Grievous - Part 10

Chocolate. I tasted, then heard chocolate. “Are you sleeping? You never sleep.” The icy phone carried the buttery tones to my ear as my brain discovered the hand connected to my arm. It was James. Jolted awake, I summoned a groggy reply, “How’s your tomorrow?” He almost laughed and my skin warmed at the sound of his smile.

Celeste had given him my telephone number and itinerary. He worried the trip would interfere with my practice, and hinted at concern for my social life. The conversation flowed as if we had never parted. I swapped the phone from ear to ear as I prepared coffee. There was a hint of sadness in his voice, but we did not discuss his loss. There would be time.

His sunlight stayed with me through the day, as I made arrangements and negotiated with my partners. I found a retired colleague to fill in for me if needed, and I agreed to bring my laptop on the trip and to connect regularly. Despite the harried pace of my preparations, I felt a flowing lightness. It contained the bite of uncertainty, venturing new spring without a jacket, hopeful for warmth, yet willing to risk chill.

With only days before my departure, I met Anders and shared the news of my journey, and my worries about taking an extended leave. “Since when have you had family in France?” I felt a creeping flush, and hid behind my sandwich, chewing and considering his question. He knew I owned property there where I vacationed each summer. He knew no more and never asked. My “gift” seemed to encourage others to reveal everything, requesting nothing in return. I respected that, and understood the discomfort of disclosure. I offered morsels to maintain trust, but never felt the desire to insert my life into the existence of another.

“A close friend emergency. Family death.” He swallowed a response in scalding liquid and I continued, “I wish I could say more. Privacy, you know?” He knew. He dealt with it every day, but I’m sure he was still hurt that I wasn’t more open. He nodded, twisting the mug between his hands and his silence lured words from my lungs.

I spoke of Anthony, not James. I shared the personal failure that drove my professional passions, and revealed my fear that my ex-husband would seek me when he was released in a few months. Though he never served time for splitting my flesh and breaking my bones, transcripts of my emergency calls added drama to his high-profile trial. Twenty years was a long time to hold a grudge.

Anders, an expert at active listening, opened his posture and let me pace my story. I didn’t make eye contact or express emotion. I was talking about myself as if describing a case, disconnected. I slowly exhaled and he reached across the table for my hand, squeezing it once and releasing. “Maia, go on this journey. Things will be fine here. Really.” I tried to smile, seeking remnants of my morning sunshine. It was time to leave.