Bondi Beach (14 page)

Chapter 27

FEBRUARY 25-MARCH 18

The next few weeks went by slowly, and I was beginning to worry about myself since I had begun listening to Barzin way too much. I’d received a text message from Martin when he arrived in Libreville but hadn’t heard from him since then. As I moved through my days without him, I realized how much I’d come to depend on his daily presence.

Our relationship had been a real surprise. I’d gone to Australia to get away and, in a sense, to start over again
, and I’d fallen in love. It had been so long since I’d had a partner in the truest sense of the word – someone who had energy and dreams and a strong sense of purpose. Someone that I could build a life with and be intimate in every way.

But there was more
, much more, swirling inside of me. A series of questions had begun to emerge. Actually, they’d been developing for a long time but only recently could I articulate some of them.


        
What is my greatest passion in life?


        
What is my greatest concern or worry in life?


        
What is my greatest joy?


        
What are my greatest strengths?


        
What are my greatest weaknesses?


        
What are my skills?


        
What sorts of tasks or duties do I lose myself in… when I’m so engaged with something that hours go by without my noticing?

I felt the need to answer all of these questions
– especially the last one. I believed that those answers would help me to determine my next steps. After all, how could I build a solid relationship with Martin if I didn’t have a strong sense of direction in my own life?

I
had always loved nature. When I was a teenager, I’d vowed to devote my career and my life toward protecting the environment. I had realized that many companies do a lot of environmental damage – often without meaning to or without recognizing that they have any alternatives. So, I’d made it my avocation and had become involved with a large multinational that did environmental consulting. Then, I had worked with a European furniture manufacturer on the cutting edge of “greening” and had become its first chief sustainability officer.

Seven
years into working with them, I’d met Jack. We had met when I was visiting Paris on my way home to Geneva. I’d begun to miss home, and the opportunity to return to the States had been tempting as our romance had become more serious. I’d finally made the leap, leaving my job and helping him to run his gallery while starting my own green jewelry design career at my new home in North Carolina.

I’d
always loved my work. Thrived on it. However, my time spent caretaking Jack and my father had redirected my energy away from my large ecological concerns toward smaller familial ones. I had shifted from focusing on designing greener jewelry to help the planet to caring for loved ones. Perhaps there was a significant parallel there – after all, caring for the planet begins at home. We can only love our home planet as much as we love ourselves and those closest to us.

Still, I felt the need to stretch my horizons
but wasn’t sure exactly how to do that. I recognized that I needed a renewed sense of purpose in my own life, something that would inspire me and drive me while being aligned with my primary skills and passions. I missed having not only a career but a passion and knew that I needed to really dig into my work again.

So, during
the time that Martin was away, I dedicated my days to reevaluating my life. I’d begun keeping a journal when I’d been in Sydney and decided to continue that at home. It would help to mark my goals, progress, and lessons learned. Writing also helped me to work through issues and challenges that I faced.

I
n addition to exploring what I wanted to do regarding work, I also signed up for an art class at the local community college. I needed a creative outlet. Having once loved painting, I selected a class in acrylics only for the reason that cleanup with acrylic paint was easier than cleaning up after using oil paints. Today was Wednesday, and the class would begin the following afternoon.

Finally, I joined a local outdoors club
. Given how much I loved hiking and nature, I thought it would be wonderful to get outside and make some new friends.

As much as I missed Martin, I needed to focus on growing myself so that I wouldn’t come to rely on the relationship for providing most of the meaning in my life.
That would put undue pressure on him and would cripple us as a couple.

*****

My art class was held on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons from 4-6 pm. The instructor was a tall, slender woman with dark skin and dark hair that was always pulled back into a severe bun. Deanna Ivings had spent her life working as a very serious artist until she had been in a car accident that had left her needing several surgeries and years of physical therapy. Now, she moved gracefully with a cane.

Each class was devoted to painting something – a still life, a model, or a landscape
. Since it was still winter and the days were short, we stayed indoors and focused on still life or models. Landscapes would come along when the weather warmed.

