by Jaden Skye
Laughing, they built a huge, fat snowman, with red buttons in his eyes.
But as soon as Cindy put its hat on, the snowman began to melt.
“It’s melting,” she yelled to Clint, who suddenly couldn’t hear her.
Desperate, she started to scoop up the melting snow, but then awoke abruptly .
Ann was in her bedroom, pulling open the curtains, letting in the light of day .
“It’s morning, wake up,” Ann said.
The light was too bright. Cindy threw her arm over her eyes. “Not yet. Close the curtains.”
“Time to get up,” Ann was moving briskly around the room, going from window to window. “Come on, it’s getting late. Visitors are coming. Today’s the day.”
“I’m not up to it, “ Cindy mumbled.
“You have no choice,” Ann’s voice rose higher. “You told a lot of people they could come today. They want to see you. It’s time, Cindy. It’s three weeks now.”
Cindy rubbed her eyes and slowly stretched. “I don’t know,” she said.
“There’s nothing to know,” Ann said. “Just get up, shower and change.”
Cindy pulled off the covers and dragged herself out of bed.
The weather had grown warmer as the end of May approached. Ann had opened all the windows in the house, letting the spring breezes in. The forsythia were in full array and the trees in the yard outside were bursting into bloom .
As Cindy splashed water over her face in the bathroom, she thought of how much Clint loved the springtime. They’d loved waiting for the weather to get warm together, watching the earth come back to life. At her urging, he had even helped plant a garden in the back before they left for their honeymoon. Cindy didn’t know if she could ever go back there and care for the young sprouts that must be shooting up.
Cindy could smell Ann baking brownies in the kitchen. Time had a way of moving forward, even if she did not want it to. She knew she couldn’t go on like this forever. There was a stream of people waiting to visit and offer condolences. Clint had been raised in Cove Bay since he was a boy and the entire community wanted to come and bring food and offers of help. Some, of course, wanted to come out of curiosity, to see Clint’s new home and wife. They might have seen Cindy in passing, but she had not been a regular here in town. There were rumors all around town that Clint’s family wasn’t happy with Cindy. No one knew exactly why.
Cindy had to screen the visitors carefully. Of course Clint’s old friends had to be welcomed. She also had to receive visits from people at the company he’d worked for - DGB Oil. Ann told her that the company had been calling daily, asking after Cindy, especially Henry Greerson, Clint’s boss. Clint had been a rising star in the company. Clint was smart, assertive, outspoken and did a thorough job with everything. Working as he did, researching the effects of offshore drilling on the environment, he was an important voice. And speaking at many conferences, meetings and lunches, he was in the public eye. He’d even recently been sent to Washington to speak both to members of congress and significant lobbies in the oil industry.
Clint had loved what he did and all that went with it. It was as if he were on a personal crusade to create a crucial balance - care for the wildlife and environment and find a way for much needed drilling to be done safely and wisely. Clint wasn’t someone who could be easily replaced. Not by anyone .
In preparation for receiving visitors, Cindy went to her closet and looked over her clothing. She usually dressed simply, in slacks, jeans, short skirts and shirts. There wasn’t much in her closet to cover the days of visitors she now had to receive. She wanted to make a good impression. This was Clint’s memory she was taking care of. They would remember him, partially, through the wife he had chosen, and she was determined to play the role well.
“Hurry up and get dressed. It’s almost time,” Ann called from the other room.
Cindy went into the bedroom and slipped into a simple, dark-green, linen dress in which she always felt at ease. It had a little scoop neck, medium sleeves, a lovely bodice and fell below her knees gracefully. Then she slipped into gray and green open sandals, went into the bathroom and brushed her long, auburn, tousled hair. Without a doubt, her hair was the most striking part of her, she thought, combined with the light freckles on her forehead. Clint always loved it when she brushed her hair. He would stand in the doorway and watch her for hours.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he’d always say. “All the guys are crazy jealous of me. They don’t know how I landed someone like you.” Then he’d come over and kiss her on the neck. As the months went by, she’d begun to believe him.
