by Carol Hutton
Fumbling through her purse to find a coin, Anna continued her dialogue with the saint. “See that girl—I mean woman—over there having a conversation with the Blessed Mother? Well, she means close to about everything to me, and she has cancer. She is going to need a lot of help in the coming months, so please do what you can to see that whatever she’s asking for, she gets. Thanks.”
Anna dropped the ten-franc coin into the box and lit her candle. As she turned to leave, she looked into the eyes of Saint Francis and whispered, “I could use a little help too, if you can spare it.”
As they walked outside and around the massive structure, trying to take it all in, Beth pointed up toward the spires of the cathedral.
“Look, Annie, look, there they are. The famous gargoyles.”
Anna figured Beth thought she’d forgotten the significance of gargoyles in Gothic architecture, but she had not. She turned to her friend and said, “They are to keep the evil spirits away from the church, remember, Beth?”
Beth looked sadly at her friend and said, “I could use one or two of them looking out for me right now.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do about that,” Anna said. And Anna had made sure two gargoyles were perched on the headboard of the hospital bed before Beth was returned to her room following her breast surgery.
Although Beth tried valiantly to translate their choices from the menu on the wall, both of them were so tired they ordered with only a marginal comprehension of what they eventually would be served. The meal was delicious, outstanding actually, and brimming with capers. So, warmed by wine and food, they walked from the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower and caught the elevator to the top of the century-old landmark.
Looking out over the sparkling lights of the city, Beth turned to Anna and gave her a hug. “Please help me beat this thing, Annie,” she whispered in Anna’s ear. Anna nodded silently as the two women held on to each other like two little girls bravely facing unseen monsters. As the friends stood together in the brisk air, Anna hoped that the tears she felt stinging her eyes wouldn’t freeze on her face.
It was close to nine o’clock when they left the spectacular tower and walked until they found a Metro station. Beth and Anna ran to catch a train back to the hotel, laughing all the way. How was it possible that two forty-five-year-old women with all those letters after their names had no clue what a caper was?
Anna scoured Rebecca’s kitchen and found what you would expect to find in the kitchen of a woman who had two homes, full-time help in each one, and who was on the Martha Stewart preferred reader list. There were more cookbooks in this one house than Anna had textbooks and reference books in her office. Anna found an interesting and not too difficult recipe for linguine with pesto, pine nuts, and goat cheese, threw in a few other odd condiments she had never heard of, and topped off the dish with two dozen capers, one for each day since Beth’s funeral. The dish was actually quite good, though a bit on the salty side, but Anna was committed to finishing off each and every caper. As she was cleaning up following the feast, Anna smiled as she envisioned Becky asking Patrick to lay in goat cheese, pine nuts, and capers for a visiting weekend guest.
She changed the CDs back to Mozart, Beethoven, and Debussy, then rooted in Michael’s desk for some paper. The flashing answering-machine light still beckoned to her. Not now, she thought. I’ll check it later.
Anna found a tablet of paper and, rather than use one of the roller-ball pens with some cardiac-drug advertisement on the side—another reason so many patients cannot afford their medications, she thought somewhat cynically—she rooted in her bag and found her Mont Blanc. The pen had been a gift from her agent, and she used it rarely. I guess I’m really no better than Michael, she thought to herself as she tugged the top off the burgundy implement. Who am I to judge him so harshly?
Anna found a Duraflame log, then placed it in the hearth and lit it. She had used most of the dry logs that Patrick had piled for her by the fireplace. There were two fairly good-sized ones left, but she thought she might extend the life of the fire by cheating a bit with the packaged variety. She was craving a cappuccino, and she knew there would be a machine somewhere, so she set off to find it. Sure enough, Becky had one.
