“I have no idea. Everything was invested. Wisely. A lot, I guess. All I know is, I can’t keep it. Thanks for listening. Give my regards to the women and tell Martha congratulations. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Emily was standing outside the jetway at LAX when Ben walked off the plane. Her eyes filled with relief at the sight of him. This man, this person she called friend and lover, could handle anything. The knowledge made her knees weak. She leaned into him as they walked down the concourse.
“We’re heading for the bar. You look like you could use a good, stiff drink. I’m buying.”
“In that case, I accept,” Emily said wanly.
Emily was almost finished with her third beer when she said, her words slurred, “Ben, why did I come here now? Why did I choose this particular time? Was I meant to do this? I called Ian a pisspot; those were the last words he heard me say. Then he…then he died. I have to live with that. How am I going to do that, Ben?”
“You go on, Emily. You don’t dwell on the past and you don’t look back. Yesterday is gone and you can’t get it back. You have no choice but to go on.”
“Yes,” Emily whispered.
“In your heart do you think he wasted his life and yours?”
“Yes,” she whispered again.
“What constitutes a pisspot? Is he one?”
A smile worked around the corners of Emily’s mouth. “It’s another way of saying he was a jerk. A little more graphic, I suppose, and yes, he is…was one.”
“I rest my case. Come on, you have a snootful. Time to put you to bed. Tomorrow’s another day. Actually, it’s tomorrow already.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Ben. Thanks for coming.”
“My pleasure,” Ben said, guiding her from the airport lounge.
In bed, the pillows propped behind her, Emily did her best not to cry. “Someone should cry for Ian, Ben. I’m crying, but I’m not crying for him. Who am I crying for? Do you know, Ben? I’m glad you’re here. Did I say that already?”
Ben smiled. “Go to sleep, Emily. It’s okay, to cry, and it doesn’t matter if you’re crying for Ian or for yourself. I slept on the plane so I’ll be out in the sitting room watching television. I’m sorry, Emily. It’s always hard when someone we know dies. Those of us left behind tend to say we weren’t ready, that it wasn’t time. There isn’t a given time. It happens and you make the best of it. Everything will be all right, Emily. I promise.”
“I just need to know why I came here now, at this particular time. God must have decided to let me see Ian one more time so I could finally see for myself that I was…I’m glad you came, Ben. Oh, I said that, didn’t…?”
She was asleep. Ben smiled as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. He closed the door softly. He settled himself in a chair, then turned the sound on the television set low. He was asleep within minutes.
Emily woke with a pounding headache. Today was…the day she was…to…God, what was today? A real funeral with a hearse would have been simple. That she could cope with. Cremation was…different. Scattering ashes, Ian’s ashes, was going to be traumatic. You can do this, Emily. Swing your legs over the side of the bed, pick up the phone, and call Mr. Jessup. That’s the first step. Don’t think, just do it.
“Mr. Jessup,” Emily said. “I need to know where to have the florist deliver the flowers. I guess I have to hire a helicopter to make the arrangements. This is something I myself have to do,” Emily said, her voice brittle.
But in the end, it was Ben who helped her make the arrangements.
“You’ve come a long way, Emily,” Ben said, in the cab on the way over. “I wish you’d think about going the rest of the way with me. Will you think about it?”
“Yes, Ben, I will. I have a lot of things to think about. It seems like I’ve come full circle.”
“That you have, Mrs. Thorn.”
“What do you think about me taking back my maiden name?”
“Do you feel like an Emily Wyatt, or do you feel like an Emily Thorn?” Ben asked. “Or is it possible you could feel like an Emily Wyatt Thorn Jackson?”
“You’re pushing it, Ben. Here’s the florist. Let’s do our thing and go for a drink,” Emily said tightly. “This do-good stuff is making me thirsty.”
“Now, let me make sure I understand this,” the florist behind the counter said. “You want all the tulips I can get and you want me to take them out to the airport tomorrow morning. You’re going to call me with the exact location. You’re paying me a deposit now and will pay the balance in the morning on delivery. You want all colors.”
