by Kieran York
We took a brisk walk. On our trek, we discovered a small neighborhood noodle shop. Blooms of fragrant spicy scents wafted from the doorway. The aroma was irresistible, and we immediately decided to make our meal a takeout. We ordered noodle and pork bowls and flavored tea. Aromatic seasonings, topped with slivers of candied ginger and almonds filled the noodle bowls. With the two sacks of oriental flavors, we jaunted back to the hotel.
When we reached the suite, the scent of noodles filled the room. We talked and laughed over our makeshift dinner, the seriousness of our earlier conversation now remote. I was disappointed she couldn’t stay over, but she had an important early morning meeting to attend. She thought she’d feel more comfortable with a good night’s sleep.
After Bethany left, I examined the portrait of the two of us. I had just started working on it when my room phone rang. I guessed she was calling to tell me she arrived home and to say goodnight.
That wasn’t the case. I heard Samantha’s hurried voice. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you’d want to know…” She started sobbing.
“Samantha,” I said with alarm, recognizing that she was hysterical. “Samantha, what is it?”
“Mother. She’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?”
For many moments there were sobs, and when she caught her breath, she began again. “She died this afternoon.”
My mind couldn’t take in the meaning of her words. The room seemed to grow smaller. I fell into a chair before my legs gave out. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
“She had a cardiac arrest. We took this trip mainly to keep her mind from a surgery scheduled for when we got home. She’s been suffering cardiac difficulties. She’d had two heart attacks in the past year alone. The upcoming operation was to alleviate some of the problems. The doctors believed it wasn’t a solution to her weakened heart but would offer time. They agreed the vacation would do her good, and so we came. I shouldn’t have even suggested it to her.” She started crying again.
I struggled with my own emotions. “Samantha, I’m so sorry.” I recalled that Molly’s family had a medical history of cardiac afflictions. “She looked well.”
“We all believed she would be fine. She believed she would be.”
“I tried to convince her that we might make a new start.” My words sounded like stones striking against a hard surface.
“She told me. She couldn’t promise you anything because of her health.”
“But I would have been there for her. She should have told me. I love her,” I said, my voice trembling.
“She didn’t say it exactly, but she implied that she didn’t want you to go through her health problems with her and then lose her.”
“But I would have been there…” I tried to stifle the whimper that caught in my throat. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No. We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. We’ll take Mom’s ashes back to California for services there. I’m calling not only to tell you that but also to tell you what a privilege it was to meet you. I know why my mother loved you so. And she did. She told me she had always dreamed of seeing you again. After seeing you in the market for the first time in all those years, she was so pleased. Just last night she mentioned you had always been able to peer into her soul. We were discussing your portraits of her. She was very proud of them.”
“Paintings of Molly have always been the most special to me. I have one other at home. I’ll send you a photo of it. It’s titled Twilight with Molly. The painting has hung in my bedroom beside my bed for thirty years.”
“Oh, Danielle. You loved her so deeply. I feel guilty about all of this.”
“All of this?”
“I must make a confession. I found out you were showing here. Jeff and I chase our new finds. We’re always aware of where they’re showing. I had planned to take Mother with me on an acquisition search and naturally make it to your opening. We planned to reunite the two of you.”
“All that trouble just because you felt guilty that she stayed with Pamela for your sake?” It wasn’t adding up.
“That was only a small portion of the truth. I’m so terribly sorry, but our scheme was to get you back in her life. I know I’ve been deceitful, but Jeff and I believed if you were back in her life she would have something to fight for. Someone special. It might get her through the operation. So much of health requires a desire to live. We were desperate. I should have contacted you first. I hope you can understand.”
“I do understand. You were trying to protect her. And I’m sure she fought to live for her family. Sometimes no matter how much you struggle, it isn’t enough.”
“She was able to see you again. That meant the world to her. I’ve had the opportunity to meet the love of her life and to get to know you as an artist. I want you to know that means the world to me.”
It suddenly occurred to me they’d acquired a great many of my paintings. I wanted it to have been for the right reasons. “I hope this plan didn’t include purchasing my work. I wouldn’t want to think it might have drained your resources. I’m not a known commodity. The future of my work might be financially risky.”
“Of course we were genuinely interested in your work as well. The reunion wouldn’t have taken any purchases at all. We realized how magical your work truly is. It has already greatly appreciated financially. We’ve had multiple offers for the acquisitions we’ve purchased. Your work has become quite valued.”
“I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted to see you stuck with it.”
“We both know better than that,” she said. “Your art is Jeffery’s magnificent find of the year. We treasure it and Mom treasured it. Jeff’s of the opinion that you’re just beginning. We have plans to purchase more of your work in Boston.”
“You know about the Boston exhibit?”
“Jeff finds everything out about upcoming exhibits, it would seem. I hope that you might meet him and our sons. They’d also like to meet you. We’re holding a service for Mom in a few weeks. If you think there might be a chance of coming to California, we’d love to have you stay with us. Mom often spoke of you to our sons.”
“Of me?”
