I suppose had anyone been curious enough about me to ask, they might have been surprised, even disappointed, to learn that many of my last hours were spent sleeping. I bet if I took a poll, a random sample of passersby on Water Street, every last one of them would list off all the marvellous activities they would engage in as the clock ticked down. But they couldn’t know what taxing, tedious work dying is, more than any task I’d ever faced, including New Year’s Day hotel rooms and Mrs. Heneghan’s infuriating collection of antique silver. Sleep had become equal parts relief and torment. My body eased into it as if it were a warm, fragrant bath while my mind scrabbled at the edge of the cliff, frantic with the possibility of missing a single minute of consciousness. Mind over matter, Annie would say as I fought desperately to stay awake. But the matter won every time.
Any time I spent awake was filled with trips to the shore and movies and chatting with Annie, and nine remaining days rapidly dwindled to four, cherished time now passing at the speed of light. When the calendar showed the twenty-eighth, the same day I dozed off in the middle of a call with Edie, I asked Annie to cut back my medication.
“Just take it down a little,” I said. “Imagine chit-chatting away and seeing a dying woman’s face smack down on a screen. Poor Edie almost had a seizure herself.”
Annie laughed. “I would’ve paid good money to see that.”
“She failed to see any humour in it. Besides, I have something to do today, and I need my wits about me.”
“What are you doing today?”
“I need to write Edie a little letter, a few final words.”
“Here, then. Take a half-dose. Can you see well enough to write or do you need me to help you?”
“I think I can manage, but I need paper. Nice paper, if you have it.”
“I do. Are you up for the shore today or no?”
“Maybe later. I want to get this done first.”
Annie left and came back with a few sheets of thick cream paper and a matching envelope. I sat in the armchair and picked up a pen. The first draft was stiff and formal and didn’t sound like me at all. I took some deep breaths, then began again, writing the words from my heart. I thanked Edie for the joyful noise she’d brought to my sombre life and told her how privileged I was to have had her to look forward to every day for so many years. I told her that I respected and admired her, and that my only real sadness was that my time with her had ended too soon.
I wasn’t pleased with how shaky my writing looked, but I didn’t want my last words to her written by someone else’s hand. When I came to the most important part, I gripped the pen tightly and used my left hand to steady my right.
Edie, here’s what I really want you to know, what I need you to remember as my parting words to you. Not long ago, you made a very big decision. Afterward, you wondered if you had done the right thing. Now I’ve made a very big decision, and I know for sure I’ve done the right thing. I hope you’ll understand why I chose to go this way. I also hope that you live a long and happy life. But what I truly want for you is a life of your own choosing, one lived only on your own terms. No questions asked. The other thing I want for you is a tidy bedroom.
I love you as if you were my own, Frances
I asked Annie to check it over for mistakes.
“It’s a lovely letter, Frances. Come on, let’s get your saggy arse down to the water before the wind picks up.”
We sat in lawn chairs next to the dory and sipped tea laced with whisky. The weather had decidedly turned, and I could smell the fall coming. The sun shone brightly in the blue sky, but its heat had been bled out, trapped in the peeling pink shoulders and knees of children and tucked away until next year. Three days. Three musketeers, three’s a crowd, three sheets to the wind, six and two threes, best of three, three strikes you’re out.
“Annie, what about your friends?”
“What about them?”
“They’ve not been around.”
“They know I’ve got some stuff on the go.”
“Do they know about the thirtieth?”
“Not from me, they don’t. Mind you, I can’t vouch for Angela’s tongue. I asked her to respect your privacy, and since half the town hasn’t called me to give me their humble opinion on it, it’s entirely possible she listened to me for once.”
“Tell me about them.”
“They’re a great bunch. You know Tammy Douglas from school. She’s on her second husband and he’s halfway out the door. Mary Simpson, she’s a very good friend. When I think back to when I almost knocked her block off for stealing Donny Doyle away from me. They were together for years after we left school. Thank God she didn’t marry him. Her husband is as good as gold. The others are women I only see here and there.”
“What do you all do together?”
“In the winter we curl . . . well, we play one game and drink for the rest of the night. Or we go cross-country skiing, stuff like that. And we go into town for the odd weekend and poke around. We’re talking about going on another cruise next year, but we’re waiting out Tammy’s marriage, so we’ll see. Mostly we just eat and talk and get each other through. I never would have made it through Stephen without them. And they’ll get me through you.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I am. What about you, Frances?” she asked. “I haven’t really wanted to talk about this in case it was too sore a point for you, but I think your life has been so lonely. Maybe I’m wrong to say it now.”
“No, you’re not wrong in thinking it or saying it. I’ve had long stretches of too much time on my own, but it was mostly my own doing and I’ve no desire to dwell on it anymore. The main thing is I’m not alone now.”
In another life, I would’ve curled and skied and cruised and been carried through. Maybe the Buddhists and the Hindus and all those other religions I’d read about in a thick red book years ago were right. In a few days I’d find out, and if my soul happened to find its way inside another body, I vowed to lead it straight toward any and all who’d care to call me friend.
