October 7, 2010
Curled under the warm confines of a crocheted mocha-vanilla afghan on a chocolate frontier sofa, Abigail motionlessly sits, staring at the flat TV screen. Alone with her tears, she holds the TV remote in one hand while her other arm rests limply across the arm of the sofa. She attentively watches as CNN News field correspondent Larry Belfort gives his detailed report on the unusually severe tropical storm that has suddenly appeared off the southern coast of Kuwait.
“I have to tell you Tom, the cyclone is just massive.” Larry speaks to television personality and anchorman Tom Matais through a handheld microphone on location in Kuwait.
Film footage recorded earlier by a helicopter instantly replaces Larry with violent images of high winds, heavy rains, and off in the far distance, the cyclone itself. The enormously devilish whirlwind is dark gray and visually impenetrable as it hovers over the ocean’s surface.
“As you can see, it looks as if the peak is more than one hundred and fifty feet in height, with its widest point looking to be as wide as half a football field. We can estimate that the eye of the storm will easily be moving at one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Tom, this is definitely a category five super storm. There is just total devastation around the harbors and much of Kuwait City as its citizens have already started looking for missing loved ones.”
“Larry, that is just appalling. I understand that this is an unprecedented event in this part of the Middle East. Can you enlighten the viewers at home as to what may have caused a storm of this magnitude?”
“That is correct, Tom. Generally, we find this type of storm activity along the southern parts of the Indian Ocean. It usually starts with a torrential downpour and gusty winds, but as the circling winds rotate around a low pressure point, it results in a tropical depression. These winds can reach anywhere from 39 kmh to 132 kmh. Now Tom, the season for this type of activity is accurate along the Indian Ocean, generally running from as early as October or November and through May. Yet this kind of severe activity in the Persian Gulf is unique. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.”
“Larry, can you tell us where the storm is headed?”
“Right now, the eye of the storm is just outside the Persian Gulf.” Larry speaks to Tom as the film footage of the storm switches to a digital map detailing the Indian Ocean, its surrounding continents as well as the Pacific Ocean. “With the path it is currently on, it looks as if the storm might stay along the Pakistani coastline.” Larry pauses as a thin yellow line charts along the tip of the Persian Gulf and along the length of the Pakistan coast. “Now here is where it gets tricky, Tom. If the storm stays on its current path, then it will more than likely head south into the Indian Ocean, where it will dissipate.” A blue line charts the storm’s course as it heads south on the map and then stops midpoint in the Indian Ocean, where it is replaced by a red X. The original yellow line continues around the tip of the Pakistan coastline and up between Thailand and Indonesia until it too is replaced by a red X at the Northeastern Pacific Basin, off the coast of California.
“However, if a sudden change in path occurs, the storm could head east toward Indonesia and Thailand, where the rise in temperature and humidity could cause cataclysmic results for the two countries. At that point, Tom, it could push as far as the North Pacific Ocean, winding up the coasts of North America. This is highly unlikely though, but at this point and with a storm of this magnitude, there is really just no way of speculating… Back to you, Tom.”
“Well, there you have it; new chaos unfolds in the Middle East.” Tom leans forward over his news desk and tilts his head with a slight, reaffirming nod, “I am Tom Matais for CNN Newsroom coverage.”
* * *
Jeannie walks into the living room and Abigail clicks to a different channel. A Vogue magazine is propped under Jeannie’s right arm and she carries a cup of vanilla chai—one of her secret pleasures. It may look as if she intends to relax on the sofa next to Abigail in her comfortable sweat pants while she peruses her magazine and drinks a hot cup of tea. However, Abigail knows her mom better than that. Her sole intention is to discover her daughter’s present emotional state to see if anything has changed since yesterday or the day before that. As Abigail assumed, Jeannie sits down next to her, placing the magazine and cup of tea on the coffee table. She then rubs her hand in a comforting motion over Abigail’s upper thigh. Abigail turns off the TV, wiping tears away; she intentionally avoids looking her mother in the eye.
The last month has proven to be devastating. First, there was Bill’s death. Second, as if that wasn’t already enough, Bill’s father suddenly passes away just three weeks afterward. He blamed himself for the ill fate that befell his son, and although the hospital said it was due to congestive heart failure, Abigail knew all too well as she and Ted suffered from the same broken heart. Day in and day out, Maggie watched helplessly as her husband stared out the front window of their living room, hoping to see Bill walking up the driveway. This went on for nearly two weeks until Alley May found him dead in his workshop with a photo of a young preteen Bill clutched in his hand; a photo he hopelessly carried around with him as a reminder of what he had let go. The doctors could say whatever they like, but Abigail knew the cause of Ted’s death was a broken heart.
