Eternal Journey (7 page)

“Only in the summer,” Anna responded. “They aren’t winterized.”

She drove slowly, carefully studying the kaleidoscope of color until she found the rose-colored abode.

“The pink house is my favorite,” she said, pointing to the left.

Anna stopped the Explorer abruptly and stared as if caught by the spell cast from the Victorian house. Over crashing waves,
she could faintly hear a familiar, high-pitched childish voice call to her.

“Pink is my favorite color, Annie, so at least one bedroom and one bathroom must be pink.”

“Okay, Beth, but I want a white bathroom and a blue kitchen. And I want to put wallpaper in the living and dining rooms.”

It was the summer they were eleven years old. Anna’s father had finally finished the long-awaited dollhouse. Both girls were
delirious with excitement. They had collected piles of fabric scraps and magazines, leftover paint, and shoe boxes full of
every discarded thing you could think of to use in the interior design. It was to go in Anna’s room, but for now it sat on
her father’s workbench in the cool, musty cellar. They worked on it every day for the entire summer, and by the time it was
finished, it was magnificent. Even Anna’s mother was impressed. “Well,” she said, “you two girls should be decorators. Now
which of you will keep it clean?”

The two girls had giggled and taken pictures of the pink gingerbread house with Beth’s Brownie camera. They had Anna’s father
take a picture with one of them on either side of the structure. Even though it was a black-and-white photograph, Anna never
forgot how pink their dollhouse was.

But they never did play with it. That was the last summer they played with dolls or amused themselves with such frivolous
activities. Beth’s mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks after school started that September, and the cancer
changed everything.

“Cancer changes everything,” Anna heard herself say as the pink house faded from sight. She looked over at her passenger and
saw that he was staring out to sea. Anna looked straight ahead, unsure if she had spoken aloud or to herself. Before she knew
it, they were pulling into Vineyard Haven, the legendary tavern seeming to beckon to them.

Anna put her shoes on the hearth to dry while lunch was served. The fire warmed the room, and Anna was glad they were the
only patrons in the place. It was usually bustling with tourists, so much so that, unless you were a first-time “day-tripper,”
as the locals called the people who flocked over each day from Woods Hole, no one would dare attempt to lunch at the famous
harborside restaurant on a Saturday during the summer months. But this wasn’t the summer, and she welcomed the emptiness she
knew they would find. She couldn’t remember when she had tasted chowder this good. Looking out over the harbor, she watched
as the ferry left the dock.

“I remember the last time I was on that ferry,” she said as she looked across the table into those now familiar eyes. “Beth
and I spent a week here a year before the cancer prevailed. I think it was one of the most significant experiences in my life.”

“Tell me about it, Annie,” he said gently. So she again started talking to him about herself.

“I’ve been flooded with memories ever since I arrived on the island yesterday,” she began, “strange and very disconnected
flashes of my life up until Beth’s funeral. On the drive here to the tavern, I got swallowed up in my memories of the pink
dollhouse Beth and I decorated when we were little. Then back on Cape Poge, after you took off down the beach, I had such
vivid memories of my grandmother and mother when I was very young that I actually made an angel in the snow—I mean sand— for
Beth. Then, as we were driving along the Beach Road, I remembered that last week Beth and I spent here and the conversations
we had about death. Beth changed after our ‘Vineyard retreat,’ as she referred to it; she seemed physically weaker, but emotionally
and spiritually stronger.”

“How do you feel now, Anna?”

She thought it odd how he switched from calling her Annie to Anna, but she answered him anyway.

“Better than I did this morning sitting on that cold rock in the graveyard, that’s for sure!” she replied. Anna collected
her now dry footwear from the hearth, dressed her feet, paid the bill, and they left the restaurant. Outside, she waved to
him and hopped into the Explorer to go back to the house. “See you later,” she called to him as she eased out onto the road.
Suddenly she remembered his bike and abruptly pulled over. Leaping out, Anna contemplated the now-vacant roof of the Explorer.
She was puzzled, having no recollection of him unstrapping the bicycle.

Sighing aloud, Anna climbed back into the driver’s seat and headed into Vineyard Haven proper. Her destination was one of
the best bookstores anywhere, snuggled in among the T-shirt shops that lined winding Main Street. The bookstore was a wonderful
place to browse—and get lost, especially up on the second floor. They had gone there together, she and Beth, and spent hours
perusing nutrition and holistic healing books. Today I am going to go where the spirit takes me, Anna thought.

“What a positive omen!” Anna said aloud as the space directly in front of the bookstore opened up. The thirty-something young
man in a battered pickup tipped his cap as he left the space just for her. There’s just something about the folks who live
here, Anna thought, as she smiled and waved back at the young man, or is it that life here is just so different from life
in South Florida?

Anna went directly to the upper floor, making a mental note to pick up a paper before she left. She needed to check Sunday’s
tide schedule so she could plan her trip out to the rocky beach at Gay Head. As she walked past the children’s section, she
caught a glimpse of a floppy denim hat with big yellow sunflowers decorating the brim. She could just make out the face under
the hat, a small freckled face framed with red curls, staring back at her with a puzzled expression. Anna’s heart skipped
a beat.

Anna blinked and rubbed her eyes. It was as if the bee perched on the middle flower had jumped over to her shoulder and begun
humming in her ear. Anna again clearly heard Beth’s voice.

“I’m going to do it, Annie, and you’re going to help me,” Beth had said as she pulled the large-brimmed denim hat from the
shopping bag. “This hair, what’s left of it, has got to go.”

So Anna and Beth had gone upstairs to the bathroom, where they first cut, then very carefully shaved, Beth’s hair. The chemo
had left Beth with patchy tufts of the once shiny, copper-penny hair she’d always been so proud of. It had been Beth’s idea
to use Michael’s electric razor, and they giggled like schoolgirls about how they’d put one over on him.

