To the Sea (Follow your Bliss) (2 page)

Chapter Two

A
ringing sound in Kira’s dream jarred her to waking as she realized it came from
the house phone. It startled her and instantly she knew there was a problem.
Everyone she could think of in her groggy state would dial her cell. Her feet
cold on the wood floor, she stumbled to the hall, where the phone rang
insistently.

A
tinny voice on the other end asked to speak to Mrs. Speranza-Annandale.

“Yes,
this is she,” she said a bit breathlessly.

“I’m
sorry to report your husband has been in an accident. He’s here at Mass
General.” Whatever the caller said after that sounded fuzzy, as if Kira had
cotton in her ears. In a haze of disbelief and fear, she brought herself to her
Mercedes, half-dressed and half-in pajamas.

She
didn’t remember starting the engine or backing out of the driveway, but found
herself weaving through the damp and sleeping streets of Boston. Her thoughts
alternated between fearing the worst, to convincing herself that everything was
going to be fine. She gripped the steering wheel to steady the tremors that
jerked through her. At a red light, her eyes blurred with tears, but she
quickly wiped them away. Nearing the emergency room, the dark night sky pressed
down on her, filling her mind with fearful thoughts.  

Kira
rushed up to the first person wearing scrubs, looking for answers. Harried, the
nurse directed her to check in. Sweat glazed Kira’s palms as Jeremy’s name slid
off her tongue, thick and out of place in the bright ER. As she waited, worry
clutched her temples, then her jaw, and her throat. It slinked down into her
stomach, settling with tarry queasiness. Shortly after, a nurse appeared. Her
laminated ID badge read, “Laura Ramirez.”

“Miss,
I’m terribly sorry. Your husband is here. He’s currently in surgery.”

“What
happened?” Kira choked out.

The
nurse cleared her throat. “When the paramedics got to him on the north end,
they found his vehicle wrapped around a telephone pole. It’d been raining, the
temperature must have dropped, and the roads were slick.”

Kira’s
fingers pressed into her lips, holding back a desperate wail. She didn’t dare
unglue them.

Another
nurse approached and the two quickly conferred. “Excuse me a moment,” Nurse
Laura said.

Rocked
by disbelief, Kira wondered why Jeremy had been in the north end, not anywhere
near his office. Distress and denial forced clouded thoughts upon her like a
thick fog. As Nurse Laura offered a few more details, her voice faded into the
hum and battery of the hospital, vibrantly awake even at the early hour. The
words blurred into the memory of when her father had slowly left this world.
With a steadying breath, she lowered her hand from her mouth and quickly
composed herself, summoning strength from having dealt with tragedy before.

“Can
you tell me how he is?” Kira asked, climbing back into the moment.

Nurse
Laura didn’t meet her eyes.

“They’re
doing what they can.”

A
sharp sniff escaped, betraying the distress Kira struggled against like a stiff
current. Nurse Laura placed her hand comfortingly on Kira’s arm.

“Please,
come have a seat,” she said, beckoning Kira to a small alcove out of the glare
of the ER. After bringing Kira a cup of coffee, the nurse excused herself.

Kira’s
unfocused gaze flitted over to an older couple and two young men sitting a
distance from her, the woman sobbing softly into a tissue. After what seemed
like an eternity, Laura returned with a doctor, whose tired, grey eyes
suggested sadness, and too many reminders of mortality.

“Can
I see him? When will he recover?” she sputtered. The words were distant and
foreign on her tongue.

 “Mrs.
Speranza-Annandale, I regret to inform you that we’ve lost your husband.”

Kira
didn’t hear the rest as her hand immediately returned to her mouth. The act of
pressing her fingers to her lips ensured she contained the primitive and
lamenting sound that begged to be released, at least until she was alone.

Her
eyes threatened to spill tears, but she fought them back as her heart
overflowed. The doctor stood there awkwardly. Then, as Nurse Laura knelt by
Kira’s side, he swept away.

“I’m
so sorry,” she said.

