Starting Over

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Janet drove her Highlander alongside the shops and eateries of Lincoln City's Harbor Boulevard. The road running through town was quiet this time of year. The tourists had left, leaving the hardy coastal residents behind to hunker down for the approaching winter. Heading toward Fogarty, she glanced at the blue marble urn on the passenger seat. This year's pilgrimage to the beach where so much of her past had been defined marked yet another turning point in her life.

Her beloved husband, Neil, would be joining her father, their ashes comingling on the beach she loved. But as far as she was concerned, it was too soon. It was hard to believe he'd been gone almost a whole year. She thought about his last days at Hazelnut before his body gave up and finally quit. It had been a long haul for them the last two months before he passed, and she'd been there for all of it, standing beside his bed, holding his hand, whispering how beautiful he was. But that was the price she'd paid for marrying a man twenty-five years older than her.

“Someday we'll be back together again,” she muttered, because, yes, she'd come to believe there was something beyond this mortal life even though she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that he believed it, and that was all that mattered.

She came to a stoplight. Closed her eyes.

And then there was Megan.

It hadn't been easy to convince her fifty-four-year-old stepdaughter to agree with her plans for today. In the end, she prevailed. The hardest part was persuading Megan to hang back. She knew it wasn't fair, but she couldn't share her final moments with him with anyone, not even his daughter. To make up for it, she gave Megan his journals revealing his hopes and dreams. Perhaps through his words he might reach out from beyond and bring about peace between his children. Maybe someday, she could convince Megan to forgive her brother Trevor from walking out on his father after their mother died. As matriarch of the family, she owed Neil that.

An hour later, she was walking barefoot on the cool, compacted sand as the ocean pounded the shoreline. This was home, the place where her heart had led her to the only man she'd ever loved. And it was also here where she'd made peace with a father she'd desperately sought acceptance from growing up. Carrying the canvas bag holding the remains of her husband, she followed the shoreline of the sprawling beach, contemplating the final letter she'd write to him. There was so much she wanted to say but didn't know how to put it into words.

The fine, watery mist of Fogarty spritzed her face and the wafting brine wrinkled her nose. She inhaled deeply. “I'm back, Dad,” she said to no one, “and I brought someone with me. I'm sure you both have catching up to do. Nate's doing a second tour in Iraq and I'm scared. The world over there is crazy, people hating and killing each other. I wish you were here. If anything were to happen to him, I…” She broke off and fought to contain herself, then turned toward her Altar rock sitting on the bluff. “Anyway, I suppose I should let you two get reacquainted.”

With her hair spraying out behind her, she strode to the grotto nestled in the face of the eroded rock wall buttressing the picturesque town from the sprawling beach. The jutting slab of weathered granite she called her Altar rock stood firm amidst the strewn rocks and boulders banked against the towering bluff. She stopped and looked up at it, felt the sacred rock's powerful draw on her heart then climbed up over the pile of jumbled stones and found her place on its outstretched palm.

Here, she stood with eyes closed and listened to the thrum of the waves and the distant echoes of her past. Right below her, she'd married Neil on a bright, sunny day, and down the beach they'd spent weekend afternoons with Nate building sandcastles and playing Frisbee. She drank the memories in, marinating in them until at last she reached down and drew the urn from the bag. Holding the marble vessel in front of her, she opened it and poured the ashes over the rocks to the sand below.

As she watched them tumble down, her throat tightened. There were no words to express how she felt so she placed the urn back in the bag and sat with her journal, trying to write words that wouldn't come. Finally, she closed the book and held it tight to her chest as the unreachable distance between her and Neil widened further than she thought possible. For the last two years, she'd immersed herself in her work and the running of the local Alzheimer's Association, trying to escape the suffocating loneliness stalking her day and night. Her body quaked, and she buried her face in her hands. “It's so hard without you, baby. I know you want me to be happy, but I don't know how to do it. Please help me,” she rasped, wiping her eyes.

