Kira’s eyes were wet as she watched the video. All over again, the beauty of the day stunned her. The flowers were colorful and lush. The bridal party and guests all wore smiles. It was impressive. Everything was perfect. Everything Kira realized, except the moment just before Jeremy said his vows. He craned his head to look at Blain whose eyes narrowed to slits. Then Jeremy turned to Kira and said the fateful words binding them as husband and wife.
Kira pressed pause and then replayed the scene, trying to detect sincerity. She watched Jeremy carefully and hesitantly kiss her the way he would a distant relative or an ogre. As she watched herself take her bouquet back from Nicole, Jeremy and Blain shook hands. Then the new bride and groom left the altar for a broken future.
Kira’s heart sank in sadness, humiliation, and anger. She threw the remote control across the room at the black urn, but it merely glanced off the side of the table.
“You fucking bastard.” She sprang off the couch and shouted at him on the screen, at the urn. “You asshole. How could you have done this? How could you, in good conscience, pull off this charade? I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. You’re terrible. You are fucking—”
She sputtered, unable to think of a word nasty enough to follow up. Her body and voice quaked. “You’re dead.” Then she slouched to the floor with her back against the couch. She released wild whimpers of pain and hurt. Tears disobediently streamed down her face. This time she didn’t want to cry over him.
On the TV, a montage of photographs played on the screen including the wedding party, the dinner, and dancing afterward. The stills of Jeremy laughing and mugging for the camera played to the tune of Crazy in Love. His sneer enraged Kira.
“You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me, from every possible angle. Just when I thought it couldn’t hurt any more, it does. What the hell am I going to do with you?” She sat, her legs pulled into her chest, leaning, hardly able to hold herself up. She felt like she was scraping the bottom of a very deep chasm. She had nothing else for him to take, alive or dead.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered. “Please help me. Someone. What am I going to do?” She clasped her fingers together tightly and noticed her engagement ring and wedding band still snuggly around her forth finger. Pulling them off, she lifted them up into the dim light, the diamonds sparkling. She set the pair on the coffee table in front of her and reclasped her fingers.
She dug deep. She went further inside herself than she’d ever gone. She called upon God, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. She asked the eagles, the eye of the tiger, and mother earth for help. She cried and thought the tears would keep coming forever.
Then in her mind, she heard Nicole say, “Life goes on.” She clung to those words like a raft in a roiling river of tears, the deepest well of sadness, the maddest ocean of confusion and dismay.
She cried on, unaware of how much time had passed. Then sometime later, she heard a second voice, “Just be.” She cried a bit longer, but like the tide, the grievous swells started to subside. Little by little, calmness grew within. She took deep breaths that seemed to fill not only her lungs, but also her head, her arms, her legs, her entire self, inflating her like a balloon with the promise and strength to lift her up. She breathed and breathed and then she heard a third message. “Go to the sea.”
After hours that blended into one another, she climbed in the shower and washed the past days off her skin. Chronologically, she listed everything that had transpired since Friday night. She let each memory whirl down the drain like rinsing off a thick coating of grime. From top to bottom, she cleansed and reclaimed herself.
Kira made a cup of tea and finalized her plan. Taking the urn, if she left right away she’d make it to the Annandale family house before sunrise, and then continue up the coast to the beach. It felt familiar somehow. It felt right. To the sea.
***
When Kira pulled into the circular driveway leading to the pillared Annandale home, the stars still hung above her in the sky. She placed the urn on the front porch with a note she’d penned at home. It read simply,
He belongs with you.
Then Kira left, hoping that part of her life was behind her, for good. As she zoomed north, the sky lightened, and the stars slowly snuffed themselves out.
For the third time, she pulled into the same spot in the parking lot adjacent to the beach. Kira watched the waves. They rolled in; they rolled out, and continued to do so without any prompting, like the great breath of the earth.
Surfers appeared near the line of the horizon. Kira watched them study the mysterious power of the ocean. The sea birds swooped and dove, calling out above the crash of the water.
