Eternal Journey

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by Carol Hutton


  “Pink is my favorite color, Annie, so at least one bedroom and one bathroom must be pink.”

  “Okay, Beth, but I want a white bathroom and a blue kitchen. And I want to put wallpaper in the living and dining rooms.”

  It was the summer they were eleven years old. Anna’s father had finally finished the long-awaited dollhouse. Both girls were delirious with excitement. They had collected piles of fabric scraps and magazines, leftover paint, and shoe boxes full of every discarded thing you could think of to use in the interior design. It was to go in Anna’s room, but for now it sat on her father’s workbench in the cool, musty cellar. They worked on it every day for the entire summer, and by the time it was finished, it was magnificent. Even Anna’s mother was impressed. “Well,” she said, “you two girls should be decorators. Now which of you will keep it clean?”

  The two girls had giggled and taken pictures of the pink gingerbread house with Beth’s Brownie camera. They had Anna’s father take a picture with one of them on either side of the structure. Even though it was a black-and-white photograph, Anna never forgot how pink their dollhouse was.

  But they never did play with it. That was the last summer they played with dolls or amused themselves with such frivolous activities. Beth’s mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks after school started that September, and the cancer changed everything.

  “Cancer changes everything,” Anna heard herself say as the pink house faded from sight. She looked over at her passenger and saw that he was staring out to sea. Anna looked straight ahead, unsure if she had spoken aloud or to herself. Before she knew it, they were pulling into Vineyard Haven, the legendary tavern seeming to beckon to them.

  Anna put her shoes on the hearth to dry while lunch was served. The fire warmed the room, and Anna was glad they were the only patrons in the place. It was usually bustling with tourists, so much so that, unless you were a first-time “day-tripper,” as the locals called the people who flocked over each day from Woods Hole, no one would dare attempt to lunch at the famous harborside restaurant on a Saturday during the summer months. But this wasn’t the summer, and she welcomed the emptiness she knew they would find. She couldn’t remember when she had tasted chowder this good. Looking out over the harbor, she watched as the ferry left the dock.

  “I remember the last time I was on that ferry,” she said as she looked across the table into those now familiar eyes. “Beth and I spent a week here a year before the cancer prevailed. I think it was one of the most significant experiences in my life.”

  “Tell me about it, Annie,” he said gently. So she again started talking to him about herself.

  “I’ve been flooded with memories ever since I arrived on the island yesterday,” she began, “strange and very disconnected flashes of my life up until Beth’s funeral. On the drive here to the tavern, I got swallowed up in my memories of the pink dollhouse Beth and I decorated when we were little. Then back on Cape Poge, after you took off down the beach, I had such vivid memories of my grandmother and mother when I was very young that I actually made an angel in the snow—I mean sand— for Beth. Then, as we were driving along the Beach Road, I remembered that last week Beth and I spent here and the conversations we had about death. Beth changed after our ‘Vineyard retreat,’ as she referred to it; she seemed physically weaker, but emotionally and spiritually stronger.”

  “How do you feel now, Anna?”

  She thought it odd how he switched from calling her Annie to Anna, but she answered him anyway.

  “Better than I did this morning sitting on that cold rock in the graveyard, that’s for sure!” she replied. Anna collected her now dry footwear from the hearth, dressed her feet, paid the bill, and they left the restaurant. Outside, she waved to him and hopped into the Explorer to go back to the house. “See you later,” she called to him as she eased out onto the road. Suddenly she remembered his bike and abruptly pulled over. Leaping out, Anna contemplated the now-vacant roof of the Explorer. She was puzzled, having no recollection of him unstrapping the bicycle.

  Sighing aloud, Anna climbed back into the driver’s seat and headed into Vineyard Haven proper. Her destination was one of the best bookstores anywhere, snuggled in among the T-shirt shops that lined winding Main Street. The bookstore was a wonderful place to browse—and get lost, especially up on the second floor. They had gone there together, she and Beth, and spent hours perusing nutrition and holistic healing books. Today I am going to go where the spirit takes me, Anna thought.

