Zoey's Place

by E M Bannock

  They had always intended to talk about where they wanted their ashes spread, but never got around to it. Mickey wanted the Grand Canyon, but whenever he brought up the subject she had come up with some reason to not talk about such morbid things. Besides, they had plenty of time. Now her life was a horror show, punctuated with a canyon full of sorrow and a river of tears.

  A small service was held at one of the local restaurants three weeks to the day of his death. The owner closed the eatery to the public and provided all of the food free, out of respect for Mickey. The memorial was private, just friends and a handful of acquaintances. Taylor Resource Development sent a representative who actually knew and worked with Mickey. There were no more than 20 people in attendance. Annette closed the office so all of the staff could attend. Lenny and Dave shared touching memories of Mickey through the years. A few others got up to say a few words as well. Zoey was glad it didn’t go on for long. It was all she could do to sit there while others spoke. Joanne and Carol were ever at her side.

  That evening she wanted to be alone. Her friends drove her home and helped her place Mickey’s urn on her bedroom dresser. She said she thought that’s where Mickey would want to be. She took a great deal of time trying to convince her friends that she would be all right. They stayed for coffee, but when the evening turned to night she insisted they go home to their own families. Her devoted friends were still concerned for Zoey’s state of mind and didn’t think she should be alone, not just yet. They wouldn’t leave her alone. They continued to take turns keeping her company for two more weeks after the service.

  Joanne was sitting in the living room with Zoey one afternoon, looking through old photo albums and remembering the good times they had all shared, hoping to lift Zoey’s spirit.

  “You know, sweetie,” she said, “it’s hard to see good at a time like this, but when you think about how much fun we had in the last twenty years, we’ve been very fortunate.”

  Zoey looked up in disbelief. “What about the next twenty? Who am I supposed to make memories with now?”

  Joanne hugged her. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You’ve seen enough of life to know that not everyone, heck, not most people get a chance to do the things we’ve done, to go to the places we’ve been, and you and Mickey even more. We’ve all worked hard and we deserve the pleasures we have, but we’ve all been at a place where the opportunity presented itself. I wouldn’t trade my memories with the six of us for anything in the world. No matter what happens, we’ll always have that friendship and love that few people will ever know.”

  Zoey was listening quietly. Joanne could tell she was contemplating her words but wasn’t convinced. “I know what you say is true, and I do treasure our times together. That’s all I have left of Mickey now, memories. It’s just that I wasn’t prepared for it to end so cruelly and so soon.”

  “Hon,” Joanne comforted, “this isn’t the end of your life. You’re still here, and so are we. And as for the next twenty years, both of us know firsthand that life can change in the blink of an eye. You don’t know what or who is waiting for you out there.”

  “Joanne,” Zoey interrupted abruptly, “I’ll never fall in love again. I don’t want to. I can’t even think about it.”

  Zoey burst into tears and Joanne cradled her as if she was a child, murmuring comforting sounds to soothe her.

  “I’m sorry, Joanne,” Zoey apologized, pulling away and making an attempt at straightening her appearance. “I’m just so confused right now.”

  “I know, hon,” Joanne said to her friend. “It’s okay.” The women sat quietly in the comfort of their friendship.

  It was Joanne who broke the silence. “Zoey, are you regretting not having children with Mickey?”

  Zoey closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, not at all. I can’t imagine the extra horror of having to tell my children that their father was killed. I’d have to raise them alone, with all the hardships and sacrifice that it brings. Talk about not having a life! And I still wouldn’t have Mickey.” She grabbed for a tissue from the nearby end table and blew her nose before continuing.

  “No, it was the right decision. I can’t imagine having a child that resembled Mickey so much that every time I looked at him or her all I would see was Mickey, making the hurt fresh every day. I’m not that strong. The only way I’ll get over this is if I keep my life with Mickey in a secret box hidden away in my heart, or I’ll never learn to live with my new reality.”