“That’s right,” Emily said. “I don’t mean just a few dozen, I mean hundreds and hundreds of tulips. If this is going to be a problem, I need to know now so I can make other arrangements. They’re for a…funeral. Last wishes and all of that.”
“Here’s my card. I’m writing my home phone number on the back since we close at six. I’ll have your tulips wherever you want them.”
From a phone stall on the street Emily again gave her credit card number and made arrangements to hire a helicopter for three hours the following morning. She copied down directions carefully.
“Everything’s been taken care of. Let’s go for that drink and let’s not talk about Ian Thorn or Emily Thorn. Let’s talk about green meadows and blue skies and tell pet stories.”
“Whatever you want, Emily.”
There was only one bad moment as the pilot circled over the desert, but it was solved immediately by Ben. Emily fretted that the ashes in the urn would spiral upward into the rotor blades. The pilot did some fancy maneuvering as Ben let the box go. Emily upended the boxes of cut flowers, one after the other. It looks pretty, she thought, a rainbow of flowers over the desert. She shed a tear. Ben wiped it away.
“You can go back now,” Emily said in a choked voice. Ian’s at rest, finally. She raised her eyes upward. He’s all Yours now. If I might offer a suggestion, I’d put him in charge of complaints.
Good-by, Ian.
Part Three
Chapter 16
Emily stared at the calendar in the kitchen. A year had gone by since Ian’s death. Where had the time gone? Why wasn’t she feeling something—happiness, sadness? Something. She looked around. She didn’t even know why she was home today other than she didn’t feel like going to the office. She could do that now, take time off when she felt like it. All of them could, for that matter.
Yesterday, for some unexplained reason, she’d gone through the employee files. She should give some kind of commendation to all the people she employed. But what?
Damn, she was so out of sorts today. Maybe she needed to pick a fight with Ben or one of the women. An exercise in futility—they wouldn’t fight back and she had no reason to pick a fight. Then do something outrageous, something decadent. But what?
Maybe she needed to talk to someone. Someone. Who? Someone who wasn’t involved in her personal life. A priest, maybe.
Emily didn’t stop to think. She dialed 411 and asked the information operator for the number for Saint John’s Catholic Church. She copied down the number and dialed again. She waited until she heard a voice on the other end of the line. “Father, this is Emily Thorn. I think I might be in need of a little spiritual guidance. Tell me, what does one do when one reaches one’s goals? Do you set new ones? Do you mark time? What does one do with one’s time? I’m not happy, nor am I unhappy. It just seems to me there should be more…of what I don’t know. Am I being selfish in wanting…that’s it, you see, I don’t know what I want. I thought I wanted…needed to prove…I did all that…I came to terms with so many things, but it still isn’t right for me.”
“Perhaps you need to go back to the beginning. To do all the things you were never able to do. Peace and happiness come from within. You need to accept yourself for who you are. God didn’t waste his time when he created you. If you had a wish, just one wish, what would you wish for?”
“Oh, Father, that’s a serious thing to be asking m
e.”
“Yes, it is. It’s something that requires much careful thought. You must be careful not to waste that wish, for there is only one.”
“Father, I wanted children. Unfortunately that didn’t happen. I think I would have been a good mother. I wasted half my life because I was stupid. The best years of my life. Maybe that’s what I should wish for; that half of my life that was lost to me.”
“Perhaps you should make a list before you make your wish. Sometimes when you see it in black and white, it isn’t what you want at all. It could be as simple as going away for a while, getting a fresh perspective. I don’t know if this will be of interest to you or not, but I will mention it. There is a place called Black Mountain Retreat in the Great Smoky Mountains you might wish to visit sometime. I was there once. It was wonderful. You don’t have to be religious to go. The mountains are breathtaking, the streams are crystal clear, the walking trails are scented from heaven. The food leaves a little to be desired, but the coffee is wonderful. It’s a coming together of strangers, sharing, looking at your inner self. But only if you want to explore that avenue. If you want to spend all your time hiking, eating, and sleeping, that’s okay too. It’s a plain, simple life so don’t take fancy clothes if you decide to go.”
