Water's End

by Jessica Deforest

  Agnes Mills seemed to hear. Her eyelids fluttered for a second and she gripped Anne's hand. Anne felt a thrill of hope, believing perhaps the stroke was only a mild one, even though she could see how her mother's face drooped on the right side.

  Once more Agnes squeezed her daughter's hand before she let out a long sigh. Anne waited to hear her mother draw another breath, but it didn't happen. Agnes was gone. Through blinding tears, Anne rang the call button.

  A nurse walked in, surveyed the scene, and said, "I'll call the code cart."

  "No," Anne said. "She's at peace now. And she had a living will asking that no extreme measures be taken to prolong her life."

  David, Flo, Anne's children, Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ralph, and a handful of relatives from Kansas came for the memorial service. Everyone had to leave immediately, because of commitments at work and at home. According to her wishes, Agnes Mills was cremated, and Anne and David scattered her ashes at Water's End the following Sunday.

  They sat in his car and he held her in his arms and let her cry, just as he had so many years before when her first marriage broke up. There were no kisses, and there was no passion, just the comfort of his arms and the warmth of his embrace. Somehow, it was enough.

  Later that night, at home, she allowed herself to think about all that happened over the past few days. The house was empty now, and Anne felt adrift. She no longer had to care for anyone, and she missed it. In a strange way, she was an empty nester, having parented her mother through her final days.

  Everything had its season, and she knew she would move forward with her life, but right now she needed to deal with her feelings, or she wouldn't be able to move at all. Once again she cried until no more tears would come. Still, she couldn't settle down to sleep.

  For some reason, she began to worry. Something was wrong, but she was unsure just what. With so much going on, she hadn't had time to sort it all out. What was nibbling at the edge of her thoughts? Then she realized it was David; he had lost more weight. He still looked wonderful, but if he lost much more, he would be too thin. Had the cancer come back?

  She didn't want to think about it but couldn't quiet her mind, and she tossed about frantically in bed until the telephone startled her. Turning on the lamp, she saw the clock read three-thirty in the morning. When she answered the phone, she heard a male voice, sobbing. "David?"

  "Yes," he squeezed out in a strangled voice.

  "My God, darling, what is it?"

  "It's Mark. He's been . . . stabbed."

  "Is he all right?"

  A low groan that sounded inhuman escaped from him. "No. Oh, no."

  "David, listen to me. Where are you?"

  "Laurel Canyon."

  "I'm on my way."

  She was at his house in less than two hours, some sort of record for her, because there was no traffic at that hour. At first she was afraid he had left, because he didn't answer the doorbell. When she banged on the door and got no answer, she realized she had left her key at home. She went around to the patio door, usually left ajar for Taffy, who lay sleeping on the sill. Stepping over the dog, she ran inside to find David across his bed, hair wild, tears running down his face.

  "David?" she said. "Are you all right?"

  He didn't reply, looking at her with more agony on his face than she would have believed possible. Without a word, she lay down beside him and took him in her arms. He sobbed for hours, then quieted and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Anne dozed with his head on her breast and woke several hours later, stiff and uncomfortable, to find he hadn't moved. He had thrown one arm across her. In sleep, he looked just as he had that moonlit night in her bed long ago, like a pouty-faced angel sculpted in gold. When he rolled over, Anne slipped out of bed. She knew he would need all the rest he could get.

  The story was on TV that morning. Mark's picture flashed on and an announcer said, "Well-known motion picture and television star Mark Wharton was killed by an attacker outside Spangles Restaurant in Beverly Hills last night. Wharton's death was the result of multiple stab wounds.

  "The alleged assailant, Leon Fogle, a transient with a history of mental illness, is in custody.

  "Actor Charles Holiday, who happened on the murder scene, tackled and held Fogle until witnesses summoned police. Holiday and his date, Debra Carvel, arrived at the famed restaurant just as the attack took place. Holiday sustained numerous knife wounds to his hands while wrestling the knife away from the attacker.

