by Lisa Sorbe
It’s the first thing out of his mouth when we meet, and for a second, I think he’s referring to the shock of running into me in such a random place. Like, whoa, fancy meeting you here! But then, when I see his expression, I realize he’s talking about the fact that I bolted straight across a major interstate during what is quickly turning into a blizzard. “You could have been hit by car!”
His face is contorted, his eyes wild, and his usual five-o’clock shadow has grown into a well-trimmed beard. But he still looks the same to me, looks like home to me, and I smile when I say, “I was fast. And there weren’t any cars coming.”
And before I know it, his arms are around me, his face pressed into my hair, and the beat of his heart is thumping madly against my own. I’m lost in his embrace, the weight of his arms, the heat of his breath against my ear. I hug him back just as hard, squeeze him just as tight, burying my forehead in his neck and blinking back tears of such intense relief I can’t help but choke out a laugh of pure joy at the way we’ve come together, here on this snowy stretch of road, completely out of the blue.
I pull back just enough to peek up at his face. “What are you doing here? The weather is crazy. You shouldn’t be out—”
“Me!” he exclaims, pulling me back in and pressing his lips to the top of my head, his hand reaching up to entwine in my hair. He sounds angry and worried and a little bit like he might laugh. “I was coming to see you. Mimi told me your mail hadn’t been forwarded and I thought… Jesus, Lenny. What the hell were you thinking? If there’s anyone who shouldn’t be on the damn road in this weather…”
“I was coming to see you,” I say, repeating his words.
He leans back, wearing the same fierce expression he met me with at the airport, just over a year ago.
We haven’t talked in months. But it doesn’t matter. Because time has, for us it seems, stopped. Stalled completely in its linear march, its eternal hand reversing to sweep backwards the hours, minutes, and seconds, erasing the last six months as thoroughly as great floods have erased entire civilizations from the very fabric of our history.
Time has no hold on love. Just as death has no hold over life.
“I’m so sorry, Ben. So damn sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you…”
And I can’t. There just aren’t enough words to express my regret at how our last day went down. Not to mention, every single bit of it could have been avoided had I just opened Lenora’s letter in the first place and not, per a childish act of angry rebellion, shoved it in Ben’s coat pocket where it sat forgotten until he found it and mailed it to me months and months later.
Then again, maybe there was a reason I forgot. A reason my brain blipped, refused to let me remember. Because would I have read the letter with the same mindset back then as the one I have now? Or would I have merely scoffed at Lenora’s heartfelt words, the purity of her message? And regardless of her reasons, I would have stayed in Lost Bay, anyway. Because I wanted—I needed—that money.
Or so I thought.
Turns out, what I needed had absolutely nothing to do with dollars and cents.
If I had read her letter too soon, I may not have gone through what I did, evolved into the person I am now. Someone who’s not better, but more awake. Someone who isn’t perfect, but who now knows I don’t have to be.
At my inadequate apology, Ben closes his eyes, swallows hard. When he opens them again, his gaze is soft, tender. “You,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, “have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he presses his lips to mine, effectively shutting me right up. But it’s far too quick, and the months between this kiss and our last leave me wanting more than the short peck he just gave me. I grumble in frustration, which makes Ben laugh. “As much as I’d love to continue…this…I think we should do it in a place where we’re not in danger of a skidding semi.”
We decide to leave his truck at the rest stop and take my Rover up to Duluth. But first we stop and pick up Ben’s overnight bag and Asha who, by the time we retrieve her, has fogged up the entire cab in excitement. Ben drives, the snow swirling around us doubling the time it would normally take but neither of us caring because we’re together, finally together. He skirts the snow-clogged city and steers us a few miles outside of town, eventually pulling into a rugged inn next to the water where he rents a cozy little cabin for the night. The unit is studio sized, with the bed and couch and kitchen all open to one another, and while Ben builds a fire in the woodburning stove, I arrange the sub sandwiches we purchased from the inn’s convenience store on tiny plates and pull two beers from the stocked mini bar. We eat in front of the fire, legs crossed, filling each other in on our lives, the mundane as well as the exciting, and we seem to gobble up each other’s words more voraciously than the food. His voice is the only thing I want to hear, the only thing in the world worth listening to right now, and I pepper him with questions about the rescue and new clinic to keep him talking. I’ve missed the richness with which he speaks, the rough timber, the heart and soul that weaves so damn rhythmically through his speech. I relax into our conversation, though when there’s a break, I can’t help but snicker.
Ben scowls, but his lips are turned up at the corners. “What’s so funny, California?”
“You.”
He pretends to be offended, crossing his arms and raising a brow.
“It’s just that, when we first met, I could barely get a full sentence out of you. And now, well, let’s just say it’s quite the opposite.”
