To the Sea (Follow your Bliss) (7 page)

Chapter Ten

After
a bittersweet goodbye, Kira retreated into the house on Lilac Court, the
silence ringing in her ears. She had work the following day so she set about
straightening things up, making order, and reviewing the notes on the account
she and Alice had been working on. Those were the responsible things to do.

She
knew the next thing she did was the worst possible thing she could, aside from
saying
I do
to Jeremy. She slid a silver disc into the DVD player and
watched their wedding video.

The
photographer and videographer, invisible behind the images that played on the
screen, were a husband and wife team and had done a stunning job capturing the
day. If Kira had been able, she would’ve been behind the lens, if only because
of her love for photography, but being the bride, she had to delegate. They
filmed and photographed Kira and her bridal party as they got ready, the moment
she put on her gown, and the styling of her hair and make-up. They shot her downing
champagne with laughter, as she tried to settle her nerves, and finally her
trek down the aisle.

Kira’s
eyes were wet as she watched the video. All over again, the beauty of the day
stunned her. The flowers were colorful and lush. The bridal party and guests
all wore smiles. It was impressive. Everything was perfect. Everything Kira
realized, except the moment just before Jeremy said his vows. He craned his
head to look at Blain whose eyes narrowed to slits. Then Jeremy turned to Kira
and said the fateful words binding them as husband and wife.

Kira
pressed pause and then replayed the scene, trying to detect sincerity. She
watched Jeremy carefully and hesitantly kiss her the way he would a distant
relative or an ogre. As she watched herself take her bouquet back from Nicole,
Jeremy and Blain shook hands. Then the new bride and groom left the altar for a
broken future.

Kira’s
heart sank in sadness, humiliation, and anger. She threw the remote control
across the room at the black urn, but it merely glanced off the side of the
table.

“You
fucking bastard.” She sprang off the couch and shouted at him on the screen, at
the urn. “You asshole. How could you have done this? How could you, in good
conscience, pull off this charade? I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
You’re terrible. You are fucking—”

She
sputtered, unable to think of a word nasty enough to follow up. Her body and
voice quaked. “You’re dead.” Then she slouched to the floor with her back
against the couch. She released wild whimpers of pain and hurt. Tears
disobediently streamed down her face. This time she didn’t want to cry over
him.

On
the TV, a montage of photographs played on the screen including the wedding
party, the dinner, and dancing afterward. The stills of Jeremy laughing and
mugging for the camera played to the tune of Crazy in Love. His sneer enraged
Kira.

“You
have no idea how much you’ve hurt me, from every possible angle. Just when I
thought it couldn’t hurt any more, it does. What the hell am I going to do with
you?” She sat, her legs pulled into her chest, leaning, hardly able to hold
herself up. She felt like she was scraping the bottom of a very deep chasm. She
had nothing else for him to take, alive or dead.

“What
am I going to do?” she whispered. “Please help me. Someone. What am I going to
do?” She clasped her fingers together tightly and noticed her engagement ring
and wedding band still snuggly around her forth finger. Pulling them off, she
lifted them up into the dim light, the diamonds sparkling. She set the pair on
the coffee table in front of her and reclasped her fingers.

She
dug deep. She went further inside herself than she’d ever gone. She called upon
God, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. She asked the eagles, the eye of the
tiger, and mother earth for help. She cried and thought the tears would keep
coming forever.

Then
in her mind, she heard Nicole say, “Life goes on.” She clung to those words
like a raft in a roiling river of tears, the deepest well of sadness, the
maddest ocean of confusion and dismay.

She
cried on, unaware of how much time had passed. Then sometime later, she heard a
second voice, “Just be.” She cried a bit longer, but like the tide, the
grievous swells started to subside. Little by little, calmness grew within. She
took deep breaths that seemed to fill not only her lungs, but also her head,
her arms, her legs, her entire self, inflating her like a balloon with the
promise and strength to lift her up. She breathed and breathed and then she
heard a third message. “Go to the sea.”

