Anna’s agent had exclaimed. “You’ve got a following that spans age and gender lines. And Chris is respected, if not revered, by the ‘suits.’ Together the two of you should pack quite a punch!”
Chris had been the reluctant one. “This could do it, Anna—we’ve never really had a disagreement worth talking about in all these years.”
“So what if we do lock horns, Chris?” Anna had replied. “We can weather it. Besides, I already know what an insufferable pain in the butt you can be!”
And so had been born the idea for Anna’s third book and Chris’s first, Strategies for Success from the Coach & the Counselor. And then Beth had died.
As she gazed at the tourists strolling along Flagler, Anna marveled that she had stayed this long in South Florida. Had it really been twenty years since she’d moved here for a temporary fling? Now, to her chagrin, here she remained with not one, but two, properties, one in West Palm and a second up the coast in Vero Beach. Anna both loved and hated living in this tropical concoction of diverging cultures and values. She had taken a lot of grief for buying and remodeling that second property until her friends saw the little house hidden from the road, sitting right along the Indian River. If the winding pathway lush with tropical foliage didn’t create a spell, once inside the light and airy house visitors were greeted with an expansive view of the water and its many inhabitants. This house became Anna’s refuge, her sanctuary away from the world.
Anna’s life was packed full; it was much more hectic and demanding than she cared to admit. She considered her time and space in the “river house,” as it came to be called, almost sacred. Anna used time alone to recharge and recenter. She would meditate by the river, walk by the sea, talk aloud to the herons and sandpipers, and wave to the occasional dolphin or manatee that would cavort near her dock.
Beth, in particular, had loved the house and had joined Anna there at least one weekend a year. It became a ritual after a while, one they both treasured. They spent time talking and laughing, problem-solving and reminiscing. They shared the most intimate secrets about the joy and pain in their lives. They had political discussions as well as philosophical and metaphysical ones. There was nothing they couldn’t and didn’t discuss. One Sunday morning, Beth dragged Anna from her room to watch the space shuttle Endeavor take off. The two of them stood on the dock in the darkness of the early dawn, looking toward the skies. As the fiery ball of light soared toward the heavens, Beth and Anna turned their faces upward and together wished on this flying star. It was shortly after that visit that Beth was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Beth’s last refuge was Anna’s river house. She had wanted to die in an environment free of white uniforms and sterile rooms. Anna, of course, would have done anything to grant Beth’s wishes and ease her suffering those last weeks. In a way, this was Anna’s final gift to her dear friend. Tom and Beth’s daughters managed to work around the space limitations. So Beth was able to live out those final days relatively pain-free, surrounded by the people who meant the most to her.
Beth had died just as the sun rose on a beautiful South Florida morning that was filled with sunshine and tropical breezes. Her last hour was heralded by the sounds of birds chirping and the rippling waves of the river. It was as if all of nature acknowledged how special this woman was by coming together in a brilliant display of color and light to mark her passing.
As Anna waited for Chris that Wednesday before she left work, she wrote a large check to the hospice and enclosed it in her letter thanking the wonderful nurses who had taken such loving care of her friend. Chris walked into her inner office as she was sealing the envelope, sat down in one of the Windsor chairs, and favored her with his most penetrating gaze.
As usual, he got right to the point. “I’ve been waiting for your call, Annie, and not just since Beth’s funeral,” he said in that direct way of his. “I know you’re in pain, and have been for some time. What can I do?”
Anna needed a friend, someone to listen. Running her fingers through her hair, the annoying habit she could not rid herself of and a dead giveaway of careening emotions, Anna took off her glasses, making Chris a blur. “I don’t know, Chris, I think I am really losing it. I feel so detached—like I’m just going through the motions. I feel like a hypocrite, especially with my clients, let alone when I’m on the air with callers,” she had said. “I have this emptiness that just won’t go away. I really don’t know what I need or want, or what to do with my life. I have never felt so directionless.”
He frowned and in that confident way of his said, “Call Becky and get away for a few days, and then we’ll decide what to do. Perhaps the Vineyard house is free some weekend soon. You know Becky and Michael won’t be up there this time of year. Go away, collect your thoughts. See if you can get it together on your own. Annie, you have been through hell these past eighteen months. You have coped by filling your time with projects, people, and work. It was bound to come to a halt at some point—this is it.”
As he turned to head for the door, Anna threw the small cross-stitch pillow made by one of her clients at the back of his head.
“I’m sorry about the book, Chris. We’ll get started when I get back, okay?”
“Screw the book, Annie. I just wish I could make the hurt go away.” He didn’t look at her, and she understood that this was the closest he could come to telling her how he felt.
She immediately picked up the phone and called Becky in Connecticut.
And now here Anna was, sitting in Becky’s beautiful house. The mug was warm in her hands as she slowly sipped her tea and stared out at Lake Tashmoo. The whitecaps and rough water bounced the few remaining boats around like toys in a child’s bath. It was late afternoon now, and the wind had picked up a bit. She unpacked her parka, felt in the pockets for her gloves, and headed out the door. The walk through the woods was blissfully quiet, and before long she was on the beach. Like a slap across her face, the cold, damp ocean wind instantly resurrected memories of the funeral. The ache in her chest resumed, and she felt tears sting her cheeks.