  "Although Miss Carvel, a nurse, administered CPR, Wharton was dead on arrival at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center."

  Anne put her head on the counter and sobbed. Dear Mark, with his brown eyes and crooked grin. How could someone do such a thing? Her friend didn't deserve to die like that. No one did. The grief she felt was so deep and so intense she wasn't sure she could endure it. The numbness wouldn't come, and she felt every ounce of pain she was capable of. If she could hurt this much after knowing Mark for only a few months, she could only imagine what David must be feeling.

  Silently, zombie-like, they made it through the next few days. Anne called her office and explained what had happened. "No problem," the personnel director said. "Take all the time you need. You've more than earned it. I've always fussed at you for not taking care of yourself. Now it's time you did."

  Anne stayed with David, cradling him in her arms each night until he stopped crying and fell into a dead sleep sometime around dawn. The response from their friends was overwhelming. So many people called, she finally quit picking up and just let the answering machine take the messages.

  Friends stopped by with flowers and condolences, but at first David couldn't stand to see anyone. Anne fielded their hugs, comforting some and being comforted by others.

  She made the funeral arrangements, wrote the obituary, and tried to buoy David up. During the funeral, Anne thought about Mark's tales of attending Hollywood High. Many former classmates, now famous in their own right, were at his funeral, all wearing dark glasses and looking somber. Dom, still working on a movie in Germany, collapsed and had to be hospitalized.

  David, unable to eat since Mark's death, stood by Anne's side, frail and shaky. She kept her arm about him and prayed he would make it through the rest of the day. Following the funeral at the little chapel in Forest Hills cemetery, Mark's massive walnut casket, covered in a blanket of red roses, was placed in a private mausoleum next to his father, David Wharton, the silent-film star.

  Afterward, friends crowded the Laurel Canyon house, where Penelope, David's maid in Hollywood, tended a catered buffet. David seemed all right, holding forth on the sofa and regaling friends with his memories of Mark. Sometimes he even laughed as someone brought up another anecdote, but Anne could hear the hollow undertone in his voice, and she feared he was on the verge of collapse.

  One problem she hadn't anticipated was the steady stream of tourists and rubberneckers driving by the house. It was getting so bad that the mourners had trouble getting in and out of the area.

  "Danged fools," Charlie Holiday said when he arrived. "I don't know what they hope to see. You'd think they'd have a little decency, wouldn't you? But I guess no one knows the meaning of the word these days."

  Anne started to shake his hand, but he had sustained many knife wounds in fending off Mark's attacker. His hand was heavily bandaged, so she grasped his arm. "Thanks for trying to save Mark."

  He put his other hand, also bandaged, over hers. "I just wish I could have done more. If only I had arrived sooner, he might still be with us."

  "At least Fogle is in jail and can't do this to anyone else."

  "Yeah, but there're ten more out there waiting to take his place. These are crazy times we live in." He looked at her, his vivid blue eyes almost hypnotic. "Maybe we need to go back to Kansas, kid. Things are a lot different back there."

  "That sounds tempting, but for now, go on over there and see David."

  Elena, who had been a close friend of Mark's, was in the kitchen, hel
ping Penelope. "Things are never going to be the same again," Elena said, a tear slipping down her nose. She wiped it away with the edge of her sleeve, and then sat down at the kitchen table. "I don't know what David is going to do. Mark left him everything, but it will never make up for not having him here. He was a joy, wasn't he? A true thing of beauty, inside and out."

  Anne hugged Elena. "I only knew him a short time, but I adored him," Anne said. She handed Elena a tissue.

  Elena wiped away tears. "And he always loved David. I think he was the best friend he ever had."

  Looking out the kitchen window, Anne saw David standing by the pool, ostensibly watching the wild finches splash in the fountain. But his eyes were vacant, his lower lip extended, and the muscles in his jaw worked rhythmically. She walked out to him and wrapped her arms around him, then led him to a wicker chair, where he sat staring blankly at the ground.

  She was headed to the kitchen to get him some coffee when she heard him fall.