Although her oute
r demeanor was very exacting, Deanna was a warm and insightful person. She would walk from canvas to canvas surveying the students’ work. Often, she wouldn’t say anything; however, once in a while, she would make a comment. “Interesting use of color” on Daryl’s near neon orange and green portrayal of a nude woman who modeled for the class. “Nice lines” on Angie’s portrait of a bowl with oranges on a table. Angie was an expert in drawing, which was not a skill that I shared. Shading also came naturally to her, and it made her art much more realistic.

My work was a strange amalgamation of realism and cubism
. There was something freeing about painting a “normal looking” male standing uncomfortably amongst a group of cube people. Upon seeing my first attempt at this, Deanna smiled, and I stopped painting. “Nice. Go with it,” she said. So, I did.

I created a triptych of paintings along the same theme
. The one of the left showed a room of cubes with one “realist” man standing there, drink in hand. The middle painting showed the realist man talking with a female cube. In the painting on the right, the realist male was pushing cube-headed/realist-legged children on a swingset. Deanna seemed to like the mix of styles and whimsical theme, and I’d enjoyed painting them. Nonetheless, I looked forward to the warmer weather when we would move outdoors and paint landscapes.

*****

My “off” days were spent mostly weeding and planting during the warmer days. It had been a relatively warm winter, and I enjoyed getting outside to clear dead plants, sowing seeds for some early vegetables under cold frames, and hanging some bluebird houses for the coming spring.

I was also looking forward to my first activity with the outdoors club on Saturday
. It was a lesson in beginning rock-climbing, something that I’d always wanted to try. Given that it was still cold outside, the lesson had been scheduled at an indoor climbing facility. For those of us who were new to the sport, we learned about the proper gear and how to harness ourselves, and we practiced on the climbing walls.

Josie
and I were the only two in the group who had never climbed before. She was athletic with a small and thin but muscular body. I wasn’t quite as athletic as she was, but I’d always been strong. Although my arms were tired by the time we finished, I’d made my way up the wall and looked forward to trying it out on real rocks. We had a trip scheduled for June, and I planned to return to the climbing facility several more times to practice.

Chapter 28

MARCH 19

The following day, I had lunch with my friend Tess. She and her husband John had just broken up, and she had been ranging between angry and inconsolable when we’d talked on the phone. They’d been married for twenty-eight years.

Because I hadn’t known if she want
ed to go out or not, I’d invited her to lunch at my house. I made a simple meal of comfort foods – hot soup, sandwiches, and warm chocolate chip cookies – and hoped to find out what had finally happened to end things between Tess and John.

She walked in the door
, and we hugged.

“I
’m so happy that you’re here,” I told her.

“Well,” she began, removing her coat, scarf, and gloves
. “If I stayed in the house one more day, I’d go stir crazy.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished. I didn’t eat
anything
this morning.” We sat at the table, and I poured two mugs of hot tea. “Thank you,” she said, holding one between her cold hands. She let out a little laugh. “This feels good.”

We
ate lunch and spent the next two hours talking about her relationship with John. He had been her best friend and confidante. When he hit mid-life, however, everything changed. He’d told Tess that he didn’t want to be tied down anymore. Instead, he wanted to explore the world – without her. She’d wondered what happened to the man she’d fallen in love with, and he told her that man was gone.

“Just like that,” she said
. “It was over.” I refilled her mug and passed the plate of cookies over to her. “No, I’ve had enough,” she shook her head. “Well, maybe one more. Anyway, that’s what happened. Now, I have to figure out what to do with myself. It’s really hard to shift gears when, one minute, you think you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone, and, then, it’s over.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and I handed her a tissue. She blew her nose and took a deep breath. “Oh, well. What are you gonna do?” she shrugged. “I’ve cried over this enough. Now, I have to get on with my life.” She laughed nervously, “Whatever that means!”

This entire ordeal had made Tess feel very insecure about herself. She'd made several comments to me recently about feeling short and chubby since having kids. In reality, however, she’s just a few inches smaller than I am, and she has a pretty face with a cute nose and rounded pink cheeks with big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair
. I’d always thought that she was beautiful. Just because John didn't feel that way anymore, I had told her, didn’t mean it was true.