Now she didn’t know who she was anymore.
Cindy brushed her hair for a long time, not really looking in the mirror much. It was hard to see herself standing there, getting dressed, without Clint nearby. What was the point of it?
The doorbell rang.
Oh no, she thought, they’re here.
At least the family wouldn’t be coming today. That was something to be grateful for.
She stayed in the bathroom a moment longer, and leaned against the door, listening to Ann let the visitors in. The voices rose and fell, then there was quiet. She couldn’t hide here forever.
She straightened her shoulders and walked out into the living room, as if it were a normal visit, as if nothing horrifying had happened to turn all their lives upside down. Clint always wanted me to be brave, she thought, as she sailed in. No one smiled as she entered.
Clint’s friends had arrived, as well as some acquaintances of Cindy’s from work.
“I can’t even imagine what you must be going through,” Tina, a friend of Clint’s said.
“Unbearable,” another friend, Barbara, chimed in.
Cindy was grateful for their kindness.
“Clint told us how much he loved you,” Tina said, leaning forward. “He felt like such a lucky man.”
Cindy choked up. “Thank you,” she managed. “I was the lucky one.”
“We live just a few miles away,” Tina offered. “We’re here if you need us.”
Cindy felt grateful. “That’s so kind,” she said and meant it.
The doorbell rang again. Al, a longtime pal of Clint’s walked in, carrying a gift basket. He’d been the best man at the wedding. “Listen Cindy,” he said right away. “I was Clint’s best man and still am. You need anything, you let me know. That’s what a best man is for.”
He put the basket on the coffee table, started unwrapping it and giving some fruit, crackers and pieces of candy to all of them. Cindy noticed that Ann seemed to feel calmer as the afternoon went on. There were people nearby to support Cindy. She wouldn’t be totally alone.
They all remembered Clint, what a good friend he was, how much fun he was to be with, what amazing things he could have done with his life.
“The damn guy always walked a thin line though,” Al suddenly said, “Things would be going great in his life and then he’d always turn around and spend some time on the wild side.”
“What do you mean?” Cindy asked, startled.
“Danger, he had a taste for it. Nothing terrible, just some adventures he couldn’t pass by. For a while it was car racing.”
Cindy hadn’t heard anything about this.
“Yeah,” Al continued, “like when his car crashed in the third race he entered.”
“It was terrifying,” Tina said.
“His mother really freaked on him, even though he walked out of the wreck without a scratch. The crowd let out a scream when they saw him alive. But he gave up racing anyway. He was always lucky in strange kinds of ways.”
“I guess his luck ran out,” Tina said, sadly.
“Jesus,” Al said. “I just can’t believe this. How did it happen?”
The doorbell rang again. Ann got up and let Henry Greerson in.
Clearly, Greerson had come straight from work. He still wore a pin striped suit and tie and had the paper rolled under his arm. Probably read
it on the train ride out. Cindy hadn’t expected him to come. He walked in, stopped for a moment, and gave Cindy a long look.
“How are you doing, Cindy?” he said.
“Thank you for coming,” Cindy replied.
“Of course,” he said. “I would have come sooner. Your sister said you weren’t taking visitors.”
“I couldn’t in the beginning.”
“Naturally.”
There was something off-putting about him. He had thin lips, hazel, piercing eyes and a sallow complexion, even though the days were warm and sun plentiful. She supposed he lived in the city and didn’t get much time outdoors.
“I want you to know that I represent everyone in the company when we tell you how sorry we are. Clint is a great loss. If there is anything we can do to help your transition, you must feel free to call on us.”
Cindy shivered. She did not feel she could call on this man for anything. As he sat down and made himself comfortable, she vaguely remembered that he had flown out to Barbados right after Clint’s death. He had been the other one to identify the body. She also remembered that Clint had spoken well of him.