“Yes. Stories she told when they were small boys. She told them about your apartment patio garden. How you kept containers out on a little deck. How you would pat the herbs and their scent would lift. She loved the scented geraniums you grew. She also spoke of your painting flowers that looked like people’s faces. Pansies and violets.”
“I called them the—”
“People pansies. Yes. She told me those stories when I was a little girl, too. Whenever we passed a patch of pansies, we would do as you did. Name them. It was a great game for a small child.”
I didn’t try to stop the tears that streamed down my cheeks. I’d also named pansies and patted herbs with the children in my own family. “I’d like very much to attend the service. Please do let me know the details. I’ll plan to be there. I’d love to meet your family. Molly loved you all so much. Please give your husband and sons my condolences. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, Danielle. It’s important that you believe me. She loved you with all her heart.”
“I hope you know how much I love her. I’ve never really stopped believing in our love.”
As we ended the call, I stood and replaced the receiver in its cradle. It dawned on me that all except love had now ended.
I now knew the reason behind Molly’s decision to push me from her. The circumstances she spoke of were her failing health. She hadn’t wanted us to get back together because she loved me too much to leave me again. And this leaving couldn’t be helped.
One rarely reaches the age of sixty without having the impact of loss. Grief speaks with amazing fluency as years advance. The death of Molly seemed to deliver the most desolate words I had ever experienced. Suddenly, my legs gave out from under me, and I collapsed against the sofa’s cushions in a heap. My sobs continued through the eveni
ng’s thick cobalt night and into morning’s vast eternity.
Chapter 39
It seemed even the undulating galaxy shook its fist at us. Our spin across the universe came down to time. When death occurred, the remembrance of love didn’t end. We simply carried away with us what had been.
I liked to believe that an afterlife existed. Much of science seemed to concur. A reexamination of a lifetime is possible, yet one can never rewind it. The formula of life seemed simple. There was no magic elixir other than paying attention to life as it happened.
Perhaps the fortunate who prevailed learned that love actually does last as long as our remembrances. Just as we’d always believed. No matter how many times we faced discouragement, we came back to where we believed we’d last placed love.
A barrage of hard knocking at the door interrupted my thoughts. Esther’s voice, although muted, kept rising. When I opened the door, she burst through. Like the wheeling panoply of the cosmos, she moved across the room. She flailed her arms, and her voice became shriller by the second.
“Damn it, Danielle, we’re worried about you. You won’t answer your phone. Bethany said when she left everything seemed fine. Then when you didn’t call or accept calls, she thought you’d gone back to Molly.” Her face was that of a demanding statue. “What’s going on?”
I felt as though my life was chaos. Death made us remote, I thought as my mouth wobbled to get words to pass through my lips. “Samantha called. Molly died.” With those words, sudden contempt filled my heart—Molly was again with Pamela.
Esther placed the sack she was carrying on the coffee table. I eased back against the sofa. She sat beside me, wrapped her arms around me, and allowed my tears to flow against her shoulder.
“How?” she asked after some length.
“Her heart. She was to have an operation when they returned. She’d had two episodes before. That’s the reason she wouldn’t encourage me. To spare me.”
“I’m not sure what to say other than I’m sorry.”
“I feel so empty inside, Esther. I remember Molly always said that her family, on both sides, had heart problems. When her grandmother died of cardiac difficulties, her parents told her not to attend the funeral. They didn’t want her near the family because she was lesbian. It saddened her so.”
Esther waited for a moment, then she asked, “Will you call Bethany?”
“Not now.”
“Do you want me to call her? Like I said, she was afraid you’d gone to Molly. Or that you weren’t well. She’s concerned.”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind calling her. Please tell her I need a little time to myself right now.”
Esther phoned Bethany and spoke out of earshot. She hung up and sat down again beside me.
“She said to tell you she’s there if you need her. And she’s very sorry. At least Molly didn’t suffer.”
“I believe we’ve both suffered for thirty years.” The silence in the room seemed thick. I thought how my grandparents had handed down their wisdom to me, but none of it was of any help now. Death excluded sagacity. Sadness was never right side up. I felt so very alone.
Esther took a deep breath. “We lionize the people we lose. Maybe it’s part of love’s mystery. That makes the search deeper.”
“I don’t know why all this is happening.”
“The rhythm of the stellar world is remarkable. We have the opportunity to select a cadence with it all, but we often opt against accepting. We continue to explore the reasons we believe to be correct, and the planet continues its route. That circling escapade.”
I thought for a moment. “Maybe the rotation of earth is the only evidence of our existence. Death is a lifelong companion. It remains ready to act upon us at any time.”
“We’re all concerned over death’s justification,” Esther said. “After all, the body is home to us, and when that body collapses, home is gone. In the survivor’s case, the home’s neighbor is missing. Some believe that people become jaded to death when they’re older. I don’t believe it for a moment. Maybe, if anything, it’s more difficult. Youth knows the rules, but age teaches exceptions.”