Recently, Shelly decided it would be cathartic for Abigail to visit Bill’s mother more frequently. No matter how emotionally difficult it is for Abigail to walk around in the house that she and Bill had spent so much time together in, she could not even imagine what Maggie must be going through with the loss of both her son and her husband. The girls visited Maggie three times a week after school and every Saturday afternoon. They shared in doing the chores, helping Alley May around the house and with the laundry, but most of the time, they would just peruse old photo albums, looking through photos of Ted and Bill while softly crying over a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade or iced tea. They did what they could to lean on each other, but months of tears and constant reminders had begun to weigh heavy on Abigail’s heart.
She put forth her best effort to keep up appearances, trying to spend as much time out of the house as she could. Shelly made every effort to drag Abigail here and there, but all the while, she was silently screaming for all of it to stop. She allowed Shelly to drag her around because she knew that Shelly was looking out for her best interests. Nevertheless, when Abigail was alone, every memory of Bill flooded back into her thoughts; he would not let her go. Sometimes Abigail laughed, recounting their intimate memories, and then shortly afterward, she would break down in tears and gentle sobs, realizing they would only ever be memories, and she would never be able to create new ones with him.
Three months had passed since Abigail first heard her mother tell her that Bill was gone, and still, she scanned the local and national news, hoping that somehow, there had been some sort of mistake and she would see Bill again. She often imagined the media frenzy; military officials surrounded Bill and the others as they were welcomed back as heroes. But all of Abigail’s fantasies slowly dwindled each day, as there was not one word about Bill or his missing squad.
Moreover, she had begun to have strange and sometimes terrifying dreams concerning Bill. Last Tuesday, while she was in the attic looking through some of Bill’s things she had boxed up for safekeeping, Abigail was unexpectedly overwhelmed emotionally and physically by an indescribable feeling of anguish. Then, all of a sudden, she could see images of Bill in torment and pain, screaming out. She immediately fell to her knees and cried. Abigail hadn’t told anyone of this episode, and it was getting much harder to exist within such a fragile state with Bill haunting her. Her mom made things even harder as Jeannie constantly monitored Abigail’s every move.
“Hey, Mom.” She wipes the tears from her eyes; even though she tries to be brave and stoic, there is little she can do to try and hide her pain and tears.
Jeannie pauses, taking in her daughter’s fragile state. Although Abigail knows her mother fully intended to address her state, Jeannie lifts the china cup to her lips and sips slowly instead. She closes her eyes, savoring the spicy hot beverage mixed with a splash of heavy cream, honey, and a hint of cardamom and cinnamon, all of which now mingle favorably on her palate. Jeannie takes a second sip and then sets the cup on a dainty coaster next to her magazine. Blankly, Abigail stares at her mother as Jeannie takes a deep breath, knowing that she needed to say something. Jeannie then exhales with an expression of deep worry.
“What were you watching?” She digresses from her true agenda.
“I was just watching the news. A typhoon hit Kuwait yesterday.”
“A typhoon, huh? That seems odd,” Jeannie says as she takes another sip of her tea and then puts the cup down on the coaster. “How are you feeling today?”
“Okay, I guess,” she lies. Abigail feels completely empty and has been feeling so for some time.
“Abby, I know why you were watching the news.” Again, Jeannie places her hand on Abigail’s lap. Abigail lowers her head; her eyes are glassy and tears spill down her face. She tries to maintain any sort of emotional resilience, especially around her mom, but just one thought of Bill hurls her right back into despair.
“I can’t help it, Momma. I just miss him so much.” She sobs, dropping her hands on her lap. “It just seems like everywhere I look, I see him. It hurts so badly, and I’m not sure how to make it stop.”
Jeannie sighs while continuously adjusting the position of Abigail’s hair as if she can somehow miraculously correct Abigail’s mood by doing so. She then runs the back of her hand across Abigail’s cheek, wiping her tears away. “Abby, I know, but you’re not doing yourself any favors. You need to listen to me. Bill, honey, he’s gone, and no matter how much you refuse to admit it—it won’t bring him back. I think it’s in your best interest if you just start moving forward.”