  A few days later Zoey explained to her friends that they had been ‘babysitting’ her for three weeks, and she really could handle being alone now. Reluctantly, they left.

  That night the house seemed quieter than it ever had before. Zoey had never felt more alone. As she walked through the empty living room, her eyes drifted to the pictures on the top of the bookcase. One was their wedding picture. They were still in college. They looked so hopeful. The love in their eyes was true and strong. Next to that was a picture from the Caribbean cruise they took to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary. They still had that same look of love in their eyes. It was just a few years ago, but seemed like a lifetime now. The love was still there, but Mickey wasn’t there to share it. She felt like she was trapped in a dream, a bad dream. She wanted to wake herself up but knew she couldn’t. She was awake and her life had turned nightmarish.

  She found herself in her bedroom but she didn’t remember climbing the stairs. She undressed and got into the bed, leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor, something she’d admonished Mickey for doing more than once. She reached over and grabbed his pillow, now streaked with a trail of her tears from the last three weeks. Mickey’s smell was still there, very faint, but there nonetheless. She looked up at the urn that held his ashes. She breathed in his scent on the pillow. The pain was overpowering and she began to cry. Her tears flowed in an endless tide. Her sobs shook the walls and filled the hallways. Why did this happen? How could she go on without the love of her life? What was to happen to her now? She had no answers, only deep sorrow. She clung to his pillow and wept until she had no strength to stay awake.

  By the end of the fourth week, she had forced herself to adapt to her new reality. Frequent walks though the Robert Kidd Gallery helped her organize her thoughts. Mickey was gone. At least he hadn’t suffered. It was up to her now. She had to do something to keep her mind off her grief. Zoey didn’t know what she was going to do with the rest of her life, but knew she had to do something. Mickey wouldn’t want her to waste away and live a meaningless life. For starters, she felt it was time to go back to work. She picked up the phone and dialed the office.

  “DeLucca Law Office,” Annette answered. Her voice was warm and soothing, like a cup of hot cocoa. She knew she had made the right decision.

  “Annette,” Zoey said with confidence, “I’m coming back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Annette was thrilled but cautious. “Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I have to.”

  “I understand,” she consoled. “It will be good to have you back, boss,”

  Thoughts of her friend, Fen, came to mind. Zoey hadn’t thought of Fen since her unsuccessful attempt to call her on the day of the tragedy. Until now the accident had been too fresh, too raw, to even think about talking to the one person who knew her suffering intimately. But now she knew she had to talk to her, if not out of respect then out of friendship and a shared sorrow. Once more she reached for her phone book and looked up Fen’s number.

  The phone rang three times before someone answered.

  “Hello?” said an unfamiliar young voice.

  “Hello,” Zoey answered, unsure if she had dialed correctly. “I’m trying to reach Fenella Webber. Did I reach the right house?”

  “Yes,” the voice said coldly. “Mrs. Webber is very busy. Do you have a phone appointment?” the voice said impersonally, without emotion.

  “This is Zoey DeLucca. My husband was killed with Allen
and—” Zoey didn’t get to finish her sentence.

  “Mrs. DeLucca, I’m so sorry,” the voice interrupted, the tone and tenor changing drastically. “My name is Jenna. Fen is my aunt. I’ve been staying here with her to, you know, help out and stuff.”

  “I understand,” Zoey replied.

  “I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch to you,” the girl interjected apologetically, without giving Zoey a chance to speak. “You know Aunt Fen is really social and the newspapers and about a zillion clubs have been calling to get interviews or whatever. It’s exhausting. Some of those guys are such jerks. Aunt Fen needed an assistant, and since I’m not working right now I said what the heck.”

  Doesn’t this girl ever take a breath? Zoey thought. She listened while Jenna talked about the who’s and what’s of all the phone calls she’d been fielding for her aunt.

