To the Sea (Follow your Bliss) Read online

  To the Sea

  By Deirdre Riordan Hall

  To the Sea

  Copyright© 2014 Deirdre Riordan Hall

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author/publisher except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Please visit me on the Web: http://www.deirdreriordanhall

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  “The cure for everything is salt water: tears, sweat, and the sea.”

  -Isak Dinesan

  Part 1: Tears

  “for whatever we lose (like a you or a me?/ it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.”

  – e.e. Cummings

  Chapter One

  Late night. Don’t wait up for me. Kiss.

  At the sight of the text, Kira’s knuckles blanched from gripping her phone so tightly. She quelled the temptation to chuck it across the room. The only thing stopping her was the thought of having the vintage linen paint of her custom colonial touched up.

  She blew out the tapered candles, immersing herself in darkness. Before she found the dining room dimmer switch, she drew a deep breath, reminding herself that Jeremy’s new position at the firm kept him busy, but it wouldn’t always be that way. As she returned the unused dinnerware to the china cabinet, she decided to hang onto one of the wineglasses.

  Alone again, Kira nibbled the cold asparagus and mushroom risotto. Her cell phoned jingled, startling her in the silent house. For one hopeful moment, she thought it was Jeremy, their plans for the romantic night back on. Her best friend’s name lit up the screen.

  “Hey Nic,” she answered.

  “Hey yourself, what’s wrong?” After years of late night calls, gripes about guys—on Nicole’s end—and knowing each other like sisters, she knew something was off just by the dropped tone of Kira’s greeting.

  “Nothing. I’d just planned a dinner in and—”

  “He’s late?”

  “No, he cancelled,” Kira said glancing at the guidebook to Paris on the kitchen island.

  After the ceremony last fall, they settled for a night’s stay at a B&B in Nantucket, but already that seemed ages ago. The promise of visiting the City of Light for a proper honeymoon strengthened her on nights like these.

  “I’m sorry. I wish we were closer. What city could we live in together? Each week we could have a girl’s night out or stay in and watch You’ve got Mail, eat Ben and Jerry’s—I know you love Chubby Hubby. Or how about teleporting? A portkey, maybe?”

  Kira squeaked out a laugh. Sometimes she wondered if it’d been smart to marry so young, she was just out of college.

  They wrapped up the call with details about their respective jobs, and Nicole listened intently while Kira outlined some of the itinerary she’d planned for Paris.

  Once off the phone, Kira sighed and grabbed a wedge of the chocolate and raspberry tart she’d bought at a quaint little bakery. Along with the full wineglass, she slouched upstairs to her bedroom, alone.

  She unpinned her long, brown hair and sat on the end of the bed with the wine in one hand and the TV remote control in the other. The opening credits for the Bachelorette glided ironically across the screen. The suitor in the grey V-neck sweater reminded her of Jeremy with his dark brown hair, distinct eyebrows, and arched smile.

  When they met, Jeremy Annandale wasn’t a rising star at a big shot law-firm in Boston, but with Kira at Harvard where she earned a business degree. They found each other a terrific distraction from endless studying. Up until Jeremy, she’d never been serious with anyone. In high school, she committed herself to her education, not offering her heart, or anything else, to a guy.

  After graduation, Jeremy unexpectedly proposed as they celebrated with friends at an upscale steakhouse. It took Kira by surprise, but then again so did his interest.

  Just before the Bachelorette returned from a commercial break, a sneak preview of the prior season’s upcoming wedding piqued Kira’s interest, having recently orchestrated her own.

  Kira sipped her wine, cursorily keeping an ear open for Jeremy’s BMW pulling into the driveway. It was the third night that week he’d had to work late. It was a big case. He’d said, “All eyes were on him.” Jeremy liked the attention; he was a ham, an educated, well-manicured, Beemer-driving ham.

  Kira sighed deeply as Brianna slipped into a hot tub with the suitor that at least seemed to have half a wit. She dozed as they leaned in toward one another and the screen faded.

  The alarm clock roused her from a fitful sleep, but she was pleased to see Jeremy snoozing beside her. She pulled the duvet up on her side of the bed and crept to the bathroom, careful not to wake him. A few extra minutes of sleep after a late night meant she was less likely to meet a grump later in the day; that is, if she saw him that evening.

  Leaning into her custom closet, she selected a pair of grey Manolos to complete her outfit. Once downstairs, the green digital numbers on the microwave clock warned there was only enough time to pour a cup of coffee, grab a muffin from the pantry, and dash out the door into the misty April morning. It should have been a forty-five minute commute, but often resulted in an hour and fifteen minutes locked in traffic. She thought wistfully of their old condo and the convenience of its central location in Boston.