Abigail finds it difficult to speak. She shakes her head, disagreeing with her mom. No matter how many times Jeannie wipes away those tears, there will always be more of them. What she feels for Bill will never change. She is not mending and she is certainly not ready to pick up the pieces and move on; at least, not anytime soon.
“Momma, I need you to listen. I mean… I need you to understand that Bill and I, we…” She pauses with a quick huff of breath and then shuts her eyes, trying to shake off the emotions that are overwhelming her. Abigail nods her head several times, trying to gather her thoughts, evading any chance of crying for the time being. “What I mean to say is that what we shared was like what you and Dad have. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with Bill. There was so much color in my life, so much wonder and possibility. Without him, it just feels gray and empty. Can’t you understand that?”
“Abby,” Jeannie pauses to consider her daughter’s words, “sweetie… the color never left. It has always been with you, even before Bill came into your life. You just don’t remember. From the very first day we brought you home from the hospital, you were so full of life and energy. Your father and I, we have always seen that luster in your eyes. I know this is hard for you to understand, but you have to put this chapter of your life behind you. But that doesn’t mean you ever have to stop loving Bill. You just have to move forward.”
It is difficult for Jeannie to speak to her daughter so candidly, and Abigail does not blame her. To a degree, her mom is right and she knows it. Abigail could see her ordeal is taking a toll on her mom. She carefully thinks about her mother’s words, trying to let them sink in. The Abigail who was full of life and energy that her mom knew died with Bill. Things are different now; she is different. The apparition of the man Abigail still loves haunts her at every turn. Echoes of Bill’s eyes and his constant smile invades her every thought and dream. He calls out to her, as if he is lost and needs Abigail to guide him back home safely. Sometimes, she can even see Bill moving through a crowd or smiling at her through the reflection of a store window.
“I know I’ve been acting irrational, but I can’t help thinking that if I keep watching, maybe I will see him. It will all be a bad mistake someone made and… and I’ll be okay with that because I will have Bill back, and the color will return. It will be ours to share again.”
“No, Abby. Bill won’t ever return to us,” Jeannie pleads as tears spill down her face, which in turn has Abigail doing the same as the ongoing heartbreak proves to be too much for either one of them. Filled with a mother’s love, Jeannie takes hold of Abigail’s shoulders and looks into her daughter’s eyes. “He’s gone, baby. Please stop torturing yourself. It wasn’t your fault; it was just an accident.”
“You don’t know that for sure Momma.” Abigail coldly shrugs, turning back the afghan and hastily standing up. At the same time, she accidentally knocks over her mother’s cup of tea; the watery caramel-colored drink with light dashes of reddish-brown spice, flows out of the tiny cup in a quick splash across the glass surface of the coffee table.
“DAMN IT, ABIGAIL—”
“No, Mom!” She continues her protest, still oblivious to the spreading pool of chai. “I know that to you it seems like I’m losing my mind, but I can feel him. In everything I do and everywhere I go, I can feel Bill’s presence—as if something is urging me to desperately hold on.”
Jeannie wants—no, she needs to get up and get something; anything to clean up the mess and restore balance to her perfect order. However, the mess will have to wait. Although the spill gnaws at her like a throbbing toothache, she is going to stay focused for Abigail’s sake. Abigail, however, after realizing the mess she made, defiantly chooses to ignore it—putting her point across. “What about the fact that the military was unable to recover any of the bodies? Even with an explosion, there should have been something left. No!” Abigail refutes her mother. “I won’t abandon him. NOT NOW, NOT EVER!”
“Abigail, I love you, but this is too much. You barely eat anymore. Your school work has suffered dramatically and if you’re not over at Maggie Colden’s house, you’re hiding up in your room, scanning the news over the Internet or watching it on TV down here.” She pauses, taking in Abigail’s earnest face. “It’s been three months and still nothing. Not one shred of evidence has surfaced proving Bill might still be alive. It’s time. Let him go. Take your life back.”
“GOD—how can you say that? You can’t possibly know how I feel!” Abigail briskly walks to the foyer with every intention of heading up to her room so she can be alone with her thoughts. She stops, collecting herself before turning around and confronting her mother again. “You have never had to feel this kind of loss. Any minute now, Dad is going to walk through that door. Your husband is going to walk through that door, as he does every day. You still have the man you love. I don’t. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with is gone!”