  Chapter 25

  "Anne?" a man in a white coat asked.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm Bill Mitchell, David's doctor. He's told me a lot about you."

  "How is he?" she asked.

  "He's doing well. Of course, it doesn't help that he was exhausted after doing the Las Vegas shoot. And losing Mark in such a tragic way has set him back considerably."

  "Please tell me what's wrong with him. Is the cancer back? Is that it?"

  "Look, Anne, take a deep breath and try to relax a little. David has told me he wants to discuss his illness with you. Up until now, he's wanted to keep things private, but he feels it's time you know what's going on. He's awake, so you can go in and visit with him for ten minutes. No longer, okay?" He patted her shoulder. "I'll show you to his room."

  David lay back against the pillows, his face paler than his sheets. But a weak smile curved across his lips when he saw her. "I'm so glad you're here," he said.

  "I've been so worried about you, darling. The cancer is back, isn't it? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I'm sorry. I just didn't want to worry you." He took her hand. "But it's not cancer, Anne. It's been four years since the last recurrence, and I'm still not showing any signs of it."

  She squeezed his hand. "Thank God."

  "I almost wish it were. You see, I tested HIV positive a couple of years ago."

  She gasped. "But you haven't been with anybody. How is it possible?"

  "Not for more than thirty years. I didn't have any symptoms until a couple of years ago, when I started having night sweats," he said, pulling at his sheet. "Dr. Mitchell thinks it's from the transfusions during my cancer surgery in 1983. They didn't start testing blood supplies for AIDS until 1984.

  "But I've been doing well on a medication called AZT. Before the drug came out, there was no hope, so I guess I'm lucky in a way." He smiled bitterly. "Ironic, isn't it? I tried to be gay and decided I was straight before AIDS ever existed. Then life-saving surgery infects me."

  Anne didn't know how she could sit there so calmly. She wanted to scream, wanted to tear her clothes off and run naked through the streets. She wanted to beat her breast and wail so everyone in the world would know she was in pain, to scream that death was a thief taking away everything she had ever loved.

  Instead, she sat and held his hand and tried to take in all he was saying. The last two weeks had been too much. First her mother, then Mark. Is there no justice in the world? Why would a loving God destroy her mother and Mark, and now David?

  The doctor came in just as she put her arms around David. "Sorry, Anne, but I'll have to ask you to leave now so this fellow can get some rest," he said.

  "Good night, my darling," she said, kissing David's forehead. It felt hot.

  David patted her hand. "I love you," he said.

  "And I love you."

  On the way out, she felt weak and sank down into one of the big chairs in the lounge. Dr. Mitchell came over and sat down next to her. "Anne, I want you to go home," he said. "You need some rest. David told me what you've been through recently. I'm afraid we're going to have you in here too if you don't slow down."

  "But David needs me."

  "He's going to be all right. Let us keep him here for a few days. His condition has been pretty stable, and I think we can maintain him in reasonably good health for a long time. We know a lot more about this disease now. He's exhausted and needs to rest."

  She knew he was right. She spent the night at the Laurel Canyon house and drove back to Santa Barbara the following day. The house still felt strangely empty without Agnes Mills, even though she had slept most of the time during her final days. Anne had worried for such a long time about her mother that it was almost a relief not to.

  That night, Anne was exhausted and slept soundly. For the first time in several weeks, she awoke feeling rested. She felt even better after a big breakfast. Once the kitchen was clean, she packed a bag and went back to David's house so she could be closer to the hospital. She visited him every day and was reassured as more color return to his face. The circles under his eyes were fading, and he was eating.

  "Are you satisfied?" he said, swallowing the last of his meal. "I've been a good boy. See? I've cleaned my plate. My mother would be so proud."

  That afternoon she spoke at length with Dr. Mitchell. "Try not to worry about him," he said. "He's strong and he's mending. AIDS is no longer the death sentence it once was. Plenty of people out there who have it are able to lead healthy, meaningful lives for many years. We have more tools for treating the virus today, and we know a lot more than we ever did. New drugs are being tested every day, even as we speak."