“He is so damned fastidious,” Beth exclaimed. “The man presses his underwear!”

The event turned into a party, and since Beth felt well enough to have some wine, they toasted each other with a very expensive
merlot. Anna applied vivid tattoos of flowers, hearts, butterflies, and bees she’d bought for her nieces all over Beth’s head.
The next day, Beth, outfitted in her new denim hat and sporting fading tattoos, went into Edgartown with Anna, where they
bought two baseball caps. One was a very feminine cap à la Laura Ashley, the other a shiny yellow metallic with a visor. They
stopped next in Oak Bluffs and bought the last straw hat and several more baseball and golf caps in the only store still open
that late in October. All told, Beth left the island with six hats, but her favorite was the floppy denim.

Anna, her eyes riveted on the sunflowers, was momentarily unaware of a steady tugging at her sleeve.

“Excuse me, lady, but can you help me find a book on bees?”

The spell broken, Anna looked down as the child’s denim hat slipped off her head and toppled onto the floor. They both stooped
to retrieve it. Anna remained on her knees in order to remain at the child’s level. As she peered at freckles so close she
could count them, Anna felt a lump rise in her throat.

“This is my favorite hat,” declared the little voice as the child brushed some dust from the brim. “My mom says it is a summer
hat and I shouldn’t be wearing it now. But today’s my birthday, so I’m allowed. I need to find a book about bees,” she continued.
“Do you know if bees understand English? Joey—he’s my brother—says bees will attack my hat next summer. I need to find out
how to tell the bees they aren’t real—the flowers, I mean.”

As Anna helped to reposition the hat on the child’s head, the lump in her throat passed. It was time for an introduction.

“My name is Annie. What’s yours?”

“My name is Elizabeth Lauren Henson, but everybody calls me Beth,” she said just above a whisper.

With a wry smile, Anna held out her hand in greeting and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth Lauren Henson. I love
your hat! And bees only understand bee-talk, I think, but let’s look for a book to make sure.”

Perched on one of the little chairs designed for smaller bottoms and shorter legs than she now possessed, Anna looked through
picture books with Beth for the next ten minutes. Anna was wondering where the child’s mother might be when she heard the
quiet voice.

“Well, there you are! I’ve been looking for you,” the woman stated, seeming relieved as she approached them carrying several
hardcover books. Anna was grateful to be interrupted, even from such a welcome pursuit as poring over picture books with Beth.
She realized her entire left leg had gone numb as she tried, quite ungracefully, to rise from the elfin chair.

“Beth is very inquisitive and persistent,” the woman explained. “I suggested she look up the answer to her question while
I browsed the grown-up section.”

“I think your daughter is perfectly delightful. It was her hat that caught my eye. Beth and I have learned all kinds of things
together these past few minutes. But I’m afraid we still don’t have an answer to her question. By the way, I’m Annie.”

“And I’m Stacey,” said the woman, extending her hand. “Thanks for helping my birthday girl. She’s six years old today.”

“Say,” Anna said impulsively, “could I interest you two ladies in some ice cream? Six is a big birthday, and something tells
me a little girl with such a fine hat deserves a reward after all this research.”

Anna grabbed a paper as Stacey paid for her books, and the three of them strolled up the street to the ice cream parlor. The
women talked while little Beth courageously tackled a double-decker chocolate cone that seemed almost as big as she was. She
finished with a beard of brown, accompanied by a bib to match. After gobbling the last of her dripping cone, Beth rummaged
through her backpack and, with sticky fingers, pulled out an iridescent blue plastic wallet.

She removed a photo of herself in the midst of a group of children, gathered around the U.S. President, of all people. They
were sitting at the very same white wrought-iron table, perched on red-and-white-striped cushions and eating ice cream cones.
All, including the head of state, displayed big chocolate smiles and sunburned noses.

“Look, there’s the President of America, Annie, with me and all my friends. He likes ice cream even more than me. I know ’cause
he told me so himself last summer when he came to visit us.”

Anna smiled at the little girl and said, “You know the President has a very important job, Beth.”

Beth scrunched up her face, tilting her head to one side. She glanced first at her mother and then said, “Well, I guess so.
Do you have an important job, Annie?”

Anna hesitated before answering. “I never thought of my job as important, Beth; necessary, perhaps, but not important. Now,
your mom has a
really
important job, even more important than the President! Moms have the most important job in the world. Sometimes, Beth, people
forget just how special and important a job it is.”

Anna felt Stacey’s eyes on her as she stood at the counter to pay for the ice cream. As they walked toward the Explorer, the
woman started fumbling through her bag of books. She pulled one out, checked the cover, and looked inquisitively at Anna.
“You’re her. I mean, this is you, isn’t it?” Stacey pointed to Anna’s picture on the back cover.

“Yes, that’s me, my second book, actually. The photo on my first is much more flattering,” Anna said awkwardly.

Stacey became serious. Eyes filling, she reached over and touched Anna’s arm. “Dr. Carroll, I can’t thank you enough. You
don’t know how you’ve helped me. Your first book changed my life. Could you… would you sign this book for me, please?”

Always surprised and humbled when this happened, Anna had still not gotten used to the fact that people actually read and
benefited from her advice. Maybe people
do
listen after all, she thought.

As she autographed the book and regarded the little girl, Anna said, “Stacey, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You
and Beth have brightened my whole day.” Anna gently repositioned the floppy hat on the little girl’s head and squatted down
again to look into the child’s eyes.

“Happy Birthday, little lady, and don’t you worry about those bees. You have a very strong sense of yourself and, believe
me, those bees will know it. You just tell them your name is Beth, and that your friend Annie says they aren’t allowed to
bother you. They’ll understand.”