“Thank you, Father, for talking with me. Is it all right if I call you from time to time?”
“Anytime of the day or night, child. I’ll be here as long as God wants me to be here. Bless you, child.”
“Father, wait, don’t hang up yet. Tell me, do you know…what I mean is, how will I know when I’ve reached that…that place of…contentment and inner peace?”
“If you’re asking me from personal experience, I can try and give you an answer. When you wake in the morning and you feel like singing, when you hate going to bed because there’s more to do. When you forget to eat because there’s something more important for you to do. When watching a sunrise or a sunset gives you pleasure and you can’t wait to see another. Simple things. Everyday things. A flower, a bird soaring in the sky, having your trash hauled away so you don’t have to deal with it. Smiling for no reason. Laughing aloud. I find my heart is full to bursting at the sight of children playing. These are things that make me want to wake up in the morning and get on with the day. Today young people talk about priorities, look at their watches a hundred times a day. In my day we called it living life to its fullest because we don’t know what tomorrow would bring. You simply cannot waste a minute of life. It’s here to enjoy and live. Have I helped you, child?”
“I don’t know, Father. I think I stepped off the path and took the wrong turn. I’ll find my way back. I don’t know if I should look for my starting point or just go on. What do you think, Father?”
“I don’t have your answers, Emily. They’re within you. If there’s anything I can do, call me.”
“I will. Thanks for listening, Father.”
Emily hung up the phone. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse.
Emily walked through the house, touching the back of a chair, a knickknack, staring at a picture on the wall. Maybe her mistake, if it was a mistake, was staying here in this house. It was hers now. Paid for with money she’d earned from her own sweat.
What do you wish for, Emily Thorn? That’s just it, I don’t know. What I do know is I have to get away before I really lose it. I have to get away from here. I’m going. I’m going to pack and go. Now, I’m going to go now, not tomorrow, not later today, now. I can get a map at the gas station. I’m going to call the women and Ben and then I’m going.
She’d come to love this house during these last years. The house was so lived in, so warm and cozy with each of the women adding her own personal touch—the green plants, the copper in the kitchen, the braided rugs, the knickknacks on the windowsills, the mayonnaise jars full of beach glass that winked and sparkled when the sun hit them through the kitchen window.
One of the women had made checkered curtains for the kitchen windows and back door, but she couldn’t remember which one. That was good, she thought. They blended in, belonged; they were a team, each doing something to contribute to the everyday living.
Emily stared at the door to the bathroom off the kitchen. She’d locked it, told the girls it was off limits. It was years since she’d even thought about opening the door. The mirror was still in a million pieces on the floor. Why was that? She should open the door and clean it up, arrange to have the mirror replaced. Lord, where was the key? Probably in the junk drawer. The tip of a steak knife would open it too. And if that failed, all she had to do was take the door off the hinges. If she wanted to.
Her eyes still on the door, Emily thought about the priest’s words. When was the last time she woke in the morning and felt like singing? The day I got married. When was the last time you hated going to bed because you had something more important to do? The night before my wedding. What about the sunrise and sunsets? Never. When was the last time a flower or a bird gave you joy? Never. Well, do butterflies count? Once, the day of my wedding when Ian gave me a butterfly I had to set free. I am grateful when they take my trash away but it doesn’t make me happy. Laughing and smiling? Hardly ever. Children laughing and playing? Seeing children makes my heart ache. How can I laugh and smile and pretend when my heart is broken?