Ian, the helpful brown-haired surfer, took his spot on the wall. Eventually the gull joined him too.
Kira emerged from the Mercedes, and the gull took flight. She took its spot on the wall, letting the peaceful scene fill her. Kira turned to Ian who smiled broadly, a pair of dimples hidden in his scruff.
“Morning,” she said.
The shade of his brown eyes had a depth and warmth in them that glowed like sunlight.
“I see the board is still on your roof. That’s a good sign. Getting in today?” he asked fully suited up in a black wetsuit.
“Not likely,” Kira said automatically, but then added, “Well, maybe a toe.” She let her gaze linger on him a moment, wondering what kinds of creatures willingly put themselves in water, stood on surfboards, and lived without grief.
Ian stood and deftly put his board under his right arm. “Wanna take a walk?” he asked. Gentlemanly, he extended his arm to Kira and pitched his chin toward the water. “To the sea?”
Bemused, Kira linked her arm in his and they walked down the beach, the seagull overhead. Kira dismissed the familiarity of his gesture. She was ready for something, anything, to carry her away from the intense pain mixed with betrayal.
Halfway to the waterline, Kira paused at a vacant lifeguard stand to take off her shoes while the steady wind whipped her hair. The old, irrational fear of the wild landscape tugged at her, but she let the steady rhythm of the rolling waves soothe her worries. She wiggled her feet in the sand and kept walking.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Kira said aloud, questioning what to say to her handsome escort and how to find her way back to herself.
“The ocean has a way of helping you figure that out,” Ian replied. When they reached the shore’s edge, he set his board in the sand.
Kira took a deep, refreshing breath of the salt air.
“I take it you haven’t been to the water recently.” Kira shook her head and then rolled up her jeans.
“I haven’t touched the ocean since I was nearly too young to remember. I visited with my family a few times. My dad loved it, but we lived inland so we didn’t go that often.”
Ian waded in. The protective layer of the wetsuit made him impervious to the chill. “Feels good,” he said, smiling invitingly.
Kira edged closer, grimacing, as the cold, compacted sand where the water receded, chilled her feet.
“Just a toe?” he teased.
A bigger wave surged in, and without realizing what it was going to do, it went right up to her ankles. She closed her eyes. It felt like communion, holy water, as if her feet were thirsty. The water was like taking a much-needed drink, invigorating Kira from the bottom up. She jumped back onto the sand when her mind registered the cold and the suspicious tendrils of seaweed neared her feet.
“It’s not so bad,” Ian said beaming. “You’re nearly there.”
By Kira’s toes, something glinted in the water. Ian saw it too. He plucked up a blue piece of sea glass before the waves washed it away.
“That’s good luck,” he said handing it to her. With a smile, she tucked the sea-polished treasure in her hand.
“I can use some of that.”
In the distance, a tangerine sun lit up the water as it pulled itself up over the brim of what appeared to be the edge of the w
orld.
The salty water lapped over Kira’s feet. The sand slowly lay claim to her soles. She and Ian watched the waves, the surfers, and the sunrise beyond spreading warmly over the water.
“I have to go,” Kira said realizing she did have to go to work whether she had sandy feet or not.
“See you soon?” Ian asked.
Kira smiled and said, “I hope so.”
Part 2: Sweat
“You can’t stop the waves but you can learn to surf.”
-Jon Kabat-Zinn
Chapter Eleven
Getting to work on time prompted Kira to jog back to her car. She’d packed work attire to change into. Despite what still felt like an insurmountable wall of grief rising up before her, Kira cared about her job. Without a dual income, paying the mortgage along with a host of other bills, making ends meet looked like her next challenge, but one she didn’t want to think about.
As Kira dashed into her office, her coworkers greeted her with uncommon delicacy. Word must have gotten around that the up and coming on the Foster-Davis account became a widow at twenty-something.