  “What a positive omen!” Anna said aloud as the space directly in front of the bookstore opened up. The thirty-something young man in a battered pickup tipped his cap as he left the space just for her. There’s just something about the folks who live here, Anna thought, as she smiled and waved back at the young man, or is it that life here is just so different from life in South Florida?

  Anna went directly to the upper floor, making a mental note to pick up a paper before she left. She needed to check Sunday’s tide schedule so she could plan her trip out to the rocky beach at Gay Head. As she walked past the children’s section, she caught a glimpse of a floppy denim hat with big yellow sunflowers decorating the brim. She could just make out the face under the hat, a small freckled face framed with red curls, staring back at her with a puzzled expression. Anna’s heart skipped a beat.

  Anna blinked and rubbed her eyes. It was as if the bee perched on the middle flower had jumped over to her shoulder and begun humming in her ear. Anna again clearly heard Beth’s voice.

  “I’m going to do it, Annie, and you’re going to help me,” Beth had said as she pulled the large-brimmed denim hat from the shopping bag. “This hair, what’s left of it, has got to go.”

  So Anna and Beth had gone upstairs to the bathroom, where they first cut, then very carefully shaved, Beth’s hair. The chemo had left Beth with patchy tufts of the once shiny, copper-penny hair she’d always been so proud of. It had been Beth’s idea to use Michael’s electric razor, and they giggled like schoolgirls about how they’d put one over on him.

  “He is so damned fastidious,” Beth exclaimed. “The man presses his underwear!”

  The event turned into a party, and since Beth felt well enough to have some wine, they toasted each other with a very expensive merlot. Anna applied vivid tattoos of flowers, hearts, butterflies, and bees she’d bought for her nieces all over Beth’s head. The next day, Beth, outfitted in her new denim hat and sporting fading tattoos, went into Edgartown with Anna, where they bought two baseball caps. One was a very feminine cap à la Laura Ashley, the other a shiny yellow metallic with a visor. They stopped next in Oak Bluffs and bought the last straw hat and several more baseball and golf caps in the only store still open that late in October. All told, Beth left the island with six hats, but her favorite was the floppy denim.

  Anna, her eyes riveted on the sunflowers, was momentarily unaware of a steady tugging at her sleeve.

  “Excuse me, lady, but can you help me find a book on bees?”

  The spell broken, Anna looked down as the child’s denim hat slipped off her head and toppled onto the floor. They both stooped to retrieve it. Anna remained on her knees in order to remain at the child’s level. As she peered at freckles so close she could count them, Anna felt a lump rise in her throat.

  “This is my favorite hat,” declared the little voice as the child brushed some dust from the brim. “My mom says it is a summer hat and I shouldn’t be wearing it now. But today’s my birthday, so I’m allowed. I need to find a book about bees,” she continued. “Do you know if bees understand English? Joey—he’s my brother—says bees will attack my hat next summer. I need to find out how to tell the bees they aren’t real—the flowers, I mean.”

  As Anna helped to reposition the hat on the child’s head, the lump in her throat passed. It was time for an introduction.

  “My name is Annie. What’s yours?”

  “My name is Elizabeth Lauren Henson, but everybody calls me Beth,”
she said just above a whisper.

  With a wry smile, Anna held out her hand in greeting and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth Lauren Henson. I love your hat! And bees only understand bee-talk, I think, but let’s look for a book to make sure.”

  Perched on one of the little chairs designed for smaller bottoms and shorter legs than she now possessed, Anna looked through picture books with Beth for the next ten minutes. Anna was wondering where the child’s mother might be when she heard the quiet voice.

  “Well, there you are! I’ve been looking for you,” the woman stated, seeming relieved as she approached them carrying several hardcover books. Anna was grateful to be interrupted, even from such a welcome pursuit as poring over picture books with Beth. She realized her entire left leg had gone numb as she tried, quite ungracefully, to rise from the elfin chair.

  “Beth is very inquisitive and persistent,” the woman explained. “I suggested she look up the answer to her question while I browsed the grown-up section.”

