Eternal Journey (10 page)

Anna scoured Rebecca’s kitchen and found what you would expect to find in the kitchen of a woman who had two homes, full-time
help in each one, and who was on the Martha Stewart preferred reader list. There were more cookbooks in this one house than
Anna had textbooks and reference books in her office. Anna found an interesting and not too difficult recipe for linguine
with pesto, pine nuts, and goat cheese, threw in a few other odd condiments she had never heard of, and topped off the dish
with two dozen capers, one for each day since Beth’s funeral. The dish was actually quite good, though a bit on the salty
side, but Anna was committed to finishing off each and every caper. As she was cleaning up following the feast, Anna smiled
as she envisioned Becky asking Patrick to lay in goat cheese, pine nuts, and capers for a visiting weekend guest.

She changed the CDs back to Mozart, Beethoven, and Debussy, then rooted in Michael’s desk for some paper. The flashing answering-machine
light still beckoned to her. Not now, she thought. I’ll check it later.

Anna found a tablet of paper and, rather than use one of the roller-ball pens with some cardiac-drug advertisement on the
side—another reason so many patients cannot afford their medications, she thought somewhat cynically—she rooted in her bag
and found her Mont Blanc. The pen had been a gift from her agent, and she used it rarely. I guess I’m really no better than
Michael, she thought to herself as she tugged the top off the burgundy implement. Who am I to judge him so harshly?

Anna found a Duraflame log, then placed it in the hearth and lit it. She had used most of the dry logs that Patrick had piled
for her by the fireplace. There were two fairly good-sized ones left, but she thought she might extend the life of the fire
by cheating a bit with the packaged variety. She was craving a cappuccino, and she knew there would be a machine somewhere,
so she set off to find it. Sure enough, Becky had one.

The machine was screeching as the milk started to foam, and Anna deftly coordinated the process. Cup in hand, Anna walked
through the kitchen, glancing at the clock. Incredibly, it was already ten o’clock. Anna didn’t feel at all tired as she pulled
the afghan up onto her lap and took her first sip of the strong, steaming coffee. She stared into the fire, its flickering
flames of blue, yellow, and orange both mesmerizing and soothing her.

She had no idea how long she might have gazed before she began to write.

To my dear friend Beth,

This has to be one of the oddest things I’ve ever done, writing to someone who is now dead, but somehow it seems to be the
only thing left to do. I miss you already, Beth, and I know how much I’ll miss getting those postcards and notes from you.
Just think of how much fun you and I would have had if you had lived long enough to go on E-mail. In a way we were already
connected in cyberspace, old friend….

“What do you mean by that, Annie?”

Too stunned to be scared, Anna looked up to see Beth sitting cross-legged on the cocktail table. Her floppy denim hat was
perched on her head as she flipped through one of the coffee-table books Becky had stacked on top.

Anna said through tears of happiness, “Beth, is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me, you ninny—who else could it possibly be?”

Anna couldn’t believe her eyes. Beth was actually here, in the room and ready to talk to her.

“Well,” Anna said as she put down the pen, “I guess I don’t need to write anymore.”

“So what do you mean about E-mail, huh?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Beth. You and I could communicate without even speaking at times. But forget about that. I
have so many more important things I need to talk to you about. How long can you stay?”

Inside, Anna wondered why she wasn’t sputtering with amazement over this visit from Beth. But the two of them were so close
in life, why not after death?

“As long as you need me to, but only for tonight. I felt we left things unfinished too, and I thought I owed it to you to
come back, so I found John and here I am.”

“John? Who’s John?” Anna asked. “Should I know this guy?”

“And just who do you think you’ve been connecting with all day, Dr. Carroll?”

“Oh,
that
John! So that’s his name. Who is he? What does he do for a living, Beth? He seems a little troubled, somewhat ambivalent
in a way, but down deep I think he’s a very peaceful man, the type of guy who really is at home with himself.”

Beth was smiling and shaking her head. “That’s my Annie, ever analyzing. Annie, John was the priest who officiated at my funeral.
Don’t you remember he came over to you when you were sobbing, took your hand, and helped you into the limo?”

Of course. It all came back to Anna now. That was why he seemed so familiar, and that was why he seemed to know things without
being told. It was all starting to make sense.

“So, he’s the friend of the Duffys, huh?”

Beth looked at Anna, then looked away at the fire. “Cousin, actually. Remember the week we spent here last fall, Annie? I
know you remember our conversation that day in Becky’s kitchen when I asked you if I was going to die.”

Beth had a rather smirky smile on her face when she looked at Anna and said, “One of the best things about where I am now
is I get to know what you’re thinking without asking. It’s a whole new way of connecting. It is fabulous. If we have time,
I’ll teach you a few things before I leave for good.

“Anyway”—she was serious now—“you’ll recall I took a long walk that afternoon after we spoke in the kitchen. You had hit the
nail on the head with what you said to me, Annie, my friend, so I set out trying to figure out what I had left to do before
I moved on. That was one of the wisest things that has ever come out of your mouth. It really helped me go the next step.
As I was walking past the Duffys’ house, John was coming out of their back door, looking pretty upset. I guess we were two
troubled souls who recognized each other, because he asked if he could join me and I said sure, though I didn’t know what
kind of company I’d be. In any case, that’s how we met.