After
hours that blended into one another, she climbed in the shower and washed the
past days off her skin. Chronologically, she listed everything that had
transpired since Friday night. She let each memory whirl down the drain like
rinsing off a thick coating of grime. From top to bottom, she cleansed and
reclaimed herself.

Kira
made a cup of tea and finalized her plan. Taking the urn, if she left right
away she’d make it to the Annandale family house before sunrise, and then
continue up the coast to the beach. It felt familiar somehow. It felt right. To
the sea.

***

When
Kira pulled into the circular driveway leading to the pillared Annandale home,
the stars still hung above her in the sky. She placed the urn on the front
porch with a note she’d penned at home. It read simply,

He
belongs with you.

Then
Kira left, hoping that part of her life was behind her, for good. As she zoomed
north, the sky lightened, and the stars slowly snuffed themselves out.

For
the third time, she pulled into the same spot in the parking lot adjacent to
the beach. Kira watched the waves. They rolled in; they rolled out, and
continued to do so without any prompting, like the great breath of the earth.

Surfers
appeared near the line of the horizon. Kira watched them study the mysterious
power of the ocean. The sea birds swooped and dove, calling out above the crash
of the water.

Ian,
the helpful brown-haired surfer, took his spot on the wall. Eventually the gull
joined him too.

Kira
emerged from the Mercedes, and the gull took flight. She took its spot on the
wall, letting the peaceful scene fill her. Kira turned to Ian who smiled
broadly, a pair of dimples hidden in his scruff.

“Morning,”
she said.

The
shade of his brown eyes had a depth and warmth in them that glowed like
sunlight. 

“I
see the board is still on your roof. That’s a good sign. Getting in today?” he
asked fully suited up in a black wetsuit.

“Not
likely,” Kira said automatically, but then added, “Well, maybe a toe.” She let
her gaze linger on him a moment, wondering what kinds of creatures willingly
put themselves in water, stood on surfboards, and lived without grief.

Ian
stood and deftly put his board under his right arm. “Wanna take a walk?” he
asked. Gentlemanly, he extended his arm to Kira and pitched his chin toward the
water. “To the sea?”

Bemused,
Kira linked her arm in his and they walked down the beach, the seagull
overhead. Kira dismissed the familiarity of his gesture. She was ready for
something, anything, to carry her away from the intense pain mixed with
betrayal.

Halfway
to the waterline, Kira paused at a vacant lifeguard stand to take off her shoes
while the steady wind whipped her hair. The old, irrational fear of the wild
landscape tugged at her, but she let the steady rhythm of the rolling waves
soothe her worries. She wiggled her feet in the sand and kept walking.

“I
don’t know what I’m doing here,” Kira said aloud, questioning what to say to
her handsome escort and how to find her way back to herself.

“The
ocean has a way of helping you figure that out,” Ian replied. When they reached
the shore’s edge, he set his board in the sand.

Kira
took a deep, refreshing breath of the salt air.

“I
take it you haven’t been to the water recently.” Kira shook her head and then
rolled up her jeans.

“I
haven’t touched the ocean since I was nearly too young to remember. I visited
with my family a few times. My dad loved it, but we lived inland so we didn’t
go that often.”

Ian
waded in. The protective layer of the wetsuit made him impervious to the chill.
“Feels good,” he said, smiling invitingly.

Kira
edged closer, grimacing, as the cold, compacted sand where the water receded,
chilled her feet.

“Just
a toe?” he teased.

A
bigger wave surged in, and without realizing what it was going to do, it went
right up to her ankles. She closed her eyes. It felt like communion, holy
water, as if her feet were thirsty. The water was like taking a much-needed
drink, invigorating Kira from the bottom up. She jumped back onto the sand when
her mind registered the cold and the suspicious tendrils of seaweed neared her
feet.

“It’s
not so bad,” Ian said beaming. “You’re nearly there.”

By
Kira’s toes, something glinted in the water. Ian saw it too. He plucked up a
blue piece of sea glass before the waves washed it away.

“That’s
good luck,” he said handing it to her. With a smile, she tucked the
sea-polished treasure in her hand.

“I
can use some of that.” 