Jeannie is quiet; tears spill down her eyes. She stares down at her spilled tea, shaking. She watches the tea soak through the pages of her magazine, hoping Abigail’s own words soak through. Without realizing it, Abigail admits the one thing she wholly believed in is not true. Her thoughts, along with any words dissipate.
* * *
Like clockwork, Walter Lux pulls up in the driveway of his two-story town house at exactly 5:35 p.m. The house is three stories if you count the garage and finished basement below ground level. Like every other day, he removes his briefcase from the passenger’s seat of the Range Rover and loosens his tie. Walter smiles pleasantly because the day is done and he could think of nothing else except how a well-deserved cold beer will feel flowing down his throat.
On his way inside, Walter stops and picks up the morning paper. This is his ritual—a cold beer and the daily newspaper while waiting for Jeannie to finish preparing dinner. Sure, Walter could have retrieved the paper in the morning before he left for work. However, work is always too hectic and he rather enjoys perusing the paper while tossing back a nightly six-pack of Samuel Smith’s Porter. Walter is never a heavy drinker. Lately, though, the long hours at the office has been grueling, and at home, there is Jeannie and Abigail’s constant arguments. Walter learned that a nightly six-pack in the evening helped settle his nerves.
Unfolding the paper after slipping it out of the plastic bag, Walter sees a headline that immediately catches his eye: Unprecedented Typhoon Tears through the Persian Gulf. He thinks it odd weather for the Middle East. A moment later, Walter opens the front door of their spacious home, just in time to see Abigail dart past him in tears as she heads upstairs to her room. Shortly after, Walter hears her bedroom door slam shut. He closes the front door behind him and sets his briefcase down.
“She’s just not ready yet, Walt.” Jeannie greets him, still shaking her head and holding a wet towel, once white but now soaked and discolored. She holds her arm out, careful not to touch his suit with the drenched cloth, and then places her free arm around his neck, giving Walter a soft peck on the cheek. “I don’t know what to do. It feels like she is pulling away from us more and more each day.”
When it comes to Abigail, Walter Lux has always had a soft heart. From the moment, Jeannie had brought her into the world and Walter had taken his first glance into the infant’s steel blue eyes and she ingeniously stared back at him with a full crop of wavy carrot hair, he forever fell in love with her. Being an investment banker, Walter has always been more than able to keep food on the table, providing his family with a comfortable life, although he did tend to spoil Abigail outright.
Since she was at least seven years old, he had been setting aside some money with one goal in mind; Walter Lux planned to have a ’63 Volkswagen bug restored for her sixteenth birthday. It was Abby’s constant giddy laughter that prompted the idea one insignificant Sunday evening while they were watching Herbie Rides Again. Walter paid attention to little details like that when it came to that kid. Today, he is still setting money aside for Abby’s college fund. However, despite everything he did or was still doing for Abby and all the love Walter had for her, he now felt completely helpless.
“She isn’t getting any better?” he asks but knows the answer.
“No, she is not,” Jeannie snaps and shakes her head and then quickly adds, “it’s all she does day in and day out—watch the news, hoping she will see him. Oh… and Mr. Quincy, her bridge teacher, he called earlier today informing me that our daughter’s GPA has dropped from last year, from a 3.87 to a 2.76. He then goes on to tell me she has completely withdrawn from her classmates and tends to daydream while class is in session. He even mentioned that on a few occasions, he has even had to wake her up.”
Walter leans against the foyer wall, sighing.
“I’m not sure what to do anymore, Walt. I don’t want to make things worse for her, but if she doesn’t start moving past all of this, she’s going to put her future at risk.”
“Maybe I should go talk to her,” Walter offers.
“I don’t see what good that will do,” Jeannie snaps again and then takes in a breath. “All I ever do is talk… talk, talk, talk until I’m blue in the face. She doesn’t seem to be getting over the boy. Even more irrational, Abby has this delusion that somehow, it is all a big mistake and Bill is just lost, wandering around the desert. It’s just not healthy for her to think like that.”
“Well, what would you have me do, Jeannie? We can’t force her to forget him. She has to deal with it in her own way. All we can do is be here for her. Anything else seems arbitrary.”
“Well… I did call Dr. Steinman today.”
“Absolutely not! We’ve talked about this.” Walter immediately abandons the conversation and walks into the kitchen, heading toward the refrigerator. It is time. He needs that drink.
“And why not?” Jeannie pursues the idea.
