Page 12 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Age is a case of mind over matter.If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”
?Satchel Paige
Catherine
THE KNOCK AT my door comes at six a.m. Before going to sleep, I’d arranged for coffee deliveryas my wake up call, and I trudge to the door, wishing I’d used the clock so I could tell it to go away.
The young man holding my coffee tray looks as if he expects me to be unhappy to see him and enters the room with a cheerful, “Good morning, Ms. Camilleri. You are going to be so happy you woke up for this coffee.”
I smile despite my grogginess. “I hope you’re right.”
“Would you like to have it outside?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
He sets the tray down on the desk and opens the sliding glass doors. He carries it outside then and arranges the service on a marble-top table. “As you can hear, the birds are already declaring it a wonderful day.”
“They are cheerful,” I admit.
He chuckles while I sign the check, wishes me a good day and leaves me to my coffee. I breathe in the ocean breeze and note the sun rising out of the horizon. I pour myself a cup and standat the balcony rail to take it all in, suddenly gladI’m up and witness to the day’s rebirth.
I remember thenit is my birthday. I close my eyes for a moment. Forty.
Good heavens. How did that happen?
I open my eyes again, staring out at the dawning light on the ocean.
It is a breathtaking sight. The hotel surroundings havecome alive. Attendants are pulling the chairs from their storage spot and lining them up in the sand, covering each one with the hotel’s signature pink towels. They talk as they work, their voices low and harmonic.
Forty, and I’m alone here in the same place where I’d spent my honeymoon, thinking I knew exactly how my life would go.
Could I have been more wrong?
Doubtful.
The coffee is as delicious as predicted, and I pour a second cup, going inside for mylaptop and sitting on the small couch by the balcony, reluctant to connect with the world outside this place. But my work habits are too ingrained to continue ignoring email, so I turn it on, find the wireless connection and login.
First in the queue is from my sister. I consider not opening it, as I always do, but curiosity won’t let me ignore it this morning. I click in, and there’s an e-card with a picture of a big white cake.
Happy birthday, C-. I miss sharing birthdays with you. I hope you’ll forgive me one day even though I don’t deserve it.
Tears well in my eyes, slide down my cheeks. Suddenly, I miss her so much that it feels like a knife slicing through my heart. I think too about the unfairness of losing not only my husband, but my sister as well.
You could forgive her.
The words dance through my thoughts, not for the first time. Unlike all the other times, they linger this morning because I don’t immediately shove them from the realm of possibility.
But how can I?
I can’t deny the bitterness rooted in my heart. I feel its presence on a regular basis like bile in the back of my throat.How is it fairit should be up to me to fix something I didn’t break?
I slap the laptop closed, severing my connection to the life I’ve left behind for two weeks. Work can wait.
Work will be there when I get back. It’s the only thing that will be, but it’s always been enough. A vacation isn’t going to change that.
I pull workout clothes from the drawer I’d put them away in last night. I’ve just finished getting dressed when my cell rings from the nightstand where I’d plugged it in to recharge.
I walk over and look at the screen. It’s the Manhattan area code, but I don’t recognize the number. I should ignore it, at the least let voice mail pick it up, but I’ve never been good at ignoring questions, and I tap the answer button with a short, “Hello.”