Anna pushed against the wind, making it out to the end of the jetty. “What is happening to me?” she whispered aloud. “I thought I had prepared myself for this.” She recalled those final days and hours of Beth’s life. She sat herself on a large rock and sobbed now as she had then, with the knowledge that the inevitable had arrived.
Those hours and then minutes before death occurs always take too long. Then they are over too quickly. Anna had seen only one other person die, and that was her mother. The vigil that marked the end of that remarkable life had been very different from Beth’s. Mother had died in the hospital, with activity all around. Most of the activity was contrived by the family and staff who, for very different reasons, attended to the unnecessary under the guise of making her mother “comfortable.” Beth’s passing was a tribute to Beth herself, who surrendered with a peace and dignity that bespoke her character. The nurses who cared for her and us, Anna reflected, lovingly created an environment of comfort and safety. Beth had left this life with all that mattered to her finished, and with those who meant the most in the world to her by her side. Anna watched and listened as the waves crashed up on the jetty rocks, and she began to feel better, though her sobs continued.
Suddenly aware of the setting sun and the water splashing up on the rocks, she shivered. Her knees and back stiff from the dampn
ess, Anna started to get up. As she turned toward the beach, she saw a lone figure approaching several yards away, beckoning to her to wait. He carefully walked out toward her on the slippery rocks, hand extended. Puzzled, very stiff, and somewhat confused, she took his hand and followed him back to the sand.
“Are you okay?” he asked, letting go of her hand. “I was getting concerned about you. Look, the tide is coming in.”
Now fully in the moment, Anna looked at the stranger, and recognized the man from the plane. “I’m fine, thanks. I just lost track of time.”
Side by side they walked down the beach and through the woods, without saying another word.
They reached the back door to the house before she realized she had not introduced herself. At that moment the phone began to ring. “Forgive me, I’m Annie. Thanks for your offer of help both times today.”
He looked at her kindly and seemed to want to say something, but Anna quickly opened the door and ran to pick up the phone before the answering machine retrieved the call.
“Thank goodness you answered this time. It is you, isn’t it, Anna?” Anna held the phone to one side for the duration of the conversation she knew would follow. It was Becky, of course.
“Where have you been? I’ve called at least half a dozen times, and we were beginning to get worried. Anna? Anna, talk to me.”
“I’m sorry, Becky. I meant to call and let you know that I was here, safe and generally sound. I’ve been out walking and just lost track of time. Patrick has taken care of everything, so I’m set for the weekend. You know you have the most reliable caretaker on the Vineyard.”
Anna turned to invite the stranger in from the cold. But the door to the kitchen was closed, and the steps vacant.
“Well, you just make yourself comfortable,” Becky continued. “Michael and I want you to feel at home—what’s ours is yours.”
Please let this conversation end, Anna thought to herself. “I appreciate everything, Becky. Thanks again and don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl, and I need to be here—alone. I will not be picking up the phone from now on, so please don’t be alarmed. Leave me a message if you absolutely need to talk to me, okay?”
The receiver was practically in its cradle when Anna heard Becky’s voice again.
“Anna, there is something else, I nearly forgot. The Duffy place. You know, look out the kitchen window to your left, through the trees. It’s the A-frame in the distance. Mary called to let us know their house will be occupied this weekend, too, so don’t be concerned if you see some activity down there.”
“Okay, Becky, gotta go.”
Anna sighed again, muttering to herself as she hung up the phone. “Great, that’s all I need, some wild party tomorrow night, with middle-aged boomers proving their virility by streaking through the woods in thirty-degree weather after an afternoon of beer and football.”
Still chilled, actually shaking with cold, she put on the kettle for a pot of tea and went into the great room to light a fire. It was dark now, the house quite beautiful with the fading autumn shadows dancing over the Ralph Lauren and Waverly fabrics, throwing a peaceful silhouette on the room. Walking back to the kitchen, Anna’s eyes misted as she reached for the Portmerion teapot.
It was as if she were squinting to see through heavy London fog. As she held the white earthenware teapot sprinkled with flowers, bees, and butterflies in a tremulous hand, Anna was transported across the great pond and back in time.
“I just love London,” Beth exclaimed, as they emerged arm-in-arm from the Underground. They were headed in the direction of Harrods and Anna’s favorite street, Beauchamp Place. They were on their way first to the off-price china shops, where Anna could browse and buy for hours. Anna loved a bargain, a trait for which she endured constant ribbing from Beth. Then off to Kensington to meander through the quaint and expensive, but not to be missed, shopping haunts of royals and rock stars.
“I’m glad I listened to you, Annie. Thanksgiving in London is just what I needed! What are you looking for today?” she asked, as they entered the first china shop.
