Water's End

by Jessica Deforest

  Now she knew David inherited his unusual eyes from his grandfather. The knowledge brought on a new round of tears.

  Each time she walked down the hall to her room, she stopped to look at his pictures. Next to her bed was the bareback shot from on their honeymoon in Colorado, along with the last picture ever taken of David, his tawny head turned skyward, with the seagull hovering over him as if his soul were taking flight.

  Anne realized he had been preparing for his departure, even as she snapped the picture, and wanted to leave her this final portrait. She lingered in front of it several times each day, forcing herself to recall his essence even as she mourned.

  The hardest part of her grieving was the unexpected. Although she had packed all his belongings, it was the little things she found accidentally that caused the real pain. She could prepare herself for what she knew would stir her feelings, but it was the chance note David had scribbled to himself and left by the telephone, or the blond hair clinging to her bedside lamp, that devastated her.

  Finding his reading glasses under his bed left her desolate for a whole day. She half expected him to wander into his room any moment now to read another bestseller. Turning on the stereo, she found the CD of the Three Tenors still there, as if David might play it at any moment. She had given it to him on his birthday, a good choice, because he loved the album and often listened to it while they ate dinner by the pool.

  Anne realized that no matter how painful or inconvenient it was, she had more grieving to do, so she surrendered to it, and as the days wore on, she began to feel better.

  It took months, but the day finally came when she woke up without crying. Then came a night when she didn't cry herself to sleep.

  Gradually, she came to acceptance. He was gone. She had loved him, but she couldn't bring him back. Her only consolation was that he was free of the pain that constantly wracked his body. For the rest of her life she would miss him. But now her grief was bearable.

  Her soul still had a hole in it, but not as large as it had been. Now she could fill it herself, and in place of the awful sadness, there was joy that he had been a part of her life.

  She became a regular member of St. Mark's Episcopal Church, David's home parish. David was an altar boy as a child. She could just imagine him serving Sunday mass, head bowed, hands steepled in prayer. The church made her feel closer to him, even as her renewed faith helped her heal.

  After a couple of months she began to take part in the church's activities, even joining a book-discussion group. Before long, she started playing bridge with some of the women she met there. But it wasn't enough, and she longed for something more in her life.

  She wasn't sure what she wanted until she found herself kneeling next to Charlie Holiday at the communion rail one Sunday and thought about their discussion after David's funeral.

  "Meet me after the service," she whispered to him.

  He smiled and nodded.

  Following mass, she found Charlie waiting by the large stone gate that led to the street. "Hey, Kansas," he said. "How ya doin'?"

  "I'm fine now." She hesitated. "It took me a while to get where I am, but I think I'm going to survive. How about you?"

  "Tolerable." He said. "I was worried about you, but you do look healthier these days." He squeezed her upper arm. "Even got a little meat on your bones now."

  She couldn't help laughing. "Hey, mister, whatta ya think I am, some kinda prize heifer?"

  "Yup, you got that right, lady. I'd give you first prize any day."

  "Waaaal," she said, feigning a broad country accent, "I 'spose it's better to be a prize heifer than just a plain old heifer, or a cow."

  They both laughed.

  "So you're in the mood to talk," Charlie said. "How about lunch at the club?"

  Anne had kept David's membership at the tennis club, but she didn't know why, because she didn't play, but it was a good place to have lunch. "Sounds perfect," she said. "May I ride with you? Penelope dropped me off this morning."

  "My pleasure. My chariot awaits just around the corner," Charlie said.

  In some ways he reminded her of David, with his wild sense of humor and love of animals. His car seats were always covered with golden retriever hair from his dog, Beau, which had twice fathered a litter of show-quality puppies with David's Taffy.

  Anne had been there when the second litter was born, and she could never think about the experience without being choked up. The day the pups opened their eyes, David, Charlie, and Anne had lain down in the whelping box and let the tiny creatures crawl all over them. "God, don't you just love puppy breath?" Charlie said, laughing as a little fellow sniffed his nose.

  "Remember Taffy's last litter?" Anne said as she buckled her seat belt and picked a long blond dog hair off her navy-blue dress. "I was just thinking of them."

  "Oh, do I," Charlie said, starting the car. "I sure am glad I kept the pick of the litter. George is something. He's a great dog and good company for Beau."

  They talked all the way to the club, where she called Penelope to let her know she wouldn't be home for lunch.

  It was not until after they finished eating that Anne raised the idea of a David Hawkins Foundation for AIDS research. "I'll pledge a million," she said, "to get things started."

  "I'll see your million, and raise you two," he said. "Plus I'll volunteer all the time you need. But you're the most important part of this idea. David's illness can raise awareness so everyone knows that AIDS isn't a matter of morals, nor is it just a gay disease. Are you ready to get started?"

  "Definitely," she said.

  He shook her hand. "It's a deal."

  Chapter 30

  It took almost six months to get the David Hawkins Foundation off the ground. Traveling all over the United States, Anne spoke to anyone who would listen, from professional groups to women's clubs, even Congress. Her message was simple: AIDS is not just a homosexual disease, and it respects no one.