  “I think your daughter is perfectly delightful. It was her hat that caught my eye. Beth and I have learned all kinds of things together these past few minutes. But I’m afraid we still don’t have an answer to her question. By the way, I’m Annie.”

  “And I’m Stacey,” said the woman, extending her hand. “Thanks for helping my birthday girl. She’s six years old today.”

  “Say,” Anna said impulsively, “could I interest you two ladies in some ice cream? Six is a big birthday, and something tells me a little girl with such a fine hat deserves a reward after all this research.”

  Anna grabbed a paper as Stacey paid for her books, and the three of them strolled up the street to the ice cream parlor. The women talked while little Beth courageously tackled a double-decker chocolate cone that seemed almost as big as she was. She finished with a beard of brown, accompanied by a bib to match. After gobbling the last of her dripping cone, Beth rummaged through her backpack and, with sticky fingers, pulled out an iridescent blue plastic wallet.

  She removed a photo of herself in the midst of a group of children, gathered around the U.S. President, of all people. They were sitting at the very same white wrought-iron table, perched on red-and-white-striped cushions and eating ice cream cones. All, including the head of state, displayed big chocolate smiles and sunburned noses.

  “Look, there’s the President of America, Annie, with me and all my friends. He likes ice cream even more than me. I know ’cause he told me so himself last summer when he came to visit us.”

  Anna smiled at the little girl and said, “You know the President has a very important job, Beth.”

  Beth scrunched up her face, tilting her head to one side. She glanced first at her mother and then said, “Well, I guess so. Do you have an important job, Annie?”

  Anna hesitated before answering. “I never thought of my job as important, Beth; necessary, perhaps, but not important. Now, your mom has a really important job, even more important than the President! Moms have the most important job in the world. Sometimes, Beth, people forget just how special and important a job it is.”

  Anna felt Stacey’s eyes on her as she stood at the counter to pay for the ice cream. As they walked toward the Explorer, the woman started fumbling through her bag of books. She pulled one out, checked the cover, and looked inquisitively at Anna. “You’re her. I mean, this is you, isn’t it?” Stacey pointed to Anna’s picture on the back cover.

  “Yes, that’s me, my second book, actually. The photo on my first is much more flattering,” Anna said awkwardly.

  Stacey became serious. Eyes filling, she reached over and touched Anna’s arm. “Dr. Carroll, I can’t thank you enough. You don’t know how you’ve helped me. Your first book changed my life. Could you… would you sign this book for me, please?”

  Always surprised and humbled when this happened, Anna had still not gotten used to the fact that people actually read and benefited from her advice. Maybe people do listen after all, she thought.

  As she autographed the book and regarded the little girl, Anna said, “Stacey, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You and Beth have brightened my whole day.” Anna gently repositioned the floppy hat on the little girl’s head and squatted down again to look into the child’s eyes.

  “Happy Birthday, little lady, and don’t you worry about those bees. You have a very strong sense of yourself and, believe me, those bees will know it. You just tell them your name is Beth, and that your friend Annie says they aren’t allowed to bother you. They’ll understand.”

  She felt Stacey’s eyes on her again as she got into the Explorer, but when she looked over to wave good-bye, Stacey was busy reading what Anna had inscribed in her book.

  Take good care of yourself and Beth, she had written. She needs her mother—now and always. Godspeed, Anna Carroll.

  Anna drove up Main Street, the tears trickling down her cheeks meeting the smile that was beginning to form.

  The phone was ringing as she opened the back door of the house. Without thinking, she picked it up, instantly regretting the reflexive action. Regret turned to relief when she recognized Chris’s voice and figured he was checking up on her.

  “I know I promised I wouldn’t call, but Charly insisted,” he said. “You know what a little worrier she can be.”

  “Sure, go ahead, big guy. Blame it on a ten-year-old. Why can’t you just admit you were too curious to leave me alone?” Anna replied with a smile.

  “No really, Annie, it was Charly’s idea. Here, talk to her.”