  “Listen to me, talking your ear off,” the girl apologized. “I’ve been insensitive. Mrs. DeLucca, I’m so sorry for your loss. Aunt Fen has told me what a good person you are. She really respects you for the work you do.”

  “Thank you,” Zoey replied. “Jenna, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I was wondering if Fen is available right now. We haven’t spoken since the accident. I tried calling once but the line was busy.”

  “Of course, Mrs. DeLucca.” Jenna sounded much cheerier now, and much more polite. “Aunt Fen tried to call you a couple of times, too. One time the line was busy and the other time you weren’t home and she didn’t want to leave a message. She’ll be really glad that you’re calling. Just a sec while I get her.”

  Zoey could hear the phone being set down and the clickity-clack of Jenna’s shoes on a hardwood floor as she called out, “Aunt Fen, guess who’s on the phone?”

  In less than a minute she heard a familiar, friendly voice. “Zoey, honey, how are you?”

  Fen’s voice was as comforting as a warm blanket. “I’m doing about as best as I think I can do. How about you, Fen?”

  “Oh, about the same, I guess.” Zoey could hear and feel the still-fresh pain in her voice.

  “I’ve tried calling you,” Zoey continued. “I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

  “Me, too,” Fen broke in. “But I want to see you, too. Why don’t we meet for lunch next week? Are you free on Tuesday? I’m meeting some friends in Chicago on Monday. I can stop in Detroit on my way back to New York.”

  “Yes,” Zoey replied without thinking about her work schedule. “I know a place we can go. It’s quiet and private. I need to see you, too.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll call you Monday and you can tell me where it is.” There was a pause. “It’s been hell, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Zoey answered softly, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. “See you next week.”

  She hung up the phone and broke into a million pieces.

  Chapter 16

  Fen would be in Detroit only long enough to meet with Zoey. Then she would continue on to New York. Zoey had reached her at her home in the Hamptons. But Fen and Allen also kept an apartment in Manhattan, and most of their extended family lived in the New York boroughs. Both women felt a strong need to see each other, so the travel detour seemed the right thing to do.

  Zoey selected an exclusive, member’s only downtown Detroit café called Maxwell’s. The food was gourmet, as were the prices, but the ambiance was second to none. Each booth in the small establishment was a three-sided, recessed alcove, very private, and all were open to the kitchen, which was transparent to the eating public via a wall of glass that served as the only separation between the two.

  Monday through Friday, lunch customers were serviced by all-male waiters and kitchen staff. Except for the chef, they were between the ages of 18 and 40. And from the looks of it, employment there required a gym membership. Maxwell’s was notorious for its good- looking help. It was a private club, and management had decided that it would cater to upper-class ladies during the lunch shift. In the evenings and on weekends, women shared duties with the men. It was a decision that had proved very profitable for management. Mickey had bought her a membership for her birthday last year.

  Although Zoey had been to Maxwell’s for lunch before to enjoy the view, it was the privacy the booths afforded that had been the deciding factor today. No doubt there would be tears and conversation that the new widows wouldn’t want to share with outsiders.

  Zoey had just situated herself in the booth when she saw Fen approaching. She was wearing a long, black wool coat with a plain black shift underneath. Zoey stood as she approached and the two fell into each other’s arms, sobbing and clinging to one another for strength. Unspoken words expressed the shared pain and torment of the last month. The restaurant was surprisingly empty, and no one really paid much attention to them as they cried in each other’s embrace.

  After a few moments of consoling each other the women seated themselves and held hands across the table. “What do we do now?” Fen asked. She reached into her bag, pulled out a lace handkerchief, and dabbed her eyes.

  “We go on living,” Zoey said with little conviction. She cursed herself for not thinking to bring a hankie. She used the cloth napkin to blot the tears from her face.

  “How?” Fen asked, with a look of utter desperation and hopelessness.

  “I don’t know,” Zoey confessed.

  And for the next two hours the women talked about the life they had once had and their uncertain future. Crying, laughing, remembering, and generally reassuring each other, giving and getting strength from the common horror they shared.