  A number of celebrities, including presidents, rock stars, sports figures, and Hollywood personalities, had already paved the way in the campaign to fight the deadly disease. Now Anne took up the banner, hoping to raise awareness even more, and used her husband's name to draw attention to the need for public education about the disease.

  Charlie arranged appearances for her on several talk shows, where she spoke about David's tragedy and that of everyone living with the virus. Her television appearances spurred the foundation forward, and before she knew it, she was swamped with speaking requests.

  Life became a blur, a series of suitcases, airplane interiors, hotels, lukewarm meals, and deliveries by the hotel dry cleaners that kept her suits free of stains and wrinkles between jaunts. Sometimes her throat hurt from talking, but she didn't mind.

  That January she gave the foundation a big residual check from David's last movie, which was a great success. In the film, titled simply Septembre, he played a middle-aged man who finds his childhood sweetheart, a parallel with his own life that did not go unnoticed.

  His death made Septembre even more popular in Europe, where he became a cult hero. Because of his romantic image, David Hawkins was a tragic figure who generated great sympathy throughout Europe, and eventually, the United States too.

  Because he was single and had lived with Mark for so many years, David's sexuality was questioned, wrongly so, in many circles. It took his marriage to finally convince the public he was straight. She thought about their conversation the day after their wedding.

  Reading the tabloid headlines about their marriage, he said, "People are so fickle. They gossiped about me for years, but now that I've got a wife, I'm suddenly respectable, even though I've been straight all my life, except for a short time no one even knows about."

  Anne laughed. "Let them think what they will think, for they will think."

  "Who said that?"

  "I probably don't have the quote right," she said, "but some king's mistress, if I recall correctly."

  "Well, she was
right. No matter what you do, people will think what they want to, and they will talk about it. So you might as well go on and live your life the way you see fit, as long as you're not hurting anyone."

  Regardless of where she spoke in Europe, the response was overwhelming. The film was a smash, David was a martyr, and Anne was treated as his vicar. Charity balls and other events provided funds for the foundation, and she had no trouble getting big-name stars to provide the entertainment, even those who were not close friends of David's.

  Best of all, Charlie Holiday was a perennial, always there when she asked him to appear. In addition to being a fine actor, he also was an accomplished musician who played guitar better than anyone she had ever heard, except her son. His taste ranged from classical guitar to twelve-string folk to electric rock. And he had a great voice.

  Anne wondered why he had never shown off his musical talents in a film. When she asked him about it, he said, "Everyone says it's too much of a departure from my image. I'm more of the strong, silent type."

  His music might not have gone over in the movies, but it did when he appeared at fundraisers. Anne was thrilled with the huge sum they took in at a ball in Las Vegas headlining Charlie. They had to turn people away because the room wasn't big enough.

  Afterward, they stayed to greet people, chatting for hours as Charlie laid on the charm, building relationships among the big donors, who loved nothing more than dropping the name of a movie star in conversation. It was dawn before they got away from the ballroom.

  "Let's go have breakfast," he said.

  Anne beckoned to him. "Vamanos. I'm famished."

  They ducked into the hotel's all-night cafe, she in her beaded gown and Charlie in a tux, nothing unusual for Las Vegas, and sat on stools at the 1950s-style counter.

  The waitress stared at Charlie. "Aren't you?" she started to ask, but thinking better of it, said, "Nah, couldn't be," and took their order.

  When their coffee came, Charlie said, "I think we're off to a good start. The investments I've made should provide funding for research and treatments for those who can't afford them. And the principal will also grow."

  "Sure is nice to have a financial wizard for a friend," she said, smiling. "No wonder you're so rich."

  He looked surprised, then pointed at himself, forefinger touching the tip of this nose. "Me?"

  "All right, enough modesty, Mr. Money," she said. "Everyone knows about your financial expertise."

  "The University of Kansas does have a good finance department," he said. "Second only to English and theater. It was a useful minor."

  Instead of laughing, Anne stared at the calendar behind the counter and fell silent.

  He touched her hand. "What's wrong?"

  "Tomorrow it'll be a year since David died," she said.

  Charlie shook his head but didn't speak.

  Anne's eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over, so she blinked and turned her head. "I wonder if we'll ever stop missing him."

  Charlie put his hand over hers. "The answer to that is no, and we don't ever want it to happen, any more than we would want our loved ones to forget us when we're gone. But the hurt isn't quite so bad now, is it?"

  She nodded but couldn't speak.

  He slid off the stool and tossed a five-dollar tip on the counter. "Come on, Kansas, I'll walk you to your room. You'll feel better after some sleep."

  Pausing at her door, Anne said, "Come in for a few minutes? I shouldn't have had coffee. Now I'm wide awake."

  "Okay. Tell you what. I'll give you one of my famous foot rubs."

  With a sigh, she flopped down on the sofa and kicked off her satin pumps while Charlie removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

  "All right, little gal. Help is on the way," he said, pulling a cushion off the couch to sit on. Taking her right foot in his hands, he began to knead her instep, then her arch, heels, toes, and finally her calf muscles.