  “Hi honey,” Anna said as she filled the kettle with water. “So what’s going on down there?”

  “Well, Annie, Dad said that maybe you were lonely and we should check up on you. It’s been a boring weekend here, although Dad did finally get Rollerblades, and we went skating down Ocean Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. Dad was the oldest guy on skates and he did pretty good.” Anna heard Chris groan.

  “Well, I’m doing fine here, Charly, and I appreciate your concern. Let me talk to your dad again, will you?”

  Charly’s little voice dropped to a whisper, “I wasn’t worried about you, Annie, but you know Dad.”

  Anna smiled as Chris got back on the line. “So Charly was concerned, huh?” she teased him. “Why can’t you just say what’s on your mind? And, honestly, Chris, Rollerblading at fifty! What are you trying to prove? Haven’t you spent enough money on those knees of yours by now?”

  “It was worth it, Annie. Charly had a great time.”

  Chris had been divorced for five years now, and the wounds were still raw. The marriage had been a good one until his consulting business took off. It was hard to say whether success changed him, or whether all the nights and weeks away drained the soul from that union, but Anna felt it was one of the saddest endings she had known. He had seen her through a few failed relationships as well, and had been her mainstay many years earlier when she herself divorced. Do success and self-fulfillment have to come at such a price? Is it possible for two bright, evolving, talented, and ambitious people to sustain the journey through life together, each optimizing the gifts he or she had been bestowed with? Anna and Chris had spent more than a few hours discussing and debating those very questions over the years. Since his divorce, however, their conversations had become less philosophical and more and more personal. The relationship took on yet another dimension, one that was never discussed but was increasingly present.

  The loud whistle of the teakettle summoned her.

  As Anna poured boiling water into the Thermos, fine dust from the low-cal hot chocolate mix wafted up and triggered a sneeze.

  “You’re not catching cold, are you Annie?”

  “I’m fine, Chris,” she said, smiling again at his not too subtle attempt to hide his concern about her. “In fact, I’m on my way out to Menemsha to watch the sunset. It was raining this morning, but the sun is out now. And, yes, it’s cold. I’ll tell you all about it next week. When are you back in town?”


  “I should be back by Wednesday. Let’s have lunch on Thursday. The agent called about the book, and I told her we’d have a proposal ready by the first of the month. Hope that’s okay with you.”

  “I really haven’t thought about it, Chris. When is the first of the month?” she asked as she scanned the kitchen for a calendar.

  “Annie, it’s ten days from now,” he said with a slight note of impatience in his voice.

  She heard the irritated “Get a grip” tone in his voice, but after the strange though wonderful day she’d had, her mind wasn’t really focusing on work.

  “We’ll talk about it on Thursday, Chris. Thanks again for calling. Bye!”

  The hot chocolate made, Anna ran upstairs to change those sandy socks and put on a warmer sweater. She had glanced at the tide table and noted that sunset was at 4:28. It was three-thirty now, and she realized the timing couldn’t have been better if she had planned it.

  Anna had to put down the visors on both the driver and passenger sides of the Explorer as she drove into the setting sun to the little fishing village of Menemsha. Some of the most beautiful sunsets in the world could be savored from this remote little town. The place absolutely bustled in the summer, with fresh fish trading hands almost as soon as it was caught and cleaned. The little fish markets that lined the pier sold and prepared the best fish Anna had ever eaten. She figured if she were that impressed, then the place truly was the best, because she enjoyed fresh catch from the Florida Keys year-round. If it wasn’t from those crystal blue waters of the Florida straits, she was eating the day’s catch from places such as Sebastian and Stuart, the not-so-well-kept secrets of Florida’s Treasure Coast. Always partial to shellfish, especially lobster and clams, she was certain you could find no better than the catch of the day brought into Menemsha.

  The sunsets here were always spectacular, the purple and scarlet “sailors’ sky” caressing the horizon, providing a vivid backdrop to the few tugs and fishing boats remaining on the rippling water, which lapped gently against the rocky, craggy shore. A finer study in contrasts could not be found.

 

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