  ***

  Before Kira knew it, the sounds of computers shutting down, briefcases clicking shut, and lights flicking off signaled the end of the day. Hoping Jeremy would keep their reservation at a French restaurant in the city, she checked her cell phone for messages from him. The little black letters in the awaiting speech bubble read,

  Late night again. Sorry. Let’s resched for tomorrow. Kiss.

  Deflated, Kira swiveled back to her desk and took an extra half hour to finish her report. At least she and Jeremy shared a commitment to their professions. She took her time leaving the office, thankful she’d miss rush hour traffic, but disappointed she’d find out which eager suitor Brianna selected. Don’t pick a lawyer she silently suggested.

  The unlit house on Lilac Court stood cold and empty when Kira returned. She fixed herself leftovers and sat at the center island flipping through mail. She picked up an envelope from Winter, her older sister, who sent her hand written letters once a month—her way of staying in touch without them actually having to speak.

  They couldn’t be more different, yet they were alike in one precise way. As soon as they were able, they high-tailed it as far as possible from the commune their parents raised them on. Not far in the physical sense, Winter, her partner Acacia, and their children, lived in southern Connecticut and Kira, just outside Boston. However, they distanced themselves emotionally, each erecting a fortification of civilization, education, and a kind of order that their free-spirited hippie parents never offered.

  Dear Summer,

  I hope you’ve settled into your house and have the pantry, medicine cabinets, drawers, and chests organized alphabetically, chronologically, and categorically. I’m expecting perfection when we spend Thanksgiving with you. I’m kidding. But I’m not, actually. With the new baby due at the end of the summer, I just don’t think Acacia and I will be able to pull off another big meal this year, so we’re leaving it up to you. Tim
e to pass the baton, as they say. But you have months to prepare, so pull out your notebooks, or whatever high-tech gadget you use, along with some post-its and page dividers, and get on it. The seven of us will only accept the best. You know I’m teasing.

  Winter went on to describe in careful detail the lives of her children, their firsts, and of course, drama from the commune. Although their father died and their mother took off, Kira was thankful not to have any contact with the vestiges of her past. The patchouli, drum circles, and lentils were long behind her. Winter closed the letter with her usual,

  Look after yourself and keep happy. Love, Winter

  She always used their given names, Summer and Winter; though as a young business professional, Kira used her middle name, which was slightly more acceptable. Kira Speranza or now that she was married, Kira Speranza-Annandale sounded far more respectable.

  Winter was witty and irreverent and said Summer Speranza sounded like a stripper’s name. She suggested she keep it, if only to annoy stodgy colleagues. The truth was it annoyed her. She would have preferred Jane or something similarly simple, easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and easy to understand. Jane would have been suitable, Summer Kira Speranza was another animal altogether, and she had yet to meet her.

  Uncorking the bottle of Pinot from the night before, she once again adjourned to the bedroom, alone. She was less than riveted by the romance between Brianna and her men, yet yearned for some of her own.

  Kira picked up her cell phone to send Jeremy a text, but realized they hadn’t actually spoken that day or the one before.

  She considered surprising him with take-out and a little hanky-panky at the office, like she’d bravely done at his frat house back in college, but he’d made it clear that the firm was no place for such things.

  After tapping his icon to call, the electronic ring sounded a few times. There was a muffled noise before Jeremy’s, “Hello.”

  “Hi,” Kira said, her voice scratchy from disuse.

  “What’s up?” Jeremy asked hastily. “Everything alright?”

  “I just—” she paused. The space and time dividing them stretched before her, making her unsure what to say. “I just wanted to see how you were,” Kira said, clearing her throat.

  “Ugh,” he said. “Just getting this finished up. The end is in sight, though. Not to worry.”

  “Good. I miss our evenings together.”

  “It’ll be a late one again. Don’t wait up for me,” he said.

  Kira heard a banging sound and laughter. “What’s that? Is someone—” she started.

  “Oh that? Just the cleaning crew checking if I’m still here.” His voice came out strained.

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just working on this big case. Don’t worry; I’ll make it up to you.”

  She’d heard that before. Nevertheless, a small smile spread on her lips. “Miss you.”

  “Yeah, me too.” With that, they said good night, and Kira rolled over, hoping he’d soon be sleeping softly beside her.

  She hugged her crimson Harvard sweatshirt tightly, thinking back to when they’d met. Over the years, her books hadn’t provided the best companionship and Kira welcomed his attention. She longed for the romance of plays and novels or reality TV for that matter. But their whirlwind relationship and the pressures of school, followed by current commitments at work, left little time for that sort of thing.

  On nights alone, Kira wondered if she was just another notch in Jeremy’s belt, the pretty and intelligent wife added to championship rowing, a legendary fraternity, the law degree from a prestigious university, a budding career, and a well-to-do family. Adrift in thoughts of the past and her present longing, she fell asleep.

  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.