“What the hell are you even thinking, Jeannie?” Walter skeptically shakes his head at the asininity of the idea that Jeannie proposed. Immediately thereafter, he pulls a longneck from the bottom shelf and retrieves the bottle opener from a drawer next to the kitchen sink. Popping the bottle top and leaning back against the counter, Walter takes a long invigorating drink from the beer.
Jeannie wanders into the kitchen a moment later and leans beside the sink. She waits for Walter to sigh after taking such a long pull from the bottle then staring methodically down at the label. “Look, Walter, the last thing I want for Abigail is to have some shrink prodding around in her head, but we have to face the facts. We’re not getting anywhere on our own. It’s been three months, and Abby seems to be further isolating herself from her friend as much as you and I. We need to take a stand now. Let’s get her the help she needs. I know you don’t want to lose your daughter to this, Walter.”
“Your right, Jeannie, I don’t want to lose my daughter. I just do not think I’m ready for such a drastic measure. I mean, a shrink—really?” He takes another, much shorter swig from the bottle.
“Drastic measures… do you know how ridiculous that sounds to me? Your daughter lost her boyfriend. For Pete’s sake, Walter, the poor boy was blown up by a suicide bomber!” Jeannie pauses to collect herself after realizing her harsh tone has only exacerbated the situation she is trying to control. “No. I feel this is exactly what she needs—a professional. Someone who can guide Abigail back to reality and back to us.”
“Is that what you think, Mom?” Abigail appears in the entrance of the kitchen. “You think I’m losing my mind?”
“No, Abby, sweetie… I—”
“Sweetie, your mother just wants to make sure you feel better.”
“And so you think a shrink is going to accomplish that? I am not crazy, Mom. Dad—GOD—”
“Abby, please—”
“It may seem like a few months might be enough time to grieve, but what I felt for Bill was the most honest and endearing emotion I had ever felt for anyone. Those kinds of feelings don’t just go away, even if you will them or… or demand it.” Abigail lowers her head after lecturing her parents. “I need time. Just give me time to see if Bill is actually still out there or… or if my mind is actually playing some cruel trick on my heart.”
Jeannie and Walter both look at each other. Walter’s hesitance is as clear as the tears in his wife’s eyes. “Abby, we understand what you’re going through, but this doctor, she can help you work through your feelings. Her job is to help you sort through your confusion, that’s all.”
“What your mother is trying to say is that it is a psychiatrist’s job to understand impulses and feelings associated with traumatic experiences, and Dr. Steinman can help make the healing process easier.”
Abigail is quiet as she thinks it through. Her thoughts are her own and she doesn’t feel like sharing those thoughts with anyone else. She certainly does not need anyone else thinking she might be losing her grip on reality. At the very least, though, it is a chance to get away from everyone who has either berated her or shown her too much pity. Abigail understands that a shrink would at least be impartial to her situation.
“Fine. Whatever. You win.” Abigail crosses her arms, leaning against the doorway. Her head remains down and she loses all self-awareness, studying the tiles on the kitchen floor. “When do you want me to go see this shrink?”
Jeannie is immediately relieved. She stands up, straightening herself and then pleasingly runs her hands easily over her shirt and sweat pants. “Well, I would like to get you in to see her as soon as possible. I was thinking I could drive you to school tomorrow instead of taking Herbie.”
The name has been a long-standing joke between Abigail and her dad since Abby had actually named her bug Herbie, after the memorable anthropomorphic Volkswagen Beetle that had a mind of his own and could drive himself. She now seems unaffected by such sweet sentiments. “I could pick you up after school and we could go together, you know… just the first time.”
“Yeah, okay,” Abigail reluctantly agrees. “But I need both of you to support me and stop thinking I’m losing it. You should know me better than that.” She looks up with tensed lips while tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know how I must sound, but I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it was true.”
“We know, Abby.” Walter, who is also relieved, smiles in light of Abigail’s bold decision and then takes a swig from his beer. Afterward, Walter sets the empty bottle in the sink and leans back against the counter, thinking it was too early to pop the top of a second beer. “There is nothing wrong with wondering if Bill is still out there. It’s a natural part of the grieving process.” Walter intentionally avoids Jeannie’s sudden thankless gaze and opens the refrigerator, pulling out a second longneck. “And it could be that Bill is still alive. Many stranger things have happened. I think it would be smart for you to go find out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going upstairs to call Shelly. In the meantime, if either one of you decides you want to have a lobotomy performed on me, I’ll be in my room.”