Kira’s
body registered the situation more than her mind as it fought against wracking
sobs. But she held it together, clutching at the possibility that there had
been a mistake.

“Would
you like to see him one more time?” Nurse Laura asked.

Kira
closed her eyes. There was nothing there but blank space, stretching endlessly
in darkness. No thoughts formed. No images flashed behind her eyelids.
Emptiness and silence pressed against her, threatening to consume her, until
the nurse’s hand on her arm, once again, startled her back to the present.

“Miss
Speranza-Annandale, are you okay?” Kira shook her head. No, she could never
imagine being okay again. Nonetheless, her legs carried her to a room where
Jeremy rested motionless on a gurney. The void of grief opened for her then,
but she politely waited to collapse into it until she was alone. 

***

The
large, circular clock on the hospital’s wall showed that night had indeed
brought a new day, but one Kira didn’t want to face. Jeremy’s family blinked in
and out of her periphery, a blur of paperwork and phone calls demanding
everyone’s attention.

Finally,
unable to drive, a rainy cab ride home brought on a kind of exhaustion Kira had
never experienced. As she practically sleepwalked upstairs, she unplugged the
hall phone, turned off her cell, and drew the blinds. She collapsed on her side
of the bed and let grief sweep her into the void.

As
minutes turned into hours, the rest she yearned for failed to bring comfort.
Her thoughts were soupy, repetitive layers of time spent in the hospital, and
the hollow feeling of Jeremy’s absence. She considered maybe it was a dream, a
nightmare.

She
rolled over and stared at Jeremy’s still-made side of the bed. Kira slipped her
hand under the top sheet. It was cold, telling her like a pinch on the arm that
she was rooted in reality. She slid over and rested her head on his pillow,
taking in the lingering smell of his spicy aftershave. Like a sedative, it
quickly put her to sleep.

When
she woke, her eyes dry from her contacts, the shadowy lack of light through the
shades indicated nighttime. Disoriented, she sat up. Like pressing replay, the
reason she rested on Jeremy’s side of the bed became vividly clear.

Like
the banks of a raging river, Kira’s eyes threatened to release a deluge of
tears, but she fought them. This was not the fairytale ending she’d expected.
The script she’d auditioned for included the nice house in the suburbs where
they’d entertain friends, take ski trips, and maybe, although she hadn’t
thought much about it, have a family. And their upcoming honeymoon, they were
newlyweds after all; she’d just graduated college, they were so young. Death
was not supposed to happen so early on. It wasn’t part of her plan. She weakly
struggled with the fact that this was the end.

She
rolled over, tucked into a ball, and willed herself back to sleep.

***

Days
wove dully in and out of one another. Kira ignored the voice in her head that
suggested she turn on her phone, answer the door, or eat.

Her
body ached from despair, from disbelief, and loneliness. Finally, she reached
for her cell phone and powered it up. She hoped Jeremy had left a message. As
she flipped through an assortment of missed calls from her sister, Nicole,
Jeremy’s parents, and a host of friends, she realized with clarity that she
wouldn’t find a call from him. There was no mistake; their last words to each
other were good night. It was almost the same as goodbye, but not quite.

She
couldn’t bear to listen to the messages. She watched the numbers on the clock
change until they blurred green.

When
she woke again, it was morning. She opened the curtains halfway, the light
stinging her eyes. She took a deep breath, flooding her body with the memory of
energy, vitality.

Kira
steadied herself on the stairs, faint with hunger. She returned to bed,
nibbling on dry crackers, and idly checked her email. Distressingly, the first
displayed was a confirmation from the hotel she’d booked in Paris next month,
having diligently planned almost every detail of the honeymoon.

Kira
sunk back into the feather pillow, closed her eyes, and waited. Waited to fall
asleep again, waited to wake up, waited for someone to pop out from behind the
armoire and shout something ridiculous like, “You’re on candid camera.” As she
lay there, all was silent except for the dull sound of someone’s dog barking in
the distance.