I r
eached out and held her hand. “Tess, is there anything I can do?”

“No, Honey
. Well, you can tell me about this guy that you’re seeing.“

“We don’t have to talk about Martin now
,” I protested, my hand going up.

“Actually
,” she smiled, “I’d love to talk about something else.” She leaned forward a little. “I could use a little juicy news.”

“Okay.
” I didn’t want to get into too much detail given how she was feeling. “Well, we met in Sydney.”

“
In Sydney? Where?”

“On the beach.”

“Oh, let me guess,” she began, her hands animating the entire scene. “You were laying in the sun on your beach blanket, and he came up and said, ‘You’re so beautiful. Can I have your number?’”

We both laughed at the image
. “No, nothing like that.” Trying to keep a straight face but unable to, I giggled. Somehow, it seemed really funny now. I finally managed to get out, “He hit me with his surfboard.”

“What?”
Tess looked perplexed, which made me laugh even harder. “You were surfing?”

“No. W
e were on the beach.”

“How do you surf on the beach?”

I was in hysterics, and she was laughing along, too, without quite understanding the whole thing. Finally, I quieted down and was able to speak. “He was walking on the beach with his surfboard. A friend called out to him. When he turned around to listen to his friend, he accidentally hit me while I walked by.”

“Oh
. Got it,” she said. “Were you hurt?” Then, a realization crossed her face. “Oh!  That Facebook photo!  Is that what happened?”

“Yup.”

A smiled crossed her face. “So, that’s how you met?”

“I never saw what hit me
. I blacked out and was taken to the hospital. He came to see me the following day.”

Her face became serious, and she looked horrified.
“Oh, Eva. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“
I was in the hospital for three days.”

“Huh
? I didn’t think it was that serious from Facebook.”

“Well, I had a concussion, and they wanted to be sure that someone kept an eye on me until the dizziness subsided
. So, Martin took me home with him and took care of me until I got better. The night I got there, I fell at his house and made it worse.”

“He took you home??” Now, she had on her gossip face
– the one where you lean in and you look like you want to absorb every little detail so you can go home and make a few calls.

I nodded.

She still couldn’t get over it. “You went to a strange man’s house?” I shrugged, and Tess nearly spit out her tea. “How long were you there?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“
Well,” I began. “I never left.”

Tess put her hand up to her mouth
. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

“Was it that bad?”

“The injuries?” I
raised my eyebrows, and she nodded. “It was for a while. Then, I started to get better. By that point, I could’ve gone to a hotel, but he asked me to stay.”

She reached out and touched my arm
. “Honey, he’s not a stalker or something, is he?”

I had to laugh.
“No,” I said. “Just very kind and protective.”

Her eyes
watered. “Yeah,” she said in a near whisper. “John used to be that way.”

“I remember
you used to say that. I’m so sorry Tess.”

She
inhaled deeply, shaking her head. “It’s all done now. Anyway, I just hope – what is it, Martin? – doesn’t change like John did.”

I remained quiet
. People do change over time, and I realized that what we had would change over time, too. The only question in my mind was
would we grow and mature as a couple, or would we fizzle out?

“I’m
so sorry, Eva. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay
. It’s possible. You never know how a relationship is going to turn out until you go through it.”

She nodded, and we were both quiet for a moment
.

My cell phone chirped, and I picked it u
p. It was my first text from Martin since he’d arrived in Gabon a few weeks before, and it came in from his email account.
Not feeling well. Want company?

“Sorry, Tess,” I said, typing as quickly as possible
.
Yes. When?

Tonight
.

Tess looked at my worried expression
.
“What’s wrong?”

I shook my head.
“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Martin, and he’s flying here tonight.”

“Tonig
ht? Is there anything I can do?”

I looked up at her and shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Where are you?

Somewhere over the Atlantic. Arrived in & l
eft Germany this morning. Would’ve written earlier but no time. Sorry.

He sent
one last text with his flight number and arrival time.

What’s wrong?
I asked but didn’t hear back from him again. Tess left to let me prepare for Martin’s arrival, and I got online.