Annie dumped the cold tea from the thermos over the rocks, then climbed out of her chair. “Okay, old bag, it’s time for your pills.”
I grabbed her arm. “Annie, wait. Look.” I pointed to an enormous eagle circling high above the wheeling gulls. I’d once worked with a Mi’kmaq woman who’d taught me that the eagle is a special creature. I couldn’t remember all she’d said, but it was mostly about courage and wisdom and communicating with the Creator. That the feathers could help ease the fear of moving on to the spirit world. It flew toward us and hovered high above our heads, circled three times, then flew off toward the woods. I shielded my eyes with my hand and searched the sky, but it was gone.
All day I couldn’t get that eagle out of my mind. When I called Edie, I asked her to look up the significance of it, and sure enough all things positive were associated with them.
“I think it’s a good omen,” she said.
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“Why not see it as a sign of peace or strength or whatever?”
“I suppose you’re right. No harm in seeing it as a sign of something.”
Later that evening, I stood in the grass out back, hoping to see it against the darkening sky, but all I got for my effort was a pair of crows digging for slugs and cawing at each other like a couple of angry spouses. Annie stepped through the door and shooed them away.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I was watching for the eagle.”
“Listen, I want to know what you want in the way of food. Anything special you want me to make for you?”
“Last meal request?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m asking.”
I thought about it and was disappointed to find that I could think of nothing specific I wanted. I chalked it up to the sense of detachment that had settled on me in the last day or so. It wasn’t that I’d lost the thread of what was happening—it just didn’t feel like it was happening to me. I was a character playing a part, that poor woman in the movie of the week who had only two days to live. Two left feet, takes two to tango, two wrongs don’t make a right, two peas in a pod, two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
“How about a chocolate cake? With strawberry jam in the middle?” she asked. “I remember that used to be your favourite.”
“Sure. That would be just the thing.”
She whipped around the kitchen, and soon the glazed cake sat proudly on a crystal stand. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d likely eat no more than a forkful of it. We went to bed and lay in the dark, breathing and staring at the ceiling until we both drifted off. Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke to the sound of her crying softly, maybe for Stephen, maybe for me. I didn’t know, and I didn’t ask. I just laid my hand on her head until she stopped. She rolled onto her side to face the wall and I moved in behind her, wrapped my arm around her waist, and closed my eyes.
THE NEXT DAY WAS dull and cool, and the sea was grey and dotted with foamy whitecaps. We were well set up by the shore with the thermos and smokes, slices of cake in Tupperware containers, and plastic forks. The wind whipped my hair around and stung my eyes and cheeks. Annie had wrapped me in a thick wool cardigan and grabbed a hat and gloves as we went through the door—a maternal reflex, I assumed. I left them in her bag, wanting to feel the island’s wrath against my skin one last time. I lit two cigarettes and passed one to her.
A young mother and son appeared at the shoreline. She was teaching him how to get a kite airborne. He held the spool while she ran and flung the bright yellow diamond into the wind. It soared above them, and they jumped and hollered wildly. The woman waved and smiled at us, well pleased with her success.
“That’s Tammy’s daughter, Jeannie, and Tammy’s grandson, Matthew,” Annie said. “He’s deaf. Tammy’s teaching me how to sign with him. You should see how fast he can do it. The father up and left, bloody bastard. So now they live with Tammy. He’s a sweet little boy.” She sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. “Jesus, she’s after seeing me smoking now. She’ll tell Tammy and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Annie, we need to talk about some details before tomorrow.”
She looked out toward the water, toward Matthew with his kite. “Five more minutes and I promise we’ll lay it all out.”
I sat and waited patiently as a thick clot of mental clouds began to form in my head. Once the pain set in, all hope of a straight path through thought would be gone. I’d written everything down for that very reason. I pulled the paper out of the pocket of the cardigan. My bank account information and the direction for the remaining pittance to go to the homeless shelter in the city. The cremation paid for in full. A request for my ashes to be sprinkled in the sea. And a final favour to ask of Annie: an obituary. Nothing exalting or self-serving, just a few lines to say I had come and gone.
Little Matthew grew tired of his kite and took off running down the shore with Jeannie at his heels. The abandoned kite pitched and weaved on a gust, then dove sharply nose first into the rocks, where it flapped back and forth until finally a wave claimed it. I handed my list to Annie. Long minutes passed with it balled in her fist.
“Annie, please.”
She smoothed the paper against her thighs. “An obituary? You’re trusting me with that now, are you?”
“I’ll be a pile of soot in a jar. Tell all the lies you like.”
“Do you want Edie to help with the ashes?”
“If she wants to. And can you call her tomorrow night and send her that letter?”
“No, Frances, I’m not calling her. I’ll drive into town and tell her face to face. I’ll put my arms around her and put the letter in her hand. I’ll do it right. Don’t you worry about that for a second.” She watched the waves for a few moments, then stood and held out her hand. “Shall we?”
I nodded and rose up into the bracing wind. Annie led me to the water, where I stood in the North Atlantic until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. I left my socks and shoes among the cold wet stones and didn’t look back.