She rocked back and forth under the brooding sky as the wind died and a faint scent of sandalwood danced in the air. She looked up startled and searching the waves, felt something warm on her shoulder. Setting her journal aside, she jumped up knowing it was crazy to believe he was somehow there with her, but she couldn't help wishing it were so. The scent grew stronger and the cover of her journal flipped back. The pages riffed and when she looked down, the book was open. On the page were the paraphrased words of Gibran she'd written shortly after he died.

If I am to hold the spirit of you my love, I must open my heart wide to the body of life.

A smile blossomed in the depths of her grief. The words she'd written to Neil reminded her what was important. To honor him was to embrace life and that was what she was going to do, but she had no idea where to start. She closed her eyes and imagined him beside her.

“I miss you so much.”

With determination and renewed strength, she climbed down and started back to her car. Walking beside the soughing, sweptback dunes, she watched a couple walking hand in hand near the surf. Her throat tightened and again, the tears came. This time they wouldn't stop. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to her knees, breaking into a heaving sob, until a little dog came running out from behind one of the dunes. He grabbed a stick and darted back out of sight. A moment later, the stick came whirling back and landed at her feet with the dog giving chase. She blinked. The little guy could've been her Barney's double. Barney was gone now and was buried behind her house. She rose to a knee and wiped her eyes. “Hey, puppy, what's your name?”

The dog barked as a man sporting a blue vested jacket and jeans called to him. “Jack, come here boy. Leave the lady alone.”

“You better get back,” she said to the dog, but the little guy stayed put. The man whistled, and the dog jerked his head around then back at her. “Go on, now. Get back to your master.”

The dog remained, looking up at her with dark brown eyes.

The man walked toward her. When he came near, he said, “I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him.”

Great, I must look like hell, she thought. She stood trying to collect herself. “It's okay, I used to have a dog that looked just like him.” She averted her gaze toward the ocean and watched the tide roll in for a moment.

Finally, the man said, “Good day for a walk.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, and glanced toward the underpass.

“Well, it's the last one I'll be taking here for some time.” He grabbed the stick and hurled it down the beach. “You from around here?”

She shook her head as the dog chased after it. “No…the Valley.”

He arched his brow “The Valley? You mean the one west of Salem?”

She took a step back. “Yes.”

“There's some digs up that way.” He paused as the dog came racing back with the stick. As Jack dropped it at their feet, he added, “Name's Andy.”

She ignored his extended hand and an awkward moment of silence passed between them. Finally, she said, “Janet.”

Pulling his hand back, he pointed toward the dog looking up at her. “Nice to meet ya. Seems he's decided you need a turn at fetch.”

She eyed Jack. The dog was wagging his tail and darting a glance back and forth between her and the stick. Setting her bag down, she picked the stick up and tossed it towards the surf.

Andy ran a thick hand through his mop of cinnamon hair. As he did so, she caught a fleeting glance of a tattoo below his elbow…an anchor or a harpoon piercing a globe or something like that. One of her son's tattoos was similar. Obviously, it was some rite of passage in the armed forces. She suppressed an urge to ask about it.

How do I get out of here without looking rude? “How old is the little guy?”

“About two,” he replied. “Keeps me on my feet.”

Raking a lock of hair from her face, she glanced up and found him staring out over the water and scuffing his feet in the sand.

Suddenly, he turned to her. “So, umm…the 'Valley'…how long ya been there?”

She glanced back at the overpass. “About fifteen years. My husband built us a house there.”

“Nice. He a contractor?”

She looked off down the beach where she'd sown his ashes on the sand. “No, an architect.”

“Cool…Nice bag.”

Janet started then looked down at her canvas tote. “Oh thanks. My son got it for me. He's in the Army.”

“I noticed that,” he said, nudging the side of the bag with his foot. “The Army Seal sort of gives it away.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Deployed?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced at her knowingly. “Where?”

“Iraq,” she said as Jack bounded back with his stick. The dog dropped it at her feet and she bent over and picked it up. Handing it to Andy, she drew breath and pasted a smile on her face. “Well, I need to be getting along. You have a good day.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

Walking away, she felt his gaze on her back.