In
the distance, a tangerine sun lit up the water as it pulled itself up over the
brim of what appeared to be the edge of the world.

The
salty water lapped over Kira’s feet. The sand slowly lay claim to her soles.
She and Ian watched the waves, the surfers, and the sunrise beyond spreading
warmly over the water.

“I
have to go,” Kira said realizing she did have to go to work whether she had
sandy feet or not. 

“See
you soon?” Ian asked.

Kira
smiled and said, “I hope so.”

Part
2: Sweat

“You
can’t stop the waves but you can learn to surf.”

-Jon
Kabat-Zinn

Chapter Eleven

Getting
to work on time prompted Kira to jog back to her car. She’d packed work attire
to change into. Despite what still felt like an insurmountable wall of grief
rising up before her, Kira cared about her job. Without a dual income, paying
the mortgage along with a host of other bills, making ends meet looked like her
next challenge, but one she didn’t want to think about.

As
Kira dashed into her office, her coworkers greeted her with uncommon delicacy.
Word must have gotten around that the up and coming on the Foster-Davis account
became a widow at twenty-something.

As
Kira begrudgingly powered on Jeremy’s laptop, she noted to replace it as soon
as possible. She cut herself some slack; just a week ago, she was waist deep in
tissues, unable to clean anything other than her house, no less get dressed.
Sitting at her desk, in the office, was progress.

Frank
Brinkman entered and offered a forced smile. “So glad you’re able to return
Kira. I appreciated your contributions from home.” They both knew that was BS.
He went on, “But the pressure’s on like you could never imagine. I really need
you and Alice to finalize the Foster-Davis account. Otherwise, we may have to
intervene. She assures me you can do this.” His forced smile lingered.

Kira
wanted to say that
he
could never imagine the burden and tension she’d
experienced, that she walked around with an open wound, and he had no idea the
effort it took to get to a place of upright mobility. Her eyebrows furrowed. 

“I
know you’ve just been through a trial of your own, but we keep our personal
lives and professional lives separate here, and that’s what I expect from you.
We’re a New England firm, we pick ourselves up by our bootstraps, and we face the
day. I’ll be keeping a close eye on things. Please get right on it.”

If
that was Frank’s idea of an inspirational speech, he’d better stick with just
keeping
a close eye on thing
s, Kira thought dryly.

Nonetheless,
she took a minute to look around her office and summon her focus. She tossed
the framed photo of her and Jeremy in the waste bin with a dull thud, steeled
away tears, and shifted into intense work mode.

When
her desk overflowed with files and data, she moved into a vacant boardroom to
team up with Alice. The hours ticked by as they went over the account.

They
worked right through lunch, and when Alice’s phone chimed at five o’clock she
abruptly said, “Come on. Break time.”

Alice
exited the conference room where they’d set up shop and Kira followed
curiously. Alice went to her desk, grabbed a sage colored bag, and said, “Let’s
go.” She passed Kira a nutrition bar and a bottle of water as they left the
building.

Still
processing information about the account, Kira hungrily ate the fruit and nut
protein bar. She followed Alice into a building with stone arches surrounding
each window.

“So
do you think if we include the data from the shareholders—” Alice cut Kira off
mid-sentence.

“Not
here.” They stood outside a door that said
Prana, Yama Yama
. Kira had no
idea what that meant. Alice passed her a pair of stretch pants along with a
tank top.

“Put
these on. Don’t ask me any questions. I’ll save you a mat.”

Kira
gave her a withering look.

“Just
come find me,” Alice said. They entered a waiting room with a reception desk, a
smoothie and juice bar, and a bank of cubbies for stowing belongings on one
wall. There was a boutique with an array of incense burners, meditation
pillows, books, and posters on the far side of the room. Kira didn’t move from
her spot near the entrance.

Alice
had to be kidding. Kira had done yoga before. She’d done yoga aplenty. It was
her quasi-fitness class when she was homeschooled on the commune, before she’d
enrolled in normal school. She’d twisted, down-dogged, and yoga-d into the
proverbial pretzel.