“Portmerion,” Anna replied with her trademark wink. “Help me search each corner—you never know when a piece with a discontinued pattern will jump right into your hands! I’ll take the basement, and you can have the first floor.”
That bittersweet trip had happened three years ago, but it seemed like yesterday. Anna had been away on a month-long project in Britain, promoting her first book, when she had received the card from Beth. It had taken close to a fortnight for the note to catch up with her, but Anna had smiled as she poured her tea and slit the top of the card.
Anna always looked forward to correspondence from her dearest friend. They had a ritual now, after these twenty years. They were lucky to get together two or three times a year, and it hadn’t been even that frequent in the last five. With Anna’s practice, media commitments, and book tours, and Beth’s busy life juggling her law practice with raising two teenagers, and helping out with Tom’s business, the two of them rarely got to see each other. So they had resorted to postcards whenever away, and notes on birthday cards to let each other know they were always in each other’s thoughts. Occasionally they surprised each other with the unexpected card or letter, so Anna was anticipating a good laugh or at least a chuckle. Beth had a way with words. This was probably why she excelled as a lawyer, Anna would chide every time she had the chance.
The familiar Boston postmark told Anna there wasn’t a move to announce, so she settled into a comfortable chair ready to have her spirits lifted. Taking her first sip of the hot, sweet tea, Anna was totally unprepared for what she began to read.
My dear Annie:
Forgive me for writing rather than calling, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you this over the phone. I found out yesterday I have cancer. I had felt a lump in my breast earlier in the fall, and to make a long story short, had the biopsy last week and got the results yesterday. After much deliberation, I have scheduled surgery for after Thanksgiving. I’m still in shock, and very scared. I know this is a terrible way to ask you for help, but can you call me when you get a minute?
Please forgive me again for being such a coward about this. Thanks and I love you!
Beth
Anna’s hand shook as she read and reread the card. What day was this? Had Thanksgiving come and gone? My God, what must Beth think? Anna wondered. This was written two weeks ago, and she hasn’t heard from me. With shaking hands, she pounded the numbers into the phone, staring at her watch and trying to calculate what time it was in the States as the phone began to ring. A groggy voice finally said hello.
“Beth, I’m in London, and I just opened your note. I’m so sorry it took all this time to find me. Are you awake? Are you okay?”
“Is that you, Annie? It’s two o’clock in the morning here, and yes, I’m awake now. I’m so happy to hear from you,” Beth said sleepily. Both of them started to cry.
Beth arrived at Gatwick two days later. Once her friend had settled into Anna’s suite at the hotel, they took off for Kensington’s slick cobblestone streets for an afternoon of shopping, during which Anna convinced Beth to help her find some bargains. Anna had purchased a collection of unique “finds” that day, including a Portmerion teapot, which she sent to Becky for her forty-fifth birthday. Becky kept the teapot here, at the cottage, on Martha’s Vineyard.
It had been damp and bitter cold that weekend in London, right before Beth’s surgery. Just like today, Anna thought, as the whistling of the kettle startled her back to the present. The kitchen was totally dark now, except for the dial on the wall clock. Anna was surprised to see it was six o’clock.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she mumbled to herself as the clinician in her assessed her state of mind. “I seem to be getting less focused, not more. Where has today gone?” Suddenly she was very hungry and very tired.
The light from the refrigerator filled the room as she scanned the shelves for someth
ing to eat. Settling on Brie and grapes, she used the microwave to heat the cheese, and searched the cabinets for some crackers. Her plate of food prepared, she debated whether she dared have some wine. “I can’t get any spacier than I already am,” she said aloud, and opened the chilled Chardonnay she saw hiding on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
Anna sat staring at the dying fire and poured herself a second glass of wine. Her hunger satisfied, and finally feeling warm for the first time since she’d arrived, she loaded the CD player with discs, pulled the afghan around her, and curled up on the sofa to the sounds of classical music.
SATURDAY
_____________________
It was the silence that awakened her. Disoriented and somewhat apprehensive, she searched the room for anything familiar, slowly remembering where she was, and thinking it must be close to dawn. Once she was fully awake, the luminated hands of her watch confirmed that it was five o’clock. She noted the still full glass of wine, pulled herself up from the sofa, and took the wine bottle into the kitchen to recork it.
Anna was definitely not a morning person, so on the extremely rare occasions when she found herself actually awake before seven o’clock, she got moving. With a pot of coffee brewing, she took a long, very hot shower, marveling at how she was actually preparing for a Saturday at five-fifteen in the morning. With dawn an hour away, Anna headed out for a drive.
Logically, one would go down-island to watch the sunrise. But Anna found herself driving in the direction of Gay Head, the extreme westernmost end of the island. It was a special place that Anna found mystical, even sacred in its remote beauty. A Thermos of coffee by her side and the Explorer starting to warm up, Anna almost smiled as she tackled the winding road up-island. It was misty and quite foggy, and before long Anna found herself encased in a cloud. She saw the cemetery on her right and pulled down the gravel road almost by instinct.