Cindy saw Al looking at him carefully, too. Greerson seemed out of synch with the group that had gathered—too formal, smug, a bit intimidating.
Ann stood up. “Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mr. Greerson?” she asked.
“That would be lovely,” he replied.
Ann left to get the coffee and pastries and he turned to Cindy. “You have quite a wonderful sister,” he said.
“Yes,” she said softly, wondering how he knew Ann was her sister. “More than wonderful. In fact, I couldn’t have gotten along at all without her these past days.”
“How long is she staying?” Barbara piped up.
“Forever,” Cindy laughed.
Greerson looked surprised. “She’s moving here to be with you?”
Cindy was taken aback. How did he know Ann didn’t live nearby?
“Who knows,” Cindy replied jokingly. “Right now it feels like anything could happen. The world seems upside down.”
“Hell, this world is upside down,” Al said. “When a great guy like Clint is washed away, what can you count on anymore?”
“Terrible accidents make you feel that way,” Greerson agreed.
“I’m not so sure it was an accident,” Cindy suddenly said.
Greerson flinched, and so did the others.
“That’s a weird thing to say,” Al looked at her strangely.
“The more I think about it, the less sure I am about how Clint died,” Cindy spoke naturally, the words just pouring out. “It doesn’t add up. There are plenty of other things that could have happened.”
“Like what?” Greerson said.
You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone listened to Cindy intently. Ann walked back in the room with coffee, and stopped.
“I went online and looked up some facts,” Cindy continued. “There are assaults and murders on the Eastern Coast of Barbados regularly. There’s one case after another. The police are used to them. It’s part of the routine. Nothing much is done.”
Ann interrupted. She didn’t want Cindy to go on like this in front of others. “It’s easy to imagine all kinds of things when someone you love has suddenly died,” she said, to ease the tension that was building.
“I’m not imagining anything,” Cindy said, “I’m doing research.”
“Research on what?” Greerson pressed her.
“Cindy is a research assistant at a newspaper,” Anne said. “It comforts her to check all kinds of facts. Even when she was little, she enjoyed doing that. I remember her going through magazine after magazine, trying to find out this or that.” She smiled again, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but it did not lift.
“That’s a dangerous path to take,” Greerson said quickly. “Suspecting Clint’s death was a murder. Thinking like that can create a lot of distress, for you and everyone.”
“I totally agree,” Ann said.
Thankfully, the doorbell rang again.
“Now I see why you’re staying here for such a long time,” Greerson said to Ann. “You need to take care of your sister until she calms down and sees things clearly.”
Cindy detested this man on the spot. Who was he to come here and suggest she wasn’t seeing things clearly? What was it to him? What made him think he saw everything so clearly?
Ann went to the door and to everyone’s surprise, Tom Mallord, the pastor who had both married them and done the funeral service, came in. He and Clint had had a close relationship for many years. Clint thought the world of him. Mallord carried a little package, neatly wrapped in his hand.
“Hello, Cindy,” he said as he walked in, and handed her the package. “This is for you. It’s something I hope will help you through the days ahead.”
“Thank you so much,” Cindy replied, taking the package. She hardly knew him, but always enjoyed the time they’d had together.
Ann pulled out a chair for him and he sat down. Then she introduced Mallord to Greerson. He knew all the other guests in the room.
“You came at the perfect moment,” Greerson said. “We were just talking about the best way to view what happened to Clint.”
Mallord raised his eyebrows. “A big question,” he said.
Greerson looked at Cindy, as if expecting her to once again voice her fears . She said nothing.
“Cindy was just saying she’s not sure that Clint’s death was an accident.”
Once again the room grew steely quiet. Mallord listened intently without changing his expression.
“She’s been researching murders on the East Coast of Barbados,” Greerson went on derisively.
Cindy noticed Mallord looking at her thoughtfully.
“Sometimes the best thing,” Greerson went on, “is to see a therapist to clear your mind and bring you back to reality.”
