Eternal Journey (6 page)

Anna had hated having to put her shoes on over her wet and sandy feet to make the trek over the scalding sand to the car.
Her mother would carry her brother and she would have to walk. She really didn’t think it was fair, but her mother told her
that was what growing up was all about.

“I should have asked her before she died what she meant by that,” Anna mumbled aloud. “Was it that growing up meant walking
unassisted, or did she want me to get used to those irritating grains of sand in my shoes?”

Those early years, Anna was convinced, solidified her character. She knew she had been blessed even before she could speak
in sentences and knew, even during the later, more difficult times, that she was indeed lucky to have been born to such fine
people. Anna was the oldest of six children, each as different as they were similar. Anna was the first not only of her clan,
but of twelve grandchildren counting both sides. For almost four years, the little girl had been the only child of doting
parents, two sets of bickering grandparents, a slew of strange but equally doting aunts, uncles, great- and grandaunts, and
some distant cousins often talked about but rarely, if ever, seen.

These are the most critical years of development, she would later learn as she sailed through her psychology classes, thinking
that most of what her professors took three hours a week to cover was simply common sense. As she listened hour after hour,
day after day, year after year, to the horrors experienced by those troubled souls who sought her counsel, Anna grew even
more grateful for her early years. Not that they were perfect by any stretch, but her family ills and quirks paled in comparison
to the stories that filled her office. She knew that her blessed upbringing was just preparation for her life’s work, and
that in a strange, almost karmic way she would be able to help people feel better about themselves, and their lives, if only
they would listen.

Listening is, in essence, the job of a psychologist. Of course, it is much more than that. But, truth be told, Anna was convinced
that if children had parents who really listened to them, there would be a lot of unemployed psychologists. Her colleagues
were appalled when she came out with blunt simplifications like that, and they had virtually ostracized her as her message
gained popularity and credibility. Initially, Anna was quite disturbed about all the uproar until Beth and Chris pointed out
that she had never cared what people said or thought about her, and that was what made her so refreshing to be around. So
Anna ventured even farther out on a limb and said that the ability to listen and to love were the hallmarks of a well-functioning
adult, and that everything else was just window dressing. While not rocket science, Anna knew these abilities were harder
to practice than any exercise regimen.

Maybe that’s why Beth meant so much to me, she considered as the waves touched the tips of her sneakers. As time went on,
Beth was the only one who really listened to me. Maybe she was the only one all these years I’ve allowed in my heart.

Anna could taste the salt in the air as the wind whipped her hair back from her face. As she looked down, a foaming wave crested
over her feet, soaking them. The bitter cold of the sea shocked her into awareness.

Now she was uncomfortable, her feet clammy and cold. “I hate wet, sandy feet,” she mumbled and began sloshing toward the Explorer.

As the sand gave under her feet, Anna was distracted by yet another familiar voice. She stumbled down the dunes, then slid,
not watching her footing because she was concentrating on listening. Losing her balance, she fell backward. In frustration
and resignation, she sat in the very wet sand. Anna was stunned to hear a stern yet comforting voice call to her over the
dunes.

“Annie Carroll and Beth O’Neill, get in here this very minute. You two girls will not be getting any sympathy from me or anyone
else if you get sick and miss your Christmas play,” Anna’s mother had scolded.

She had been a solid, consistent, and very Irish woman who demonstrated little if any affection openly, except when it came
to Beth. Anna remembered how her mother had embraced Beth after her own mother died, pulling her in as one of the family.
She was able to show Beth a tenderness she withheld from her own offspring. Anna never minded. Her mother’s way of caring
was to scold or criticize—it took Anna some years to figure this out; once she did, though, she relaxed and generally overlooked
Mother’s abrasiveness. This time, however, was different.

She was very angry at her mother and, in typical twelve-year-old fashion, turned to Beth and said, “Just ignore her. She’ll
forget about us in a minute or two, once we are out of sight. Let’s go make angels in the snow.” And so they had.

Anna and Beth, both soaked to the bone, had walked the two miles to the public school playground (it was much bigger than
the Catholic school’s), and made the best angels ever, until their arms ached and their lips turned blue.

“Look, Annie,” Beth said. “I’ll bet we’ve made at least fifty different ones now. Let’s go pick out our guardian angels.”

By the time they had carefully sorted through the figures they had created and decided which each would claim for her own,
it was dark, very cold, and both girls were close to being frostbitten. And while these two less-than-angelic girls did miss
out on their Christmas play, they had no regrets. The playing they did together was much more fun than any old costume pageant.
Anna’s mother, while not sympathetic, propped her up in the big double bed, put on the vaporizer, and had her brother and
sister bring her cups of tea. She even got to watch her favorite TV show, over protests from her siblings, of course, because
it wasn’t her turn.

Anna laughed out loud as she got up and started again down the dune. But not before she made a very big and very beautiful
angel in the wet sand.

“Please watch over Beth up there,” Anna whispered to the figure she had just created. “She’s new to heaven and could use a
friend.” With that Anna hopped into the Explorer, drove to the ferry landing, and drifted across the harbor to the other side.

Anna looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was one o’clock. She had taken off her shoes and socks and put the heater
on full blast, directed toward the floor of the Explorer. By the time she drove off the ferry, her feet were dry. The shoes
and socks, however, were another story. So she drove back to Tisbury by way of the Beach Road, her bare feet working the accelerator
and brake. Smiling to herself, she turned the Explorer toward Oak Bluffs, picturing Beth laughing and her mother shaking her
head in disapproval. She wondered if these kindred spirits had found each other yet.