  He put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "Go home and get some rest. He'll probably be well enough to leave the hospital in about a week, two at the most. I promise we'll take good care of him."

  She didn't want to leave, but she knew she had to get back to work, and David understood. The time might go by faster if she kept busy, and she could call him every day. Reluctantly, she went home and was back in the office the next day.

  Anne was surprised at how many co-workers came by to offer their condolences on her recent losses. Everyone knew she had been a friend of Mark Wharton, and though most were sensitive to her feelings, some asked prying questions that stung her.

  David had taught her a valuable lesson on handling such people. "Just look them in the eye and say 'Why on earth would you ask me that?'" he said. Dave's tactic generally worked, leaving most people without a good reply.

  One woman, however, had the gall to say, "I just want to know."

  "Too bad," Anne said, turning on her heel and walking away, shocking even herself with her firm reply.

  It was a hard week. She had loads of work piled up, and she thought she'd never catch up, but by Friday, she had met all her deadlines, and her in-box was empty when her supervisor came by her office. "Anne," she said, "We know your other friend is in the hospital. You have plenty of vacation time, and there's nothing pressing right now, so if you want to take an additional week off, it's not a problem."

  Taking advantage of the generous offer, Anne took David home the following day and stayed with him for a week. She made his favorite dishes, coaxed him to eat, and at night cradled him in her arms until he went to sleep.

  Each new newspaper or television follow-up story on Mark's death devastated both of them.

  "Why can't they just leave it alone?" David said when one particularly graphic television story ran. "All I can think of is how Mark's life ended, with his last breath full of pain and terror. He didn't deserve that."

  The worst was yet to come. A picture straight out of a nightmare flashed on the TV screen: Mark's lifeless body lying in a pool of blood on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. She quickly cut off the TV, but she knew David had seen it. He lay on the sofa without moving, eyes closed.

  "No more television," she said. "We can't subject ourselves to this, and you know it will drag on until after that madman is tried."<
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  Later that day she cleared out Mark's clothes at the Laurel Canyon house. She gave the Salvation Army his designer suits and monogrammed shirts, all the beautiful things he had looked so good in. As soon as David felt up to it, they would go down to Palm Desert and tackle Mark's things there.

  Everywhere she looked she was reminded of Mark. His grandmother's antique clock ticked away in the foyer, his white Mercedes sat in the garage, and photos of him hung in nearly every room. But she knew it would take more than removing Mark's personal belongings to start the healing process for David.

  Fortunately, David didn’t have to go through any legal processes. Mark had a living trust, so there was no need to probate the will, and the entire estate automatically passed to David. Wealthy in his own right, Dom long ago had refused to allow Mark to include him in his will.

  Anne worked steadily, boxing up all the photos, clearing out Mark's personal items in the den, and putting his jewelry in a safe-deposit box. Later that afternoon she called a dealer who specialized in luxury cars, and he took Mark's Mercedes on consignment.

  David woke from a long nap to find her packing Mark's scuba gear.

  "It's just as if Mark never existed," he said, head in his hands. "One minute he's here, and the next we're packing him away."

  He shook his head. "Mustn't be reminded of him; mustn't think of him. Is this where it goes? Is this what it means to be a human being? Maybe I ought to just pack up my stuff now and be done with it."

  "Look," she said, "don't start questioning the meaning of life. That's not the real issue. It's Mark. We loved the man, and he was taken from us in a horrible way. That doesn't mean we give up on life. Violence, pain, and death, random and without reason, are a part of living. We have to accept that."

  He sat up and reached blindly for her. Wrapping his arms about her waist, he pressed his face against her. "It's just so hard," he said. "Sometimes I want to die."

  She shook him. "No, no. I couldn't bear it. We all have a purpose here, and we never know how we touch the lives of others. Just think, my darling, what you have done for me. I could never have made it through my divorce from Joe without you, and though I couldn't find you when I left Tully, you were there in my heart, giving me strength and hope. Having you in my life now is everything to me."