The machine was screeching as the milk started to foam, and Anna deftly coordinated the process. Cup in hand, Anna walked through the kitchen, glancing at the clock. Incredibly, it was already ten o’clock. Anna didn’t feel at all tired as she pulled the afghan up onto her lap and took her first sip of the strong, steaming coffee. She stared into the fire, its flickering flames of blue, yellow, and orange both mesmerizing and soothing her.
She had no idea how long she might have gazed before she began to write.
To my dear friend Beth,
This has to be one of the oddest things I’ve ever done, writing to someone who is now dead, but somehow it seems to be the only thing left to do. I miss you already, Beth, and I know how much I’ll miss getting those postcards and notes from you. Just think of how much fun you and I would have had if you had lived long enough to go on E-mail. In a way we were already connected in cyberspace, old friend….
“What do you mean by that, Annie?”
Too stunned to be scared, Anna looked up to see Beth sitting cross-legged on the cocktail table. Her floppy denim hat was perched on her head as she flipped through one of the coffee-table books Becky had stacked on top.
Anna said through tears of happiness, “Beth, is it really you?”
“Of course it’s me, you ninny—who else could it possibly be?”
Anna couldn’t believe her eyes. Beth was actually here, in the room and ready to talk to her.
“Well,” Anna said as she put down the pen, “I guess I don’t need to write anymore.”
“So what do you mean about E-mail, huh?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Beth. You and I could communicate without even speaking at times. But forget about that. I have so many more important things I need to talk to you about. How long can you stay?”
Inside, Anna wondered why she wasn’t sputtering with amazement over this visit from Beth. But the two of them were so close in life, why not after death?
“As long as you need me to, but only for tonight. I felt we left things unfinished too, and I thought I owed it to you to come back, so I found John and here I am.”
“John? Who’s John?” Anna asked. “Should I know this guy?”
“And just who do you think you’ve been connecting with all day, Dr. Carroll?”
“Oh, that John! So that’s his name. Who is he? What does he do for a living, Beth? He seems a little troubled, somewhat ambivalent in a way, but down deep I think he’s a very peaceful man, the type of guy who really is at home with himself.”
Beth was smiling and shaking her head. “That’s my Annie, ever analyzing. Annie, John was the priest who officiated at my funeral. Don’t you remember he came over to you when you were sobbing, took your hand, and helped you into the limo?”
Of course. It all came back to Anna now. That was why he seemed so familiar, and that was why he seemed to know things without being told. It was all starting to make sense.
“So, he’s the friend of the Duffys, huh?”
Beth looked at Anna, then looked away at the fire. “Cousin, actually. Remember the week we spent here last fall, Annie? I know you remember our conversation that day in Becky’s kitchen when I asked you if I was going to die.”
Beth had a rather smirky smile on her face when she looked at Anna and said, “One of the best things about where I am now is I get to know what you’re thinking without asking. It’s a whole new way of connecting. It is fabulous. If we have time, I’ll teach you a few things before I leave for good.
“Anyway”—she was serious now—“you’ll recall I took a long walk that afternoon after we spoke in the kitchen. You had hit the nail on the head with what you said to me, Annie, my friend, so I set out trying to figure out what I had left to do before I moved on. Tha
t was one of the wisest things that has ever come out of your mouth. It really helped me go the next step. As I was walking past the Duffys’ house, John was coming out of their back door, looking pretty upset. I guess we were two troubled souls who recognized each other, because he asked if he could join me and I said sure, though I didn’t know what kind of company I’d be. In any case, that’s how we met.
“As we walked, I told him I was dying. It was the first time I said it aloud. I really hadn’t even said it to myself. It was very liberating… saying it, I mean. He just looked at me and nodded. I had no idea he was a priest at that point—I just felt comfortable talking to him. So we walked for miles, and I just talked. I told him about my mother, and how lonely I’d been all these years. I cried when I told him about the girls. I felt so bad knowing I would be leaving them behind. I asked him what I could do for them and for Tom, too. He was so terrific, Annie. He listened and asked questions, and by the time the walk was over, I really felt at peace. That man helped me face my own death and somehow transferred strength to me to do all that I needed to this last year. Before we parted that afternoon, I asked him what he did. He told me he was a priest. ‘Father John Duffy,’ he said. ‘You know the Irish, a priest in every family.’ ”
Beth looked away from Anna and sighed ever so softly.
