Eternal Journey (3 page)

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
dampness, 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 something 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.