Oak Bluffs, the funky summer town of the island, was bordered by a picture-postcard array of gingerbread houses built by Methodists
at the turn of the century. Anna loved the place. With their pastel colors and decorative trimwork, the houses reminded her
of childhood fantasies. The town itself held memories of those wild and reckless times from which everyone needed to escape
in the late sixties and early seventies. It was a somewhat inconsistent place, a mixture of illusion and decadence, nightclubs
and revival pavilions, populated by newly rich celebrities dressed like bums, and bums living off million-dollar trusts believing
they were celebrities.

She saw him almost the minute she made the turn into Oak Bluffs. Strange she should recognize his back. But she just knew
it was him. Honking the horn, she slowed down and pulled toward the curb. He looked up, stopped the bike, and smiled.

“How about a lift, stranger?” Anna called, suddenly aware that she had not yet asked his name.

“Where did you get to, Annie? I looked for you but there was no sight of either you or the Explorer, so I just headed off
to see the rest of the island, and was lucky to see the ferry pull up.”

He looks different, Anna thought, barely hearing his question.

“Annie, Annie, Hellooo! Why are you in bare feet? It is the middle of November, not June, you know!”

Startled, Anna looked down at her feet and laughed, realizing for the first time how cold they were. Smiling, she told him
about her mother and her grandmother and the angels in the snow.

Anna stared out at the clear skies and rough ocean as he strapped the bike to the roof of the Explorer. Only dimly aware of
the activity around her, Anna listened to the waves break against the seawall.

A powerful wave of memory crashed into her consciousness as the seawater foamed and frothed against the wall. Anna distinctly
heard Beth’s plea, even over the churning waters of a turbulent ocean.

“Annie, I don’t think I can continue much farther,” Beth said as she pulled the bike off to the side of the road. “Let’s rest
a minute, please.”

Anna looked at her pale and winded friend. Promptly, she parked her bike as well, and hailed down the first pickup that came
along. It had been an ambitious plan, Anna had thought from the beginning, but Beth was insistent. Anna had gone along, despite
her misgivings, thinking who was she to deny her friend anything? They had rented the bikes in Vineyard Haven, and had made
it through the hilly part of the trip, past the Flying Horses building. The faint sounds of accordion music wafted from the
oldest carousel in the country and drifted past them as they struggled to make it up the incline. They were almost to the
easy part of the trip, the turn in the road to essentially flat terrain. As they passed by the hotel on the hill, Beth had
called to her. She was weak and shaky, but once they got a lift back to the house, her color had improved, and her breathing
had returned to normal.

Anna was fixing hot chocolate when she heard Beth pull out one of the kitchen chairs.

“Sit down, please, Ann,” she said, her voice flat and unusually firm. Anna couldn’t remember a time when Beth had called her
just Ann.

“What is it, Beth? What’s the matter?” Anna sat directly across from her, looking into those blue eyes that suddenly seemed
very far away.

“I’m not going to make it, am I?” Beth asked abruptly. Anna just looked at her. “Don’t bullshit me, Annie. Tell me what you
honestly think.”

Beth rarely used profanity, so that, coupled with her tone of voice, took Anna off guard. She was speechless and then became
very uncomfortable. Anna put her head in her hands and began to run her fingers through her hair.

“Beth, I don’t know how to answer such a question. How do I know what your chances are? I’m living each day believing you
will make it. I haven’t allowed myself to seriously consider any alternative. And that’s the truth.”

“Well start considering it,” Beth said in a firm, flat voice. “I want to talk about the alternative, because I don’t think
I can fight this any longer, and I need to talk it through with somebody. I don’t want you to pull any professional crap on
me, okay? I just want you to tell me honestly about what you think and feel in your heart. You’ve always had a sixth sense
about things, Annie, and I know you’ve got a feeling about what’s happening here, too.”

Anna sighed and pushed the chair away from the table. Since this last round of chemo, and after seeing how Beth looked as
they sat huddled on the deck of the ferry on their way to the island, Anna knew her best friend was going to die. She knew
death was imminent, and she had known they would have this conversation at some point during this trip. Still, she hadn’t
expected it now.

“Okay, Beth. Let’s talk about it,” she said softly. Taking her friend’s hands into her own, Anna said, “I’m not in control
here, Beth. You are. This is your life, not mine.”

Beth began to cry and pulled her hands from Anna’s. She pushed her chair away from the table and went over to the window.
Her back facing Anna, she again asked, “So, what do you think, Annie? Am I going to die?”

Anna got up from the table and went over to her friend. She turned her around so that the two faced each other. Anna put her
hands squarely on Beth’s shoulders and said, “Yes, Beth, you are going to die. So am I. So, what’s new here, huh? You are
not going to leave until you decide it’s time. You are in control of that.”

“Do you think I have much longer, Annie?”

“You have as long as you need, Beth. So let’s talk about what you have left to do.”

It was either the door opening or his voice that brought her back. “So, what do you have left to do today, Annie?” he asked
as he climbed into the Explorer.

Somewhat startled, Anna looked at him and said, “For right now, how about something and someplace warm?” And with that, she
scanned the rearview mirror for cars or bikes before pulling back onto the road.

As they drove past the pavilion on the green, the sun glistened off the windows of the Victorian houses lining the avenue.
The pastel dwellings with their intricate latticework and open porches always created a feeling of nostalgia in Anna. She
felt a deep longing for times past as she tried to shield her eyes to cut the glare.

“These houses are amazing,” she heard him say. “Do people actually live in them?”