Ben growls and goes in for a tackle, his fingers skimming over my sides and tweaking the sensitive spot just below my ribs. I laugh until I cry, until I’m practically breathless from his touch, and when he finally stops and rolls on top of me, what little breath I have left is stolen by his kiss. But Ben is my air, my oxygen, the very essence I need to sustain life. My life, as I want it, the only way I want it, and holy hell all I need for the rest of eternity is this man right here.
I used to think that Ben carried the world’s problems on his shoulders—the heartache and the despair and the injustice that runs far too rampant in our society—and that by doing so, he could somehow manage to alleviate the suffering.
But that’s not true. Ben’s burden isn’t in his capacity to shoulder the pain. It’s in his capacity to shoulder the love.
And love? It’s the greatest burden of all. It’s as wonderful as it is terrible. It brings joy as well as pain, invites suffering alongside relief. It’s heartbreaking and heartwarming, and some days it makes you want to scream while, on others, it’s the only thing that soothes.
It’s empathy on steroids.
Love is. It’s all that matters. The only thing that pushes us forward, the only thing that’s going to evolve us beyond what we already are.
And, in the end, when death comes calling and it’s time to leave this life for the next, love is the only thing we take with us.
So, yes. Love is a burden; one I didn’t know how to shoulder. But with Ben by my side, holding my hand, guiding me, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.
For most of my life, I’ve been surrounded by people, yet I’ve been alone, so alone, adrift in a world of my own creation, based on assumptions I’d made early on in life and never took the time to reevaluate. Not that I even knew it was an option, to crack open my thoughts and rake through them with a fine-toothed comb. I willingly gulped down my spoon-fed reality, never questioning, never wondering if there might be another way.
But there is. There always is. What we believed to be true yesterday doesn’t have to be the truth we believe today. And once an opinion is formed doesn’t mean it can’t be unformed, remade with new information gleaned from new experiences.
We have the choice, every day, to open ourselves to all that we are, to all that we can be. Ben taught me to live with an open heart. Lenora taught me to live with an open mind.
What a wonderful thing it is, to never stop learning.
Don’t you think?
My dearest Lenny,
I’m sure by now you’re cursing me. And I can’t say that I blame you. But please promise me that you’ll finish this letter, despite how much you may want to rip it to shreds. I am old and (by the time you read this) dead, after all. And I apologize if that sounds morbid, but I promise you—death is anything but.
My mind has been pulling away from me for some time now. And as stubborn as I am, well, I didn’t want to admit it. Which is why I hold myself responsible for the lack of time we’ve spent together these last years. Had I been honest with myself, I could have been honest with you. And family above all else deserves honesty, isn’t that right?
My biggest regret is that I wasn’t honest with you.
All of my life, I’ve prided myself on my intellect. I was so vain! I enjoyed the shock on men’s faces when I—a mere woman!—surprised them with facts they didn’t know, or presented them with ideas they’d yet to think of. It was a high, and my ego clung to that arrogant rush, providing the groundwork for an identity that I built my entire life upon.
Sweet girl, I have so many things to tell you that I could fill up a notebook or two with it all. But in my arrogance, I’ve stolen time, and now there’s none left. So let me try and do the best that I can.
Do you remember the summer you asked if you could live with me? Permanently? If my memory holds true, something it hasn’t been doing much of as of late, I believe you were around eleven. I told you no and watched, rather miserably, as my answer broke your little heart right in half. What you don’t know, however, and (looking back on it now) what I should have told you then, was that I broached the very subject with your mother earlier that summer. I saw how much you loved it in Lost Bay and, though you never came right out and told me, sensed how separate you felt from your family. Your mother, of course, refused, stating reason I won’t go into right now. And since it was out of my hands, I didn’t want to send you back with any more hate for her in your heart than you already seemed to have. I see now that it was a mistake, because you left that summer thinking I didn’t want you, when nothing could have been further from the truth.
And then there was our last visit together, do you remember? I saw such a change in you. A change from the girl you used to be—one with scraped knees, a wild sense of adventure, and a fierce love of animals—to the woman you were becoming—one who couldn’t look past her own nose unless it was down at her phone. I don’t think I wasn’t afforded the pleasure of meeting your lovely eyes more than once or twice during the all-too-short twenty-four hours we spent together. Of course, you had only turned eighteen, and it could be argued that young people just don’t notice silly things like the world around them, much less a relic like me. But still, it concerned me, the way you seemed so disconnected from the world, despite having access to it at your fingertips.
It is my immense hope, Lenny, that you remember that girl. The girl you used to be, the one who faced the world with an enthusiastic wide-eyed wonder. Remember what it feels like to look up.
Now, on to the part I’m sure you’re curious (not to mention furious) about. The stipulation I put on your inheritance wasn’t a merciless act, nor was it to prove a point. My only thought was that it might, perhaps, give you a way out. Of life, if you will. I figured that if you were already happy, truly happy, then waiting a decade for your inheritance wouldn’t be an issue. If you weren’t happy, however, then I thought having you spend a year in Lost Bay, away from everything that was familiar, would give you the peace and quiet you needed to determine what would, in fact, bring you joy.
