The Wave by Kristen Crusoe (ebook reader online txt) 📗

back to the present. A memory so tender, feeling her cheeks wet. Had she been crying?

‘I had to come in, finish up some paperwork. You were crying, Clair. Is there something new? Has something happened?’

‘No, I’m OK. I was just thinking back to Devon’s baby time. How dear he was.’

Jet sat down on one of the chairs opposite Clair. Maggie lay down at her feet. ‘Tell me.’

Clair stared into the inner distance, reconnecting with a thread of history. ‘You know, we really can’t ever go back,’ she said. ‘We have to bring our past with us forward, but we can’t circle around and reclaim it or repair it. That makes living so hard.’ Clair began drawing the bow across the strings, not playing a tune so much as creating a drone as backdrop for her story.

‘I could feel my life tunneling in on itself, our future, lost.’ Clair talked over the sounds of deep droning. In fits and starts at first, then gaining momentum. ‘A woman’s life is a series of sacrifices, right. There is a proverb about a parent only being as happy as their saddest child. Devon wasn’t sad. He just wasn’t fully present. Adam at first tried to be a part of the therapy, of the hope that therapy implies. But over time, he withdrew, mentally. Physically too. With all the doctor and therapy visits, our schedules had pretty much been set. Adam went to work. I stayed with Devon.’

She was quiet for a while, continuing to stroke the strings, a deepening line of melody beginning to sort out. ‘That day at the beach,’ Clair said, shifting in her chair, laying the cello aside. ‘It was going to be a change for us. I had found a program for Devon, two days a week for four hours. It was an applied behavioral analysis program and was supposed to be the best type of treatment. And, it was going to allow me to return to teaching on campus, at least on a part-time basis. I was getting pressure from the dean and my colleagues, and I missed it, the interaction, distraction. This day out, I was anticipating good things. Maybe with time away, Adam and I could also fix our relationship. Buddhists are right. Expectations are the cause of all suffering.’

‘What do you mean, Clair? What happened that day? We’ve never really talked about it, you know.’

Clair looked at Jet with torment in her eyes. She looked up at the marine painting, then back at Jet.

Clair stood up and walked over to Maggie. They had become good friends now, and her large, warm body gave such comfort. Clair sat down on the floor, cross-legged beside the dog. Her gaze turned away from the painting. And from Jet.

‘I can’t. The words, they won’t come out,’ she whispered; eyes closed tightly as though warding off unsought images.

Jet stood, gently taking her hand. ‘Go put some clothes on. We’re going on an outing.’

Chapter 9

Clair

At first, her steps were hesitant, a novice pianist’s notes, unsteady, shaky. Then slowly, as she adjusted to being outside, walking on ground covered by roots and debris, looking up into a gunmetal sky sprinkled with clouds like spilt milk, her legs felt stronger, steps quickened. She knew this place in her heart. Each rustle of leaves and swish of branches, ripple of stream, roar of ocean just beyond the next turn in the path. These sounds had lived in her head for the past months, eclipsing all other sounds. She looked at Jet, questioning.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘What if I can’t? I feel like an unexploded bomb. I’m too frightened, all bound up.’

‘Then we’ll go back,’ Jet replied, gently holding onto her arm. ‘I think you’ll be OK, though, Clair. And I think this is the only way for you to be able to get past the block that is in your throat, so you can speak of him and your life together in a way that allows you to live. Maybe here you will feel safe enough to talk about what makes you feel unsafe.’

The way was rough and Clair’s leg muscles were weakened by days of immobility. She was breathing in the cool, moist salt air, stumbling and righting herself. As they turned a bend, she caught a first sight of the cove. The last place she had seen Devon alive.

‘Oh,’ she exhaled, collapsing into a squat, hugging her knees to her chest.

Jet waited. After a few moments, Clair stood again, nodding her head. ‘I’m OK, I can do this. I must do this, for Devon.’

Maggie came beside her, nudging her big head under Clair’s hand, leaning her weight against her leg.

‘Thanks, girl,’ Clair said, stroking her silky fur. ‘Let’s go.’

They came to the end of the path through the woods, walking across a makeshift bridge, two driftwood logs laid side by side, wobbly and slick from condensation. Clair looked up and saw a man standing on the cliff edge, looking down.

‘You can send Keith back to the hospital,’ she said to Jet. ‘I’m not going to throw myself off the rocks or run into the ocean. Cross my heart.’

‘Damn!’ Jet said. ‘You caught us. But he has to stay. You’re still under commitment and I’m responsible for getting you back to the hospital in one piece.’ She waved at him and motioned for him to move away, giving them privacy. They walked down to the beach, where a creek flowed into the ocean. Massive boulders stood like sentries. An elephant seal lay beached, its ponderous body inching towards the creek. They both stood and watched for a few moments, marveling at this wonder of nature. As the huge marine mammal heaved itself forward, her two white seal pups remained still, waiting for a high tide to carry them back out to sea. The dog eyed them curiously then trotted down the beach, chasing a flock of white sea-birds harvesting the flotsam left by retreating waves.

‘Which way?’ Jet asked, looking down the curved beach,