Her
stomach growled, but she wasn’t hungry, only thirsty, and lonely. She rolled
over. Her half-filled glass of wine, from several nights ago, sat on the side
table like a sanguine punctuation mark, before and after.

Aching,
she got up and picked up the glass to refill it. Someone knocked on the door.
Peeking downstairs, the familiar face of her best friend, Nicole, peered in
through the etched glass. Kira slowly descended.

With
windblown hair, and shirt askew, revealing she’d driven directly from
Manhattan, Nicole pulled Kira into her arms. Kira held onto her like a life
raft. Nicole weathered Kira through the passing of her father and her mother’s
subsequent exodus. In times of crises, Kira required order, cleanliness, and
the semblance of normalcy. Most of all, she wanted quiet; not the kind that
crushed her with grief, but that silenced the despairing thoughts of loss with
nowhere to land except on her heart. Kira drifted in and out of sleep,
comforted in Nicole’s arms.

Nicole
and Kira had come from different worlds. Nicole’s family was rife with educated
deans, chairs, and CEOs. On the other end of the spectrum, to Kira’s chagrin,
she hailed from a hippie commune via an ashram. Her parents did little more
than contrive ways to avoid responsibility.

They’d
found each other, bursting to get out of the same small town, and built their
friendship upon the desire to see the world and break some rules, namely the
ones their respective families set out for them. Kira accomplished her goal;
instead of illegally growing hemp and practicing free love, she obtained an
education and a career. She imagined they’d switch roles and Nicole would drop
out and hook up with a hippie band on tour, but she graduated college just as
her family dictated.

When
the sun’s cloud-muted light shone through the east-facing window, Kira woke.
She met the gentleness in Nicole’s eyes, inviting her to be quiet, talk, or do
whatever she needed.

 “Kira,
I’m so sorry,” Nicole said, her face flushed with tears.

“Thank
you for coming,” she said softly.

“Of
course,” Nicole answered.

Through
glassy eyes, Kira dimly looked around the house she’d always wanted. “This,”
she said pointing to the high ceilings, the polished wooden bannister, and
large windows, “it means nothing now. There’s no future. Lilac Court, so
quaint, so perfect, it’s meaningless.” Kira sniffled. “What am I going to do?”

She
knew Nicole didn’t have an answer. Reclining on the couch, Kira closed her eyes
wishing for something different.

Nicole
rubbed her back. Before she drifted off to sleep, Nicole whispered, “Time.”

When
Kira woke, it was dark.

“Would
you like to shower? I’ll get you some clean clothes,” Nicole said working as
Kira’s conduit to order.

Afterward,
feeling somewhat refreshed, Kira knew Nicole had to return to Manhattan soon,
but she wasn’t ready to be alone again. Yet, she didn’t know how else to be.
The sting of loss pierced her ability to speak. It gripped her in a way that
made it hard to move. All she could do was just be.

Later,
they listened to the voicemails on Kira’s cell phone. Nicole skillfully and
diplomatically guided her through each one, noting numbers, times, and actions;
she didn’t work in foreign policy for nothing. 

Nicole
ordered take-out and made sure Kira ate, tidied up around the house, and left
her a list of what she needed to do Monday morning. Afterward, Kira held Nicole
in a long hug, afraid to let go.

“Call
me any time, day, or night. I’m only a phone call away if you need to talk.”

Nicole
departed, and with her went Kira’s grip on her emotions. The house suddenly
felt shrouded in silence, not the tranquil quiet Nicole created, but the
lonely, viscous silence that left Kira thick with desolation.

She
reluctantly extracted herself from her divot on the couch, went up to her room,
and noted Nicole had made the bed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get in and
disturb its decorative pillows and the smooth duvet. It seemed like a raw and
vulnerable place to be. However, the invisible heaviness pushed down on her,
and she slunk into Jeremy’s spot. She slept until, preset, her alarm woke her
for work.

Going
to the office wasn’t an option.