Chapter Fifteen A Warmth That Beckons
Chapter Fifteen
A Warmth That Beckons
In a way, it feels like some sort of genesis, yet I know that we are far from resurrected.
It’s been ages since Nate and I have been affectionate with each other.
I can’t even remember the last time we snuggled on the sofa.
We’ve been detached, physically and emotionally, and though I’m pleased that he’s made this effort to come home today, I don’t know how we can ever find our way back to what we once were.
There’s too much animosity between us now. Imitation smiles and awkwardness.
When he finally enters the kitchen with Oscar following excitedly, sniffing at his pant leg, I don’t have the first clue what to say to him. For a few clumsy seconds, we stand and stare.
“Do you still want to go to Peggy’s Cove?” he asks.
I force myself to snap out of this inertia. “Yes. Just give me a minute to change.”
We decide to leave Oscar at home so that we can focus on each other. This is Nate’s suggestion, not mine.
In the car, after we exhaust the conversation about what happened that morning at the restaurant (the electrician’s visit and the all-important staff meeting with Graham in charge), Nate turns on the radio.
From that moment on, we drive in silence, as if we are both relying on the destination to provide the solution to our marital troubles.
That’s where we will finally reconnect. The journey to get there is merely incidental.
But for me, the lack of conversation in this enclosed space becomes as aggravating as a pair of tight shoes.
My nerves are strained. I’m trying not to feel angry again, but my thoughts race dangerously.
Nate knows I’m considering a separation, and he admits he must do better for us.
Yet he’s staring at the road, probably obsessing about the restaurant, worrying about the staff’s performance, and wishing he were there to manage them, instead of sitting in this car with me.
As the miles pass, I grow increasingly frustrated.
This excursion feels pointless. I want to sort things out, but I’m tired of rowing this boat, and I refuse to be the only one in this relationship who ever picks up the oars.
I’m done with that. So I don’t initiate conversation. I simply gaze out the window.
Peggy’s Cove is a small, picturesque fishing village, best known for its famed, iconic lighthouse, which sits atop a rugged granite outcrop overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
It’s crowded today because of a recent storm.
The locals have come out to watch the cove’s wild waters, with waves crashing violently against the rocks.
Nate gets lucky and finds a parking spot on the upper lot behind the Sou’Wester restaurant.
As soon as I open the car door, I hear the ferocious roar of the ocean beyond.
I step out and breathe in the fresh, salty fragrance of the sea.
Then I take in the small fishing village with its colorful boats, weathered buildings, lobster traps, and nets piled on the wharf.
Seagulls squawk and spiral above us. I look up.
The air is cold. I can see my breath, but the winter sun is bright and warm on my face.
Nate locks the car. “I can’t believe how much this place has changed.” He’s referring to the freshly paved road to the restaurant, the modern sidewalks, and the public washrooms, which have made the village more accessible and tourist friendly.
We walk to the front of the restaurant for our first proper view of the ocean, where monstrous waves explode against the rocks, shooting foamy plumes fifty feet into the air.
“My God, look at that.” Nate stares, awestruck. “It’s like a volcanic eruption.” He then turns his attention to the new viewing deck that juts out over the rocks. “That’s impressive.”
“The safety railings are a good thing,” I say as I walk toward it. “But half the fun of coming here is rock hopping.”
“No one’s stopping us.” He glances to the left, where the granite boulders are crawling with visitors.
We stroll to the wooden deck and marvel at the mighty power of the North Atlantic. For a fleeting second, I forget the problems in my marriage because my daily life seems insignificant compared to these breathtaking forces.
An older couple approaches, and the woman asks me to take their picture.
I happily comply and wait while they pose in front of the rail.
I arrange the proper frame and the right composition and wait for a wave to break in the background.
I even take a quick video that I know they’ll appreciate when they review their photo gallery later.
“Here you go.” I hand their phone back to them, and they thank me. I then discover that Nate has wandered off. He’s standing at the edge of the deck, near the path to the lighthouse, waving at me to join him.
Moments later, we step from the well-maintained gravel path onto the uneven granite. We pick our way over patches of ice in hollows where the sun has yet to reach.
It’s a short walk to the lighthouse, but in front of it, the north wind hits us with a sharp bite, so we decide to not linger but to venture onto the crests and valleys of the sloping granite landscape.
We stroll to the highest point where we can watch the waves crash and explode below us, as loud as cannon fire.
“It’s unbelievable!” I shout.
He nods, and again I grow frustrated with his silence.
The wind off the water is frigid, so I gather my wool scarf tighter around my neck. My nose runs, and I sniffle. “Should we head back to the restaurant?” I ask.
“Sure.” He pauses. “But I’d like to get something off my chest first.”
“All right.” I tug my scarf higher to cover my mouth and ears and hunch my shoulders stiffly because I’m starting to shiver.
The wind whips at Nate’s hair. “I want you to know that I don’t want a divorce. I love you.”
I’m pleased to hear it, and my stiff muscles relax slightly.
“But I don’t want to shut down the restaurant either,” he says.
Another wave crashes onto the shoreline, and my heart sinks.
“I did a lot of thinking this morning,” he says, “and if you could just give me one more year. If you could help me get through this reno . . .”
“Nate . . .”
“No, listen . . . please, hear me out. I talked to the electrician this morning, and it turns out it’s not as bad as I thought it would be, and the building will be worth a lot more if we do some upgrades.
I talked to Martina about things we can do in terms of operations, and if I haven’t turned the situation around a year from now, I promise I’ll shut it down.
And just so you know that I’m serious about making our marriage work, I’d like us to go to couples counseling.
You suggested it once, and I wasn’t ready, but I am now. ”
I stare at him in shock, and I’m certain that he’s just saying what he thinks I want to hear. He’s dangling a carrot to get me on board with the restaurant renovations and prevent me from leaving him.