“As we walked, I told him I was dying. It was the first time I said it aloud. I really hadn’t even said it to myself. It was
very liberating… saying it, I mean. He just looked at me and nodded. I had no idea he was a priest at that point—I just felt
comfortable talking to him. So we walked for miles, and I just talked. I told him about my mother, and how lonely I’d been
all these years. I cried when I told him about the girls. I felt so bad knowing I would be leaving them behind. I asked him
what I could do for them and for Tom, too. He was so terrific, Annie. He listened and asked questions, and by the time the
walk was over, I really felt at peace. That man helped me face my own death and somehow transferred strength to me to do all
that I needed to this last year. Before we parted that afternoon, I asked him what he did. He told me he was a priest. ‘Father
John Duffy,’ he said. ‘You know the Irish, a priest in every family.’ ”

Beth looked away from Anna and sighed ever so softly.

“I just smiled at him, shook his hand, and said ‘I should have known. Thanks.’ Then when I felt that the end was really close,
I called Becky and asked her to find him for me. I had decided to be buried as a Catholic, and I wanted to talk to him while
I still could. And that’s how he came to be at my funeral.”

Anna was staring at the fire, which had worked its way down to just embers and was throwing various shadows around the room.
Beth was sitting next to her on the sofa now, but she wasn’t as clear as she had been sitting atop the table.

“I had to come back, Annie, to see you, or rather for you to see me, one more time. It wasn’t that I forgot about you, or
that I didn’t appreciate all you did for me toward the end. It’s just that I had so many others that needed me. You are so
strong, Annie—you always have been. I’ve always known what I meant to you, my friend. You don’t have anything to say that
I don’t already know.

“I came back, Annie, to tell you what you meant to me. I can’t even begin to imagine what my life would have been without
you. You were my rock, my anchor, since we were in the first grade, wearing those ridiculous beanies on our heads. And when
my mother died when we were in high school, Annie, I was devastated. I don’t think you have any idea how hard a mother’s death
is on a child unless you’ve experienced it. As I grew older, I grew stronger, but if I hadn’t had you and that family of yours,
I know my life wouldn’t have been the same.”

Beth was beginning to fade from Anna’s sight, but her presence still filled the room.

“That’s why Tom and I had the children so early. I think down deep I always knew I’d have less time, and I didn’t want the
girls to be as young as I was when my mother had to go. When I spoke to John that day, I told him I felt guilty that I’d even
had children at all. That I was selfish to have brought children into this world knowing my family history. He told me that
we all have a purpose or reason for being, and that my girls were here because they wanted to be, not because of me. I thought
it was an odd thing for a priest to say at the time. It sounded more like something you’d say, but it made me feel a lot better.
Anyway, Annie, you have given me a wonderful treasure chest of memories to carry with me through all eternity.”

Anna’s eyes were misting but she could still see a very faint outline of her friend. Beth was glowing now.

“I can’t stay with you too much longer, Annie. Before I died, John told me what he had been so troubled about that day. He
said he was thinking of leaving the priesthood, that he felt unfulfilled and insincere in his work. He told me that afternoon
walk changed his life too, and he realized that our meeting was not at all coincidental. John said he had never really reconciled
the losses in his life, and that he and I had connected for a purpose. He helped me find my soul and I helped him revive his.
I realized during my last hours on earth that I had chosen this life I had, and I died knowing that losing my mother was all
part of the lesson I needed to learn. I also died understanding that life is all— no,
only
—about relationships, Annie. You and I have a connection that knows no boundaries. Just as my mother was and is a part of
my soul, so are you. I love you, Annie.”

Anna could taste her tears. She wiped them from her eyes, and she could barely see Beth’s face. The room had a warm glow,
even though the fire had gone cold. Anna reached out to her friend but she could only hear her say, “Don’t be sad, Annie.
I’m always with you.”

SUNDAY

_______________

A
nna woke up gradually, not with a jump-start like the morning before. She looked down at her lap and saw a blank sheet of
paper. She lay very still for a long time, watching the soft morning light bring the room alive.

“Beth, you forgot to tell me how we can communicate with our thoughts,” Anna whispered aloud.

Somewhere in the back of her head Anna heard Beth’s voice say, “You already know how to do that.”

As Anna lay on the sofa, she struggled between her heart and her head. She wasn’t sure what to believe or even what she thought
she should believe. Had Beth’s appearance in this very living room been a dream, or, truly, a visitation from beyond?

Up until now, Anna had always favored her left brain—that dispassionate, objective, scientific dimension of her character.
Like most competent psychologists, Anna based her practice on a set of theories or beliefs about what makes the human person,
personality, or character tick. Anna was Jungian trained, hence she viewed dreams as symbols or metaphors created by the unconscious
mind.

“Sometimes dreams help us work out a current struggle, maybe even solve a problem,” Anna had said more than once to her radio
audience, “or they can be forecasts of what’s to come.”

Carl Jung wrote about the “meaning coincidence” between the dream and waking existence. In other words, he believed that,
for a time, our subconscious synchronizes with the conscious mind. This was fairly standard thinking for a mainstream therapist
like Anna. As she showered that Sunday morning, Anna thought about Jung and his theory, and she began to analyze her dream.

Of course that’s what it was, a dream, Anna told herself. A very powerful, emotive dream in which her friend Beth appeared
to her to bring some closure to her endless grief. Or was it instead an opening?

Anna had no idea how long she spent in the shower mulling over her dream. She went over every word, at least twice. What did
it mean? She was brought back when freezing water suddenly sprayed her body. She jumped out of the shower with a shout. Being
acclimated to Florida, she had forgotten how fast hot water can turn to cold in New England.

Anna quickly towel dried and dressed warmly for the trip to Gay Head. She wolfed down an English muffin, then quickly poured
some coffee into her travel mug. In wonderful contrast to yesterday, it promised to be a beautiful, sunny, but cold November
day. The sun at her back, Anna smiled wistfully as she took in the stark beauty of the rolling hills, thick with trees and
dappled with sunny clearings.