For the first time, the word 'widow' hit home for Janet. Until now, she'd avoided thinking of herself as one - but no more. She pulled off the highway cutting through the Corvallis countryside and headed for home. When she got there, Megan's car was gone. Her stepdaughter had gone north to Woodburn to see her boyfriend, Ben, for the weekend. For that, she was grateful because talking to Megan right now was the furthest thing from her mind.

She unloaded the car and strode to the front door. The house Neil built loomed before her desolate and empty save for the swaying hawthorns around the front stoop. She opened the front door, tossed her keys on the pedestal table and took a long look around the cavernous Great Room.

Removing her jacket, she tossed it on the recliner and went to the kitchen to let Cleo out of his crate and to get a drink of water. What she ended up with was a bottle of wine. It was a bad idea, but at the moment, she didn't care. She poured herself a tall glass of Pinot and padded to the bookcase flanking the hearth. After turning the stereo on, she grabbed one of her family photo albums. A moment later, Jackson Browne's voice swept over her, saturating her with memory. She skipped to the CD's fourth track, 'Stay' and retreated to the couch.

She was on her second glass with the photo album splayed across her lap when the tears came again. She turned the page and gazed down through the years at the two cornerstones of her life: Neil sitting at his desk with Nate beside him in his little league uniform. Tipping the glass back, she drained it and poured another as night gathered outside the cathedral window. Cleo popped up on the couch beside her as she traced the outline of her husband's face in the photo with her finger.

Laying her head back on the couch, she closed her eyes and felt her body drift to the edge of a dream. From out of the fog, she heard a murmur of a ring tone. The sound grew louder, building into a wave until finally, it crashed in on her. Her eyes shot open and she bolted up. Groping around the couch she searched for her cell phone and found it on the end table.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

She switched the phone to her other ear. Her son rarely called and when he did, it always alarmed her. “Nate? What's wrong? You all right?” She eyed her watch. 11:30 PM. That made it 'what' in Iraq?

There was a long pause. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I'm fine. Umm…I was just thinking about you and wanted to say, Hi.”

Her gut tightened. This wasn't Nate's style, calling in the middle of the night to say hi. “Oh, how sweet of you, honey. I miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss you, too.”

As Cleo nuzzled her hand, she said, “Are you sure you're all right?” She didn't want to press her son, but she couldn't ignore the red flags waving in her face.

“Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. Really.” He paused and she heard people talking in the background…people talking in medical terms. “So, how are you doing?”

“I'm fine,” she said, homing in on what was being said in the offing. When she heard the word, radiology, she knew he was hiding something. Suddenly, her heart went into overdrive. “Nate, where are you,” she said, a little more forcefully than she intended.

There was another long pause. Finally, he said, “Germany.”

“Germany? I thought you-”

He cut her short. “Yeah…look, umm…” She heard him clear his throat. Here it comes. “Things are, well…in transition right now?”

She drew breath and snatching the pillow from beside her, clutched it to her chest. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I'm being shipped home.”

“Home!” She was dumbfounded, but despite the joy of hearing it, she knew better. He's in Germany and he's being discharged. Oh my God, he's injured. It took all her strength to keep her fears in check. “When?”

“In a couple weeks. Got to deal with paperwork.”

She closed her eyes. “Are you in the hospital?”

She waited in the stifling silence for an answer. Finally, he said, “Umm…yeah, but nothing to worry about…just got nicked is all.”

“Nicked! What do you mean nicked?” Her stomach flipped as visions of him lying in a hospital bed flashed before her. “Where?”

“My leg…and don't wig out on me. It's nothing,” he said. “I'll be needing digs when I get home though. Hope you haven't rented my room out.”

Right, like I'd do that. She shook her head, found herself cursing him under her breath. “No, I haven't rented your room out.”

“Good…Say, look, chow's here so I gotta skate. Like I said, don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine.”

As if that's possible. “I'm your mother! Worrying goes with the territory.”

She heard him sigh. “I guess…Anyway, I'll hit you up later.”

“When?”

“Soon. Gotta go. Love you.”