As Kira begrudgingly powered on Jeremy’s laptop, she noted to replace it as soon as possible. She cut herself some slack; just a week ago, she was waist deep in tissues, unable to clean anything other than her house, no less get dressed. Sitting at her desk, in the office, was progress.
Frank Brinkman entered and offered a forced smile. “So glad you’re able to return Kira. I appreciated your contributions from home.” They both knew that was BS. He went on, “But the pressure’s on like you could never imagine. I really need you and Alice to finalize the Foster-Davis account. Otherwise, we may have to intervene. She assures me you can do this.” His forced smile lingered.
Kira wanted to say that he could never imagine the burden and tension she’d experienced, that she walked around with an open wound, and he had no idea the effort it took to get to a place of upright mobility. Her eyebrows furrowed.
“I know you’ve just been through a trial of your own, but we keep our personal lives and professional lives separate here, and that’s what I expect from you. We’re a New England firm, we pick ourselves up by our bootstraps, and we face the day. I’ll be keeping a close eye on things. Please get right on it.”
If that was Frank’s idea of an inspirational speech, he’d better stick with just keeping a close eye on things, Kira thought dryly.
Nonetheless, she took a minute to look around her office and summon her focus. She tossed the framed photo of her and Jeremy in the waste bin with a dull thud, steeled away tears, and shifted into intense work mode.
When her desk overflowed with files and data, she moved into a vacant boardroom to team up with Alice. The hours ticked by as they went over the account.
They worked right through lunch, and when Alice’s phone chimed at five o’clock she abruptly said, “Come on. Break time.”
Alice exited the conference room where they’d set up shop and Kira followed curiously. Alice went to her desk, grabbed a sage colored bag, and said, “Let’s go.” She passed Kira a nutrition bar and a bottle of water as they left the building.
Still processing information about the account, Kira hungrily ate the fruit and nut protein bar. She followed Alice into a building with stone arches surrounding each window.
“So do you think if we include the data from the shareholders—” Alice cut Kira off mid-sentence.
“Not here.” They stood outside a door that said Prana, Yama Yama. Kira had no idea what that meant. Alice passed her a pair of stretch pants along with a tank top.
“Put these on. Don’t ask me any questions. I’ll save you a mat.”
Kira gave her a withering look.
“Just come find me,” Alice said. They entered a waiting room with a reception desk, a smoothie and juice bar, and a bank of cubbies for stowing belongings on one wall. There was a boutique with an array of incense burners, meditation pillows, books, and posters on the far side of the room. Kira didn’t move from her spot near the entrance.
Alice had to be kidding. Kira had done yoga before. She’d done yoga aplenty. It was her quasi-fitness class when she was homeschooled on the commune, before she’d enrolled in normal school. She’d twisted, down-dogged, and yoga-d into the proverbial pretzel.
Emerging from the changing room, Alice’s eyebrows dipped disapprovingly. Begrudgingly, Kira changed clothes.
“We have work to do,” she protested under her breath after she padded into the studio and took a seat beside Alice, already on a purple mat, cross-legged, and with her eyes closed.
“Shh,” she said sharply, and then lowered her voice to a whispering hiss. “This is the only thing that has kept me sane. We’re going to do yoga and then get back into that boardroom and work on the frickin’ Foster-Davis material until we pass out. Got it?” Kira swallowed, wondering just what kind of talking-to Brinkman had given Alice. She followed her orders; they would have a long night ahead either way.
Kira expected the instructor to have on gauzy robes with a leotard beneath, like the yoga of her youth or short-shorts and a pink sports bra, like the cardio-yoga the gym she occasionally went to offered. Neither was the case. The instructor had shoulder length, curly hair, big hoop earrings, and wore fitted capri-leggings with an aqua patterned tank Kira instantly coveted. She took a seat at the head of the room in front of an altar bedecked in saffron and gold colored flowers surrounding a bronze statue. She settled for a moment, then lit a candle, and closed her eyes.