Not everyone has the luxury of being forced out of their comfort zone with the promise of a life preserver, if you will. I wanted to provide you with that option, if you so needed it.
And I’ll admit, there’s a wonderful young man up here that I can’t help but feel you’d get on beautifully with. But that may just be the romantic in me. Something, I’m sure, you never knew I was. It was a side I should have let out more; I know that now.
But, goodness! Just listen me! Rambling away like a senile old woman. Oh, wait. I am a senile old woman! (Of course, if you can’t laugh at yourself, then who can you, hmm?)
Did I mention that my mind is slipping away? I can’t remember if I did. I can feel it, loose tendrils of thought I can’t grasp no matter how hard I try. It hurts sometimes, though the pain isn’t physical. Sometimes I wonder if what’s happening is real.
It’s slipping now, and I’m ready. Sweet girl, I’m ready to go. Few regrets aside, I’ve lived a long and happy life, even in my golden years. Even with this disease. Age is only a curse if we fight it. Make friends with it, and you’ll find the passing of time to be a blessing.
I’ve learned too much over the years to believe that our consciousness merely dissolves into nothing upon death. And, believe it or not, I’m not afraid to die. So I’m lifting my anchor, captaining my own ship, so to speak. I’m ready for what’s next.
My mind is slipping, so I’ll leave you with this:
Life is beautiful. The simple things are the best. And you are so loved.
Your Crazy Gran,
Lenora Adel Vane
PS – There’s a wonderful young man up here that I think you’d get along with beautifully. His name is Ben, and he saved me.
Spring
“We’re sure going to miss you around here.”
Sif dabs at her eyes and swoops in to give me yet another hug.
“I’ll be down all the time to visit,” I say, squeezing her back while fighting tears of my own.
Much more maternal than my own mother, Sif took me in after I moved out of Destiny’s Place back in January, offering me free room and board along with teaching me everything she knows about the business, from ingredients to numbers. With her permission, I’ve tweaked some of her recipes and am taking them with me to Lost Bay where my new shop, Lenny’s Place (thanks, Destiny!) will be opening in a few weeks. Thanks to Chevy, my website is up and running, and even though the store isn’t officially open, I have enough orders booked for the next few months to keep me busy well into fall.
Sif gives Ben a stern look, one to match his own, and squeezes my shoulders. “You take care of this girl,” she says, nodding once for emphasis.
Ben smiles, responding with a nod of his own. “Yes, ma’am.”
I knew stopping by the shop on our way out of town wouldn’t be a quick visit, but Ben waits patiently as I say good-bye to everyone, including a few clients that pop in just before I’m about to walk out the door. I’ll miss them, too.
It’s the end of May, that time of year where it’s still cold in the shade but hot as Hades when standing directly under the sun, and one of my co-workers, Emery, sits at the outdoor patio, keeping it cool under the shop’s pink and white-striped awning. Next to his side are two dogs, our dogs, both sporting goofy grins. Asha whines when she sees us, as if hoping for a treat, and Bear, who I adopted back in January, simply wags his tail, tongue lolling. Of the two, he’s the mature one. Though, at times, he can be such a complete goofball, you’d swear he was two rather than nine. But I guess it’s like Lenora said, age is a blessing if you don’t fight it. And Bear eases his way through his days as carefree as a clam.
I hug Emery, thank him for watching the dogs, and say the last of my good-byes. Then, just like that, this chapter of my life is closed.
Ben and I walk down the sidewalk hand in hand, a dog’s leash slung from each wrist, and I can’t help but send a thank you out to Lenora, wherever she is.
Lenora, who always gave it to me straight. Who thought outside of the box and, eventually, taught me to think outside of mine. Who stood five-foot two yet was larger than life.
My grandmother, who had the foresight to know that I needed to be hurled right out of my comfort zone when I couldn’t see it myself.
She’s happy, I’m sure of it. Though, as Ben would say, it’s more of a feeling than a knowing.
We arrive at
our vehicles, and Ben loads Asha into his truck while Bear hops into my Rover. I’m bummed that we can’t ride together, but I’ll be following him the whole way, so I really can’t complain. And I love the fact that he drove all the way down here just so he could usher me all the way back up. It’s a selfless act, and I love him for it.
At my door, he pulls me in for a kiss before we leave, then touches his forehead to mine. “Are you ready to go home?”
Home.
The thought makes me smile.
THE PRAIRIE TALES
One Fluttering Heartbeat
Found in Silence
Beneath the Shine
The Memory of Us
Lisa lives in Minnesota with her husband, Chris, and their crazy mutt, Lindy.