“I seem to know nothing, Esther. I’ve always firmly believed in a creator. Right now, I’m not certain about a loving supreme being. The creator seems to be more of a henchman. The ultimate exterminator. To me, religion has always felt as if one is consulting with a boogeyman to connect to the higher boogeyman.”
“I’m a scientist and not truly religious, as you know. But I’ve never doubted there is some type of beyond. Energy never ends. It only disperses or transforms. We approach our termination from birth. The same spirit, that energy that begins with us, has to go somewhere. Some scientists have tried to prove that immediately after death there is a miniscule, yet measurable, loss of weight. Their explanation is that this is the weight of the human soul leaving the body. There’s no real proof, but I believe there is a beyond.”
I sighed. “I was thinking, if there is this gigantic beyond, a heaven, then Molly has been reunited with Pamela. How sad is it that I’m jealous of a ghost?”
“From everything you’ve told me, I’d say Molly wouldn’t be within a country or a heavenly mile of Pamela. She stayed with Pamela for Samantha’s benefit. Molly said she was still in love with you. That says it all.”
“And I still love her. When I felt a final rejection from her, I allowed myself to have feelings for Bethany.”
“You always fight fate, Danielle. Maybe meeting Bethany was part of some grand plan. If not, maybe it was the best luck you’ve ever had. Accept it. She’s a terrific woman. She makes you happy.”
“I haven’t done much in the way of making her happy, though. All I’ve talked about is Molly.”
Esther held my gaze. “So why don’t you crack open your heart enough to make room for Bethany?”
“Even now, I’m considering that as a transgression against my love for Molly.”
“How is guilt connected to replacement love?”
I picked at my slacks for nonexistent lint. “Even if we knew, we probably couldn’t pronounce it.”
She chuckled slightly. “You know, there’s a stellar family out there that is all crowded and in a violent neighborhood. Yet within the chaos, it seems normal. Sort of comparable to our existence down here on planet earth.”
“That bit of minutia brightens my day.”
“Oh, before I forget. Call Fiona. She’s on your trail. She’s getting fifteen percent to brighten your day. I’m only here to torment you with trivia.”
“Mission accomplished,” I replied dryly but with the hint of humor. Esther’s mere presence had lifted my spirits.
“Danielle, you can’t let this damage your health. You look very ragged around the edges. You need some food and sleep. Can I bring you anything?”
“No. If I get hungry, I’ll order room service. But thank you. I’ll sleep when I’m ready, so don’t worry about me. Face it, I usually look disheveled.”
“You’re an artist. You’re not supposed to look normal.”
Then we hugged, and she left. I dialed up Fiona only to find her line was busy. After downing the remainder of my coffee, I redialed. Although I wasn’t emotionally fortified to talk with anyone, Fiona would keep me out of the world’s stormy spots for a few moments.
But her phone was, as the Brits say, still engaged.
Chapter 40
Fiona burst into my hotel suite. I hadn’t bothered to lock up after Esther left.
Glancing up, I asked, “Why don’t you come right on in? Don’t bother knocking.”
“It was fucking open! What’s with your vanishing act crap?”
“I tried to call you, but your line was busy.”
“I was talking with Esther. Oh, Danielle, I’m so sorry about Molly.” She sat down in one of the armchairs. “I must have left a dozen calls trying to get hold of you.”
“After I tried calling you earlier, I haven’t wanted to talk. I’m not thrilled about it n
ow.”
“I hate being ignored.” After silence, she wrestled around in her chair. “I apologize for barging in. But you obviously aren’t working. You’ve gone into hiding. I’m stymied.”
“I’m mourning,” I said angrily. “I don’t have anything to say. Fiona, this is a shock to me.”
“Meanwhile, you could be working. Look,” she said and waved her hand at the paintings, “you haven’t touched the canvases. Why don’t you paint it out?”
“Paint it out?” I asked incredulously.
“Think of the great art that’s been produced when the artist is depressed. Grieving. Pick up a paintbrush. It would be good therapy. Great art might come of it. I’ll order a few canvases to be delivered. Paint. Pick some subjects and paint.”
“Subjects.” Sometimes Fiona got on my last nerve.
She gave an enormous sigh. “Artists are mostly semiliterate. You’re borderline, but just barely. Yes, paint now. You’re finally coming into your own. Danielle, the art world is revisiting your work. Or maybe taking a first look at you. Last week, two international art magazines had articles about you. One said you’re one of the finest contemporary realists in the world. That’s major.”
“Right now I’m the saddest artist in the world. Aren’t you getting this, Fiona?”
“You’ve always been an emotional painter. So ratchet up your production. Tap into that powerful fervor of bereavement.”
“I have no fervor.” I stood, at the end of my patience. “Fiona, I’ll paint when I’m damned well ready. Right now, I don’t even feel ready to take the next breath. That’s how flipping devastated I am.”
“I’m trying to shake you back to reality. Approval in the art world is difficult. Accolades are rare. When you’re the buzz, you’d better be there. I’ve witnessed your slow and steady climb. You’ve been in the vestibule. You’re center stage now. That meteoric rise you’ve awaited for your entire career is here.”