“Welcome,” she said in a normal voice, not the breathy, fake-calm of Kira’s previous yoga experience or the perky up-talker at the gym. Curious, Kira offered her attention.
“Thank you for coming. For those of you who are new, I’m Amber.” She smiled at Kira and a few other faces in the packed room. “Today we’ll be working with trust by exploring the pulsation of stability and freedom. What it is to be both grounded and open to new possibility. Through trusting ourselves and beyond, we’re fully able to experience life in a place of knowing who we are and what we want, as well as accessing support. Please join me. Close your eyes. Deepen your breath, and together we’ll chant the sound, Om.”
Reflexively, Kira wrinkled her nose, but catching Alice’s steely eye, she went along with it. Her muscles and joints resisted the movements and stretches at first, but Amber worked her through it. Emotions bubbled just below the surface, threatening her with cries of anguish and loss. Amber invited the feelings to arise. When Kira stretched in downward dog, she watched as the place on her mat between her hands became wet with tears and sweat. Before she knew it, she stood strong, twisting, and inverting into poses she never would’ve believed she could do and certainly not enjoy.
Then seated, Amber led them through mild stretches. Supine, they laid in what Kira recalled was named the corpse pose. Amber called it Savasana, which sounded more pleasant than the name she knew. She didn’t want to think about death.
“Release,” Amber said. “Trust the ground beneath to hold you. Release. Deepen your breath. Trust your lungs to breathe. Release.” With each instruction, Kira felt as if she sank through the mat, through the floor, and into a world of peace, of quiet waves in rhythm with her breath. They caressed the length of her back, holding her with the promise never to let go.
“Kira. Kira. Kira.” She heard her name over and over and over. She floated, weightless like in salt water. Yes, light, yes, lighter, yes, lightest.
Then her eyes blinked open. Alice nudged her shoulder. As one, the class chanted the sound Om, followed by Namaste as they all bowed.
After changing, Alice passed Kira a green smoothie. She cautiously took a sip of the concoction—she detected strawberries, bananas, and possibly spinach.
“Not bad,” Kira said. As they left the studio, she carried a balance of energy and relaxation as she returned to the working world. Yoga and the green smoothie fueled the most productive five hours they'd had as the punch-list for the project became smaller
.
The next day and the one after that were much the same, work, yoga, smoothie, work, weep, sleep—only a little, and repeat. At the end of the week, after Kira had explored what Amber called heart openers and gulped down a smoothie—containing something called spirulina— she felt alternatingly restless and sad when returning to the four white walls, the long wooden table, and the bland florescent lighting of the office.
“What’s up?” Alice asked gently. Kira shrugged.
“I’m not sure.”
“Doing yoga and the work of the mind-body can bring up some stuff, but it’s also tremendously helpful to get out of your head—the realm of thoughts and emotions—and into the physical form,” she said helpfully as if she were a yoga teacher. “I’m guessing you have some stuff going on,” she said tapping her temple. “It might take a long time to work through it, but you can do it. No, you are doing it.” What Alice said resonated with points Amber had made earlier. It felt like a comforting truth, but Kira didn’t know how she could fit the words into her particular situation.
“Something like that,” Kira said misty eyed, afraid she might lose control and cry after holding it together for most of the week.
“What do you say we call it a night? Sleep would probably be helpful,” Alice said.
As they neared Kira’s car, Alice pointed and asked, “What’s that?”
“A surfboard,” Kira said.
“I meant, what’s it doing there?” After Ian had securely lashed it down, she hadn’t removed it. The board remained like a totem, reminding (or possibly directing) Kira of all the healing ahead of her.
Without pausing to think, Kira answered. “That’s the surfboard,” she said matter of fact. Alice gave her a quizzical look. Kira continued, “Aka theatrical prop, which my late husband used when he claimed to be going surfing, but was cheating on me with no less than two dozen women. He was a tremendous actor,” she said, letting her home life and work spill into one another.
To the Sea (Follow your Bliss) Page 7