Emily rummaged her junk drawer for the key, found it, then clutched it in her hand. Her back stiff, she marched over to the door and inserted the key. She turned on the light, stared ahead at the bare wall where the mirror was. Black globs of glue stared back at her. On the far corner a shard of mirror still hung from the top border. If she stood on a chair, she could see into it. If she wanted to. She backed out of the bathroom to search the laundry room for a sturdy wastebasket, dustpan, and broom. She scooped up as much of the glass as she could, then she vacuumed the floor. Wearing rubber gloves, she scrubbed down the bathroom, cleaned the toilet and sink. She hung up fresh towels. When the floor dried, she carried one of the kitchen chairs into the bathroom and climbed on it.
Emily stared at her reflection. “Hello, Emily,” she said quietly. She stared at the Emily Thorn in the mirror until her eyes watered. “It’s me. I have something to tell you, Emily Thorn, something I was too stupid to figure out until I talked with Father Michael. You can’t go back, you can’t ever regain the past. I tried, I even succeeded in dressing up my shell so that I look like the Emily I remembered, wanted to be again. I was so busy trying to recapture that exterior I never gave any thought to…what I did was I shut down inside. I ceased to feel. I wasted more of my life. I want that part of me back. I want to be able to laugh and smile. I want to feel again. And if I get hurt again, I’ll know I’m alive. How else will I know I’m alive?”
Emily reached up and gently tugged at the piece of mirror on the wall. “Good-by, Emily Thorn. You’re a fraud, a phony, a make-believe.” She carried the chair back to the kitchen, but left the light on and the door open.
Back at the table, Emily picked up the note where she’d scribbled the name and phone number of the mountain retreat Father Michael had given her. She dialed direct, asked for information, scribbled some more. “I’d like to make a reservation for tomorrow. I’m not sure when I’ll arrive. Yes, I’d like a cabin to myself. Bedroom, sitting room, bath. Yes, that’s fine. How long will I be staying? Indefinitely!” She scribbled additional directions.
It took thirty minutes to pack four suitcases. Indefinitely meant she needed a lot of clothes. She carried the suitcases down the stairs to the front door, then called the women and Ben to ask them if they’d drop everything and come by the house. “It’s important,” she said. The last thing she did before making fresh coffee was to call the airport and book a flight to Asheville, North Carolina, then phone a car rental agency and reserve a four-by-four. Her plan was to stay in Asheville for the night and start out for the retreat early in the morning.
Emily set out the cups, cream, and sugar along with the spoons and napkins. She sat down to wait.
> They knew there was something different when they walked in the door. Emily could see it on their faces. As one, they looked toward the open powder room door.
“It was the last thing I had to do. Listen, all of you, there’s something else I have to do. I know you can all get along without me for a while. I say a while because I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone. I need to find myself.” She smiled, a genuine smile of warmth. “Corny, huh? Unfortunately, it’s exactly what I have to do. I guess you can say I’m one of those late starters, late bloomer…whatever. I’m one of those people who need to be pounded over the head to get a message through. But I got it. Finally. You guys can handle things. Heck, right now the business pretty much runs itself, thanks to all of you. Nothing is going to change. You can stay here as long as you like, carry on as before.”
“Where are you going?” they asked in unison.
“Black Mountain in North Carolina. It’s not far from Tennessee. It’s in the Great Smoky Mountains. It’s a retreat of sorts. I left the phone number by the telephone. You call, leave a message, and then I have to call you back. There aren’t any phones in the cabins. Stop looking so skeptical.” Emily laughed. “I can handle it.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Ben said simply.
“And I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss all of you. I already miss you and I haven’t even left yet. I know you want to know why and the best answer I can give you is, I reached the goal I set for myself and for all of you. Today is the anniversary of Ian’s death. Don’t read more into that than there is. We shouldn’t waste our lives and I don’t intend to waste even one more day. You know what I’m talking about. I was so damn busy fixing up myself on the outside I forgot about the inside. I shut down inside and I never opened up. Ben knows that better than anyone. I swear to all of you, I didn’t realize I’d done that until a very wise man pointed it out to me this morning. You know me, I jumped on it right away. This isn’t going to be any quick fix and I know it. That’s why I can’t tell you how long I’ll be gone.”
Dear Emily Page 24