“I just smiled at him, shook his hand, and said ‘I should have known. Thanks.’ Then when I felt that the end was really close, I called Becky and asked her to find him for me. I had decided to be buried as a Catholic, and I wanted to talk to him while I still could. And that’s how he came to be at my funeral.”
Anna was staring at the fire, which had worked its way down to just embers and was throwing various shadows around the room. Beth was sitting next to her on the sofa now, but she wasn’t as clear as she had been sitting atop the table.
“I had to come back, Annie, to see you, or rather for you to see me, one more time. It wasn’t that I forgot about you, or that I didn’t appreciate all you did for me toward the end. It’s just that I had so many others that needed me. You are so strong, Annie—you always have been. I’ve always known what I meant to you, my friend. You don’t have anything to say that I don’t already know.
“I came back, Annie, to tell you what you meant to me. I can’t even begin to imagine what my life would have been without you. You were my rock, my anchor, since we were in the first grade, wearing those ridiculous beanies on our heads. And when my mother died when we were in high school, Annie, I was devastated. I don’t think you have any idea how hard a mother’s death is on a child unless you’ve experienced it. As I grew older, I grew stronger, but if I hadn’t had you and that family of yours, I know my life wouldn’t have been the same.”
Beth was beginning to fade from Anna’s sight, but her presence still filled the room.
“That’s why Tom and I had the children so early. I think down deep I always knew I’d have less time, and I didn’t want the girls to be as young as I was when my mother had to go. When I spoke to John that day, I told him I felt guilty that I’d even had children at all. That I was selfish to have brought children into this world knowing my family history. He told me that we all have a purpose or reason for being, and that my girls were here because they wanted to be, not because of me. I thought it was an odd thing for a priest to say at the time. It sounded more like something you’d say, but it made me feel a lot better. Anyway, Annie, you have given me a wonderful treasure chest of memories to carry with me through all eternity.”
Anna’s eyes were misting but she could still see a very faint outline of her friend. Beth was glowing now.
“I can’t stay with you too much longer, Annie. Before I died, John told me what he had been so troubled about that day. He said he was thinking of leaving the priesthood, that he felt unfulfilled and insincere in his work. He told me that afternoon walk changed his life too, and he realized that our meeting was not at all coincidental. John said he had never really reconciled the losses in his life, and that he and I had connected for a purpose. He helped me find my soul and I helped him revive his. I realized during my last hours on earth that I had chosen this life I had, and I died knowing that losing my mother was all part of the lesson I needed to learn. I also died understanding that life is all— no, only—about relationships, Annie. You and I have a connection that knows no boundaries. Just as my mother was and is a part of my soul, so are you. I love you, Annie.”
Anna could taste her tears. She wiped them from her eyes, and she could barely see Beth’s face. The room had a warm glow, even though the fire had gone cold. Anna reached out to her friend but she could only hear her say, “Don’t be sad, Annie. I’m always with you.”
SUNDAY
_______________
Anna woke up gradually, not with a jump-start like the morning before. She looked down at her lap and saw a blank sheet of paper. She lay very still for a long time, watching the soft morning light bring the room alive.
“Beth, you forgot to tell me how we can communicate with our thoughts,” Anna whispered aloud.
Somewhere in the back of her head Anna heard Beth’s voice say, “You already know how to do that.”
As Anna lay on the sofa, she struggled between her heart and her head. She wasn’t sure what to believe or even what she thought she should believe. Had Beth’s appearance in this very living room been a dream, or, truly, a visitation from beyond?