  Anne put her head back and let out a sigh. "My dear boy," she said, "you are truly a man of many talents. What magic fingers you have."

  "Guitar players have strong hands. Guess you could tell."

  "Ummmmm." She groaned with pleasure as he rubbed her toes, massaging each joint.

  "Hey, Kansas," he said, "not so loud. You'll have the whole hotel thinking I'm doing more in here besides rubbing feet." Grinning, he rubbed her other foot and calf, finally massaging her toes.

  Then he rose, uncoiling his lanky frame. "Gotta go. Walk me to the door."

  "You're the best friend I've had in a long time," she told him. "There aren't enough words to thank you for all you've done for me over this past year."

  "It truly has been my pleasure," he said, turning toward her.

  He looked into her eyes, and she felt a sudden thrill. "You've given me far more than you realize," he said, putting his arms around her and drawing her to him.

  Surprisingly, it felt perfectly natural to be standing there in Charlie Holiday's arms, feeling his warmth and the beating of his heart. Without her heels on, she couldn't quite reach her arms around his neck, tall as he was. So she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.

  "Let me go," he said, pulling her tighter and stroking her back. "I said let me go." He held her even tighter.

  She laughed and squeezed him back.

  He giggled delightedly, then held her at arm's length. "Hey, kid, I've really got to go now," he said. "What time is our flight tomorrow, or should I say today?"

  "We're on tonight's eight-o'clock flight. Our limo will pick us up at six-thirty."

  "Okay, brown eyes. I'll be back here at six-fifteen. Now go get some sleep."

  "Uh-huh," she said, but she knew it would be impossible. And she was right. Even though she plugged herself into her little tape player, she still flailed about the king-sized bed. Usually the self-hypnosis tapes put her right to sleep. But all she could think about was David, playfully floating on his back in the ocean that day. And suddenly gone when she turned her head, that one moment changing her life forever.

  At last she fell into a fitful sleep and drifted into dreams. David floated just beyond the breakers but didn't beckon to her. Instead he motioned her away. "Live, darling," he shouted. "Don't be afraid to live." Then he turned into a white gull and winged off into the horizon, disappearing into a series of stars in a black-velvet sky.

  She awoke, rested, with a peaceful feeling in her chest for the first time in months. Turning on the light, she looked at her watch; it was two o'clock in the afternoon, which the sunlight leaking in around the edges of the heavy drapes confirmed.

  Charlie was off at a meeting with some financial supporters, so Anne decided to go out by the pool. She slipped into a swimsuit, put a big shirt over it, and headed outside. After a salad at an umbrella table, she lay in the sun for thirty minutes and then went back to a table, where she sat in the shade and read awhile. About four o'clock she went back to her room, showered, put on her favorite tracksuit, and packed for the trip home.

  It was the anniversary of David's death, and she missed him with every fiber of her being. Yet she had made it through this day, and she would get through the night, too, and tomorrow would be a different day, no longer the anniversary of a terrible event.

  As much as she had wanted to call Charlie and cling to him, she knew it was vital to get through this by herself. She had survived a year ago, and she knew she could do it again.

  As he had promised, Charlie knocked on her door promptly at a quarter after six, and soon they were off to the airport and on the plane home. After a smooth landing, they collected their luggage, got through the airport without Charlie's being recognized, and picked up his station wagon at the airport parking lot. Traffic was light, so they were soon at Anne's house. Charlie carried her suitcases inside.

  "Hey, hero," she said, "Why are you carrying that stuff? It has wheels. Men always like to do things the hard way."

  "Just want to show ya how strong I am, Kansas. See? Macho men don'
t need wheels." He beat his chest and growled.

  Anne laughed. "It's not hard to tell why you're an actor. You're always on stage, you big old hambone."

  A grin curved his lips and lit his eyes. "You got that one right. Besides, real jobs just aren't any fun. There's nothing like getting paid to play."

  "Hey, big cowboy, lemme feel those muscles of yourn," Anne said, taking a step toward him. He reached for her, and instead of feeling his arm, she ended up in his arms, locked in an exciting embrace.

  Surprised, she looked up into his calm blue eyes, which were filled with the tenderness she had always seen there. But now, she recognized something more. She read love in his eyes, and she knew it must be in her own, too, because love was exactly what she was feeling. For what seemed forever, she stood gazing up at him, silently admitting what she had felt for some time now.

  "You're onto me, aren't you, little gal?" he said, stroking her hair.

  She nodded and stared up at him.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "It's too soon." He started to pull away.

  But she squeezed him and said, "Lemme go."

  He laughed and held her closer. "Okay," he murmured, tilting her chin and bringing his mouth ever so softly down on hers.

  She held him tighter.

  Love is Patient

  Love is patient, love is kind.

  It does not envy,

  It does not boast,

  It is not proud.

  It is not rude,

  It is not self-seeking,

  It is not easily angered,

  It keeps no record of wrongs.

  Love does not delight in evil

  But rejoices with the truth.

  It always protects,

  Always trusts,

  Always hopes,

  Always perseveres.

  1 Corinthians, 13:4-7

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6