“No,” I say, flat out. “You know how I feel, and I can’t take another year of this. I’m seriously worried that if the restaurant goes bankrupt, they’ll come after our house.”
He speaks reassuringly. “That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know? The lawyer said it was a possibility.”
With diminishing hope, I face the raging ocean, the violent swells, and the foaming whitecaps.
The sky is blue, and the sun is beaming on the water, but the world is a tempest right now.
I’m freezing, and I want to scream. I don’t want lunch or hot chocolate.
I just want to get back in the car and drive home alone. Nate can call an Uber.
I turn and start hopping down the sloping rocks.
“Sienna, wait!” Nate calls after me. “Just let me tell you about the plan!”
“No! You need therapy!” I shout over my shoulder, but I feel him chasing after me.
Suddenly, I’m knocked off my feet. It’s as if I’ve been bodychecked.
The next instant, I’m spinning in the churning, ice-cold water.
The temperature takes my breath away, and I gasp.
Frigid salt water pours into my lungs. It burns my chest and stings my flesh, like a steel cheese grater scouring my entire body.
I struggle to kick and swim to the surface, but I’m powerless against the currents. My body is flung into a series of barrel rolls. I can’t breathe. I’m disoriented. My heart is about to explode.
Then I slam against a rock-solid wall. The impact paralyzes me, and I go limp as I’m swept away. There’s red in the water. It’s my blood, but I don’t know where it’s coming from because I feel bone-numbing pain everywhere.
Miraculously, I break the surface, catch a brief glimpse of blue sky, and cough water out of my lungs. But I have only seconds to take a breath before I’m struck by a massive wave and sucked under again, into the bubbles and cold, rolling deep.
Down I go . . .
There’s no hope for me.
No one can save me now. I know it.
I become drowsy . . . confused . . . numb.
There’s no more pain.
My children . . . God in heaven, my children.
I think of them with heartache. I don’t want to leave them alone in the world, but there’s nothing I can do. This is the end. I’m about to die here.
Yet the will to survive is steadfast. As I’m dragged down by the undertow, my body craves oxygen. I open my mouth and draw in an enormous breath of water.
The shock of it entering my lungs sends me into a fresh panic. My body twitches and seizes convulsively. The loss of control is devastating. This goes on and on.
Eventually, my panic recedes. I am thrust upward again, toward the surface. I see bubbles, glistening in the sun, rising, and I kick hard and shoot like a rocket toward the light.
I need to get home. I need to see my children one more time. Warn them that I won’t be around after today. They’ll need to rely on their father and Becky. Most of all, I want them to know they’re loved.
I fly through the front door of my house and reach the kitchen. Oscar is asleep on his bed next to the sofa. He stirs. His tail starts wagging, and he barks with distress, so I comfort him. I kiss his sweet, furry cheek, and he nuzzles my neck.
“What a good boy you are.”
He prances in circles.
Amanda runs down the stairs, and I’m overjoyed to see her.
“Oscar, what is it?” She kneels beside him and tries to scratch behind his ears, but he darts away and twirls, as if he’s chasing his tail. He stops, and his ears perk up. He looks intently at me, then at her, then back at me again.
Amanda laughs and gets up off the floor. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Sweetheart,” I say to her, but she ignores me. “Amanda, you have to listen. I just drowned.”
At first, I’m baffled by her disinterest. Then I remember that I’m dead and she can’t see me. If she could, she’d hug me and cry her eyes out, and she’d refuse to let me go.
Oscar, however, is another story. He’s keenly aware of my presence. He gazes up at me intently, tail wagging, and runs to the basket where we keep his leash.
“Sorry, buddy, I can’t take you.”
He continues to stare, which is not surprising. Even when I was alive, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Where’s Connor?” I ask Amanda.
Still no response from her.
I glance at the clock on the wall and remember that he had hockey practice this afternoon. I need to go to the rink, but I’m hesitant to leave. I don’t want to say goodbye to Amanda.
She moves to the refrigerator, opens it, and reaches for a tub of yogurt. Good, healthy choice, I think as she peels back the plastic lid. She opens the cutlery drawer and digs around for a spoon.
Watching her, I feel strangely euphoric, which is shocking to me. Somehow, I know she’s going to be okay. She’s a beautiful soul. I’ve raised her well, and she’s intelligent. Independent. A good person. My heart overflows with love for her and pride in the person she’s become.
I don’t want to leave her, and I regret that I won’t be here for important events in the future, like her wedding day and the birth of her children.
That will be difficult for her, but I hope she’ll understand that we’ll never be apart, and we’ll see each other again.
But right now, I have to go. I have no choice. I can’t fight this.
Slowly, I withdraw from the kitchen. I treasure these last few seconds, watching her in this life. Then I zoom, at the speed of light, to the rink.
Connor is skating fast during a scrimmage. I hover over the centerline and watch him perform his magic.
I’ve never seen him skate from this angle before, and I’m captivated by his footwork and stick handling. Though I suppose this is nothing new. I’ve been captivated by my children since the day they were born.
Connor swerves around a defenseman and heads down center ice, straight to the net. He shoots and scores.
Under normal circumstances, I’d jump to my feet, cheer, and clap, but I’m already floating. Besides, it’s just a scrimmage game. All the same, his teammates high-five him in their hockey gloves.
For a triumphant moment, I watch my son and feel his exhilaration as if it were my own. I’m a proud mother and also relieved. I’m confident that he’ll live a good life. Whatever he does, he’ll do it with gusto.
I wish I could stay longer to see his life unfold, but I feel a warmth that beckons, and I need to go to it. I’m compelled.
I fly straight up toward the rafters, and I don’t look back.