Up until now, Anna had always favored her left brain—that dispassionate, objective, scientific dimension of her character. Like most competent psychologists, Anna based her practice on a set of theories or beliefs about what makes the human person, personality, or character tick. Anna was Jungian trained, hence she viewed dreams as symbols or metaphors created by the unconscious mind.
“Sometimes dreams help us work out a current struggle, maybe even solve a problem,” Anna had said more than once to her radio audience, “or they can be forecasts of what’s to come.”
Carl Jung wrote about the “meaning coincidence” between the dream and waking existence. In other words, he believed that, for a time, our subconscious synchronizes with the conscious mind. This was fairly standard thinking for a mainstream therapist like Anna. As she showered that Sunday morning, Anna thought about Jung and his theory, and she began to analyze her dream.
Of course that’s what it was, a dream, Anna told herself. A very powerful, emotive dream in which her friend Beth appeared to her to bring some closure to her endless grief. Or was it instead an opening?
Anna had no idea how long she spent in the shower mulling over her dream. She went over every word, at least twice. What did it mean? She was brought back when freezing water suddenly sprayed her body. She jumped out of the shower with a shout. Being acclimated to Florida, she had forgotten how fast hot water can turn to cold in New England.
Anna quickly towel dried and dressed warmly for the trip to Gay Head. She wolfed down an English muffin, then quickly poured some coffee into her travel mug. In wonderful contrast to yesterday, it promised to be a beautiful, sunny, but cold November day. The sun at her back, Anna smiled wistfully as she took in the stark beauty of the rolling hills, thick with trees and dappled with sunny clearings.
She always appreciated this ride up island. If she hadn’t known she was in the United States, she would have sworn, judging from the scenery, she was in western England on her way to Cornwall, or out on the Dingle peninsula in Ireland. The road lined with the stone hedges was missing only the sheep farmer strolling with his herd. It was quite deserted this Sunday, with only a few of the chimneys emitting tiny trails of smoke. Anna decided to take the long way around to the lighthouse once she reached the fork in the road at the tip of the island.
As she turned the Explorer onto the road paralleling the coast, Anna saw flashes reminiscent of the breathtaking drive along the Pacific between Monterey and Carmel. She could almost hear the seals barking out on the big rock off the Monterey peninsula. Always moved by the view, s
he was mesmerized by its majesty. And today, with just a hint of mist sneaking back over the brown mounds of sand, the landscape was especially beautiful.
She knew she could pull into any one of the private beach accesses this time of year, but she didn’t. Anna had always been respectful of people’s privacy, maybe too much so, which was somewhat of an odd trait for one who spent each day probing into others’ psyches. But that was done, of course, at their request. So she drove the length of the road and pulled into the vacant lot next to the path leading to the beach. It was strange to see it so empty. Anna could not remember a time when she hadn’t seen at least a bicycle hidden somewhere. But today it looked as though she was the lone visitor to this hallowed land.
Anna carefully navigated her way down the long narrow path, which was riddled with mud puddles from yesterday’s rain showers. Once on the boardwalk that would take her to the beach, Anna checked her watch. It was close to ten o’clock. Working backward from her flight time of two-twenty, she calculated she had about an hour and a half left to collect her thoughts before leaving the island.
After a day like yesterday, Anna wasn’t sure if she had the capacity for any feeling at all. She wasn’t tired, or sad, or confused, or relieved, or peaceful. She just was. She walked forever, looking out at the water and then down at the sand, occasionally stopping to examine a rock or a shell. It was during one of those movements from stooping to upright that she caught a glimpse of a figure in the distance. He was walking toward her from the far side of the huge cliff. She knew instantly it was him.
Neither one of them changed pace or showed recognition. As he came fully into focus, her mouth turned upward into a big smile and a feeling of joy filled her heart. She knew he felt the same way.
They met at the big flat rock and, without speaking, almost in unison climbed up, sat Indian style, and looked out to the sea. Her hand reached over and touched his, and she turned and looked into his eyes.