Martin’s
first flight must have been the one that left Libreville at 11:30 last night and arrived in Frankfurt at 7:00 this morning. It would have taken about nine-and-a-half hours and gone through two time zones. When he got to Germany, he would've had to go through customs, and I wondered if he had been sick the entire time. He’d had left Frankfurt at 11:15 am (German time) for Boston. There, he would have to go through customs again. The flight from Frankfurt to Charlotte, alone, would take 15 hours. He was scheduled to arrive at 9:27 pm. After that flight schedule, anyone would be exhausted. But if he was sick? I couldn't imagine.

*****

I’d been waiting for two hours outside of the security area at the Charlotte airport when the Arrivals board showed that Martin’s flight had gotten in a little early. When I saw him walking out of the terminal, he looked terrible. I moved quickly toward him, and he spotted me. He wrapped his arms around me, and we must have stood that way for a full minute. Finally, I stepped back and looked at him before leading him toward the chairs near the exit.

“I’ll get the car,” I told him
.

“No,” h
e shook his head slowly, “I’ll walk with you.”

We held hands as I pulled his suitcase
behind me, and we walked slowly across the concourse to the short-term lot. I opened the passenger door of my black Ford Escape hybrid for him, and he got in. I put his suitcase in the back of the car before getting into the driver’s seat and looking at him. “What happened?”

He swallowed slowly, and I could see perspiration forming on his forehead
. “Malaria.”

“What? How did
it happen?”

“I didn’t have a chance to start on the pills before I went to Gabon
. Too little time. When I got there, I didn’t have enough to last the trip.”

I was deeply concerned.
“Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No,” h
e shook his head. “I have medicine. Just take me home.” He leaned the car seat back and slept while I drove.

A
little over an hour later, we arrived at my house. I backed into the garage and opened the door to the house before walking around to his side of the car to help him. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll come back for your suitcase.”

He nodded
. I helped him up the two steps and into the house and led him through the living room and down the hallway to my bedroom. I removed his jacket and tossed it on the big chair in the corner of the room.

“You’re burning up,” I told him
. He simply nodded again.

I went to the closet for a large soft towel and washcloth
. I laid the towel down on top of the bed sheet to absorb his sweat. It would be easier to change the towel than the sheets, and Martin would be more comfortable if I could keep him dry. I took off his shoes, shirt, and pants and laid him in my bed. Then, I went to the car and got his suitcase, bringing it back into the bedroom and opening it up on the chair. I went to the kitchen for a cup of water and a basin, returning to the bedroom and going into the bathroom where I ran the faucet until the water was warm. I put warm water and a washcloth in the basin and carried it back to the bedroom, putting it down on the bedside table nearest him.

Turning off the overhead
light, I turned on the small lamp that now stood just beside the basin. It was a far softer light and would be easier on his eyes. Squeezing most of the water from the washcloth, I wiped his chest and neck with it. I remembered the thermometer in the bathroom and fetched it, placing it against Martin’s temple. It registered 103 degrees. I gave him a Tylenol to break the fever.

“Martin?
” His eyes opened a little. “Do I need to give you any pills?”

He
shook his head. “Already took a mefloquine today,” he barely whispered, his throat sounding dry. “I’ll take one every week for the next few weeks.”

I
put the washcloth into the basin and reached for the glass of water. I held it to his lips, and he drank. “When did you get sick?”

“I felt it coming on
two days ago. I got out of the field and took the first flight they had out of Gabon last night.”

“Germany
?” I asked. He simply nodded.

“
I got to Frankfurt at seven o’clock this morning and went to a health clinic. I could have checked in at the hospital but don’t know anyone in Germany. Then,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I thought of you. They had a flight to Charlotte.”

“
I know. I looked online. That was still a 15-hour flight. You must have felt terrible.”

“The
re was only one flight to Sydney that wasn’t already booked,” he told me. “It would have taken 31 hours. I didn’t think I’d make it.”

“
No. I’m glad you’re here. I’m just sorry you’re sick.” I picked up the washcloth, squeezed out the excess water, and wiped the perspiration off his face, neck, and chest. Then, I dried him with a hand towel so he wouldn’t get too cold and covered him with a thick layer of bedding. “Is there anything I need to know?”