Emerging
from the changing room, Alice’s eyebrows dipped disapprovingly. Begrudgingly,
Kira changed clothes.

“We
have work to do,” she protested under her breath after she padded into the
studio and took a seat beside Alice, already on a purple mat, cross-legged, and
with her eyes closed.

“Shh,”
she said sharply, and then lowered her voice to a whispering hiss. “This is the
only thing that has kept me sane. We’re going to do yoga and then get back into
that boardroom and work on the frickin’ Foster-Davis material until we pass
out. Got it?” Kira swallowed, wondering just what kind of talking-to Brinkman
had given Alice. She followed her orders; they would have a long night ahead
either way.

Kira
expected the instructor to have on gauzy robes with a leotard beneath, like the
yoga of her youth or short-shorts and a pink sports bra, like the cardio-yoga
the gym she occasionally went to offered. Neither was the case. The instructor
had shoulder length, curly hair, big hoop earrings, and wore fitted
capri-leggings with an aqua patterned tank Kira instantly coveted. She took a
seat at the head of the room in front of an altar bedecked in saffron and gold
colored flowers surrounding a bronze statue. She settled for a moment, then lit
a candle, and closed her eyes.

“Welcome,”
she said in a normal voice, not the breathy, fake-calm of Kira’s previous yoga
experience or the perky up-talker at the gym. Curious, Kira offered her
attention.

“Thank
you for coming. For those of you who are new, I’m Amber.” She smiled at Kira
and a few other faces in the packed room. “Today we’ll be working with trust by
exploring the pulsation of stability and freedom. What it is to be both
grounded and open to new possibility. Through trusting ourselves and beyond,
we’re fully able to experience life in a place of knowing who we are and what
we want, as well as accessing support. Please join me. Close your eyes. Deepen
your breath, and together we’ll chant the sound, Om.”

Reflexively,
Kira wrinkled her nose, but catching Alice’s steely eye, she went along with
it. Her muscles and joints resisted the movements and stretches at first, but
Amber worked her through it. Emotions bubbled just below the surface,
threatening her with cries of anguish and loss. Amber invited the feelings to
arise. When Kira stretched in downward dog, she watched as the place on her mat
between her hands became wet with tears and sweat. Before she knew it, she
stood strong, twisting, and inverting into poses she never would’ve believed she
could do and certainly not enjoy.

Then
seated, Amber led them through mild stretches. Supine, they laid in what Kira
recalled was named the corpse pose. Amber called it Savasana, which sounded
more pleasant than the name she knew. She didn’t want to think about death. 

“Release,”
Amber said. “Trust the ground beneath to hold you. Release. Deepen your breath.
Trust your lungs to breathe. Release.” With each instruction, Kira felt as if
she sank through the mat, through the floor, and into a world of peace, of
quiet waves in rhythm with her breath. They caressed the length of her back,
holding her with the promise never to let go.

“Kira.
Kira. Kira.” She heard her name over and over and over. She floated, weightless
like in salt water. Yes, light, yes, lighter, yes, lightest.

Then
her eyes blinked open. Alice nudged her shoulder. As one, the class chanted the
sound Om, followed by Namaste as they all bowed.

After
changing, Alice passed Kira a green smoothie. She cautiously took a sip of the
concoction—she detected strawberries, bananas, and possibly spinach.

“Not
bad,” Kira said. As they left the studio, she carried a balance of energy and
relaxation as she returned to the working world. Yoga and the green smoothie
fueled the most productive five hours they'd had as the punch-list for the project
became smaller.

The
next day and the one after that were much the same, work, yoga, smoothie, work,
weep, sleep—only a little, and repeat. At the end of the week, after Kira had
explored what Amber called heart openers and gulped down a smoothie—containing
something called spirulina— she felt alternatingly restless and sad when
returning to the four white walls, the long wooden table, and the bland
florescent lighting of the office.

“What’s
up?” Alice asked gently. Kira shrugged.

“I’m
not sure.”