Cindy felt little drops of perspiration forming over her forehead and chin. He was suggesting she go to therapy because she thought Clint’s death might not have been an accident? . Didn’t she have a right to put the pieces of the puzzle together in a way that made sense to her? Did that mean she was crazy?
She wondered what Mallord thought. He had a wonderful reputation, lived simply with his wife in a small house the parish provided, and spent long hours with his congregation.
“Do you agree with him?” Cindy asked Mallord pointedly.
He didn’t answer off the cuff, but paused, and finally said, “Therapy can be good when needed. So can prayer and contemplation. And time always has a way of showing us what has truly gone on.”
Cindy now saw why Clint had liked Tom so much.
“Just the way the ocean brings everything up to shore,” he continued, “the truth cannot help but be brought to light.”
Greerson had enough. He got up and brushed off his suit.
“Well, thanks for the sermon,” he said laughingly, “but I have a long trip back to the city tonight. There’s a lot of unfinished business to take care of. We have plenty to do to deal with Clint’s loss.”
Cindy felt oppressed by his presence in the room and was tremendously relieved that he was leaving . “Thank you for coming,” she said politely.
“It’s my pleasure,” he answered, looking directly at her. “And, as I said, don’t let stray thoughts drive you crazy. You are not alone with this. I’ll certainly be around.”
When he left it felt as if a dark cloud had lifted and the evening light could shine in.
*
Later that night, in bed, her head swimming, Cindy noticed the little package Tom Mallord gave her, sitting on the end table. It was beautifully wrapped, in gold paper. She reached over and opened it slowly.
Inside was a small Bible. Touched to the core, Cindy cradled it in her hands, remembering the wonderful funeral service Tom Mallord had conducted for Clint. The pews at the funeral service were filled to the brim, and a haunted silence filled the
place. Tom Mallord spoke simply, saying no one could fathom the ultimate will of God, or really understand how something like this could happen. But we all could reach out to one another and offer kindness and solace. That much was in our grasp. Cindy’d felt comforted by his honesty.
Some of Clint’s friends got up and spoke about what a wonderful person he’d been and how they couldn’t imagine life without him. Cindy shivered the entire time and could not say a word. Neither could Clint’s mother, who sat in the front in a black, silk suit, staring ahead, in subdued rage.
Clint’s sister Marge, dressed in dark blue silk, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace, spoke in measured tones. Cindy didn’t believe a word she said and the sound of her voice grated at her. Clint’s father sat doubled over for most of the service. When he got up at the end of the ceremony to shake hands, he couldn’t seem to remember anyone’s name.
Cindy looked down at the Bible, opened it up and ruffled through the pages. Could it possibly hold some answers for her? Could anything really give her solace in a time like this?
She opened the book randomly, and it opened on Psalm 84. She read it slowly. Those who pass through the Valley of Thorns, they transform it into a wellspring. With blessings the rain will cloak it. They advance from strength to strength.
The Valley of Thorns, she thought. Yes, that was what this was. But she didn’t see how she would ever get out of it.
*
Greerson was standing there in a gray raincoat, carrying a black umbrella, laughing uncontrollably. She ran up to him to tell him to open the umbrella, that it was going to start pouring. He just kept laughing and paid no attention. She grabbed the umbrella from him, yanked her hardest to get it open. He pulled it back, enraged. Before long the two of them were in a full out tug of war.
She woke swiftly and sat up in bed. She shook her head several times to wipe the dream away.
Cindy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Greerson. She resented his inferring that she wasn’t seeing things clearly. Above all, she prized herself on her ability to ferret out the truth of any situation. She had worked long hours at her job, making sure no important detail was missing in the research she did. It hadn’t been easy landing a job at one of the best papers in New York City. Even though it was an entry level position, they soon gave Cindy more and more responsibility, with bigger and bigger articles. It was up to her to check the significant facts, dig deeper into the backgrounds of the people mentioned in the piece. Cindy was a huge asset. It was common knowledge that she had a wonderful future ahead of her.