  Zoey told Fen about her plans to go back to work. Fen said that she had found it helpful to immerse herself in her charity work with the help of her niece. She also received great support from Allen’s and her extended family.

  It felt good to speak freely about Mickey’s death with someone who shared the experience, someone who knew exactly what she was going through and didn’t treat her with pity. Both women were realists and knew that life goes on, even after a tragedy such as this, and that their respective husbands wouldn’t want them to waste away in mourning for them. She felt a great release when she kissed Fen goodbye. As the women parted, they promised to keep in touch. Zoey went back to her empty house. Everywhere she looked she saw something that reminded her of Mickey. It had been over a month now, but it still seemed like one never-ending nightmare.

  The holidays were especially hard, and painful. At the insistence of her friends Zoey made appearances at their holiday parties, but only stayed for a short time so as not to put a damper on the festivities. Other than that, Zoey spent the holiday season in seclusion. On New Year’s Eve she watched the ball drop alone for the first time in over twenty years and cried herself to sleep, hugging the pillow that still faintly held Mickey’s essence.

  For the next few months she tried to throw her entire being into work and find meaning and purpose in service to others. Being busy helped delay real thoughts about her future. But each day became harder and it was becoming a laborious task to achieve the motivation to get out of bed. The bright flame of joy she had once gotten from helping her clients had diminished to a dim glow, and the effort she had to put out became a chore. Before Mickey’s death, when he talked about retiring she thought about giving up her business as well. By summer her drive to succeed at her career vanished, so it seemed like the logical thing to do. What she would do after that, she didn’t know. Right now she didn’t want to do anything, at least for a while.

  It took three more months to finish the cases that were already near completion with court dates, and to find suitable attorneys for her remaining clients. She owed them that. They all understood, considering the circumstances. She even found another job for Annette. Through the years the two women had become very close, and Zoey knew that they would always remain friends.

  For a while after her ‘retirement’ she wandered around in a daze. The emptiness of the house seemed to engulf her. Trips to her favorite plac
es lost their charm. She felt as if she was just filling time, and there was no meaning in her life anymore. It was early fall now and the leaves had begun to change. There was a chill in the air and Zoey became restless. This wasn’t how Mickey would want her live. Mostly because she wasn’t living, only existing. She had no direction, no worth anymore.

  She decided she needed to change her life completely. Her life with Mickey was over. It was time to quit living with a ghost. At that moment she decided she should sell the house. It was far too big for one woman to live in alone, and every room held memories of the love and sexual exploits she and Mickey had experienced over the years. The blissful recollections were now a painful reminder of what was lost. It was almost unbearable to think she would never again be so sexually free and satisfied. The sooner she was out of that house the better.

  She called a former client of hers whom she’d represented in a nasty divorce. The client was a real estate agent and Zoey won the case, granting the client full custody of his children and a healthy child support judgment.

  The house was in a good neighborhood, had been well maintained, and had a great floor plan. In less than a month offers poured in and the house sold. During the 90-day escrow period Zoey went room by room, separating out her life memories and deciding which ones to keep and which ones to sell at a garage sale. She had called upon Annette with her organizational skills to assist her. She was more than willing to help out.

  Zoey saved the special hidden playroom for last. This was a job she would do alone. She hadn’t been in there since Mickey’s death. It took great force of will to make the decision to enter the little room. Taking a firm grasp of the doorknob she took a deep breath, blinked a few times, opened the door, flipped on the light, and walked in.

  She looked around. Sex toys of all shapes and sizes, floggers, feather ticklers, hand cuffs, and more, costumes and suggestive underwear for both sexes, DVDs, they were all there. To a stranger it would look like the inside of a sex shop. The haunting memories of games and encounters with these items created myriad images in her mind’s eye that spun a beautiful web, expressing the love between two people devoted to the sexual happiness of one another.