“Doing
yoga and the work of the mind-body can bring up some stuff, but it’s also
tremendously helpful to get out of your head—the realm of thoughts and
emotions—and into the physical form,” she said helpfully as if she were a yoga
teacher. “I’m guessing you have some stuff going on,” she said tapping her
temple. “It might take a long time to work through it, but you can do it. No,
you
are
doing it.” What Alice said resonated with points Amber had made
earlier. It felt like a comforting truth, but Kira didn’t know how she could
fit the words into her particular situation.

“Something
like that,” Kira said misty eyed, afraid she might lose control and cry after
holding it together for most of the week.

“What
do you say we call it a night? Sleep would probably be helpful,” Alice said.

As
they neared Kira’s car, Alice pointed and asked, “What’s that?”

“A
surfboard,” Kira said.

“I
meant, what’s it doing there?” After Ian had securely lashed it down, she
hadn’t removed it. The board remained like a totem, reminding (or possibly
directing) Kira of all the healing ahead of her. 

Without
pausing to think, Kira answered. “That’s
the
surfboard,” she said matter
of fact. Alice gave her a quizzical look. Kira continued, “Aka theatrical prop,
which my late husband used when he claimed to be going surfing, but was
cheating on me with no less than two dozen women. He was a tremendous actor,”
she said, letting her home life and work spill into one another.

“Screw
sleep. We need to talk,” Alice said looking aghast.

Alice
led Kira directly to a pub down the street. It was filled with raucous business
professionals letting loose after a long day. The two women sought out a quiet
booth in the back. Alice ordered a beer and onion rings, Kira the same, only
fries.

“Your
husband was cheating on you? What the eff?” Having only seen Alice out of
context in the yoga studio, Kira had come to think of her as a peaceful person;
a calm, centered yogi, but the slew of expletives that she emitted after Kira
told her the whole story made her think twice.

“If
he was still alive I’d hire the best divorce lawyer and take him for everything
he was worth. Just on principle, he seemed like the kind of person who valued
money and prestige above everything. I’d run his name through mud, I’d—” She
ran through a list of terrible things she’d do to destroy him. Then her face
crumbled. “Though I suppose he’s dead, so there’s that.” The tears welling in
her eyes reflected Kira’s.

“I’m
so sorry. It’s one thing to lose someone you love. It’s truly another to then
have your heart broken with no recourse, no apology, no opportunity to talk
about it.”

Her
sentiments meant a lot to Kira, but rehashing the story didn’t help. Her mind
floated elsewhere.

“What
do you think of the ocean? Surfing?” she asked. She’d been thinking about the
weightless, watery sensation, moving with her breath like the ebbing and
flowing of waves that she’d experienced in Savasana all week.

“Huh?”
Alice asked.

“Nothing,”
Kira said shaking her head. “We should probably head out now. Otherwise, we’d
be better off just overnighting in the office.”

Alice
laughed and the mood shifted to join the gaiety coming from the front of the
bar.

“Good
to drive?” Alice asked when they were back in the parking garage.

Kira
nodded. “You?”

“Yep.”

“See
you bright and early?”

“In
just a few hours.” Kira breezed back toward Laurel Court, the roads free of
traffic at that time of night.

Alice
wasn’t Nicole, but Kira hadn’t allowed herself to get close to other women or
have many friends after she’d gotten together with Jeremy. She now saw one of
his many flaws was how hyper-critical he was of people. No money meant no good.
No letters indicating some level of expertise before or after their name
equaled not worthy. No shiny, expensive, state-state-of-the-art things, not
good enough. Although she and Alice worked insane hours, it was refreshing to
connect.

When
she returned to the empty house, misery left a chalky residue that became
clearer as the night passed. Anger and sadness collided. Jeremy should have
been there with her. Thoughts of sharing his love and attention with countless
other women crowded out everything else.

The
next morning, despite ample amounts of coffee as a tonic to her headache, Kira
and Alice dove into finalizing the project. Frank buzzed in and out of the
office checking on them, urging them to make the deadline. A minute before it
was due, Kira handed him the completed Foster-Davis project.

“Well
done, ladies,” he said. “Have a good weekend.”