Page 64 of That Birthday in Barbados
The room is dark, and I stare into it, trying to remember where I am.
I’m in my house. In Barbados.
I’ve been dreaming.
I fall back against the pillow, breathing hard, willing my mind to reject the nightmare.
It does not release me easily. Fear makes my heart pound.
I wait for it to slow, forcing myself to picture things that make me feel peaceful, hopeful. I picture the sunrise as it will look outside my house in a few hours. I picture the hatchling turtles swimming into the ocean toward their future. And I picture Catherine, the softness in her eyes when I had laid her across my bed last night.
My heart has reached a rhythm I can no longer feel against the wall of my chest. My mind has found a foothold outside the fear. But lying here, staring into the dark, I realize that I’ve been living a lie. Telling myself I beat the cancer. I haven’t beat it at all. The possibility of its return has been dormant inside me, waiting for me to want something badly enough that it could grow out of my fear of losing the thing I want.
The thing I want is to be normal again. To let myself hope for a future. To know love and return love.
I realize that’s what I want with Catherine. To give what we feel a chance.
My fear controls my life. By keeping my past a secret inside me, am I giving it power? Is that really living?
But I don’t have to think about this. I already know the answer.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.”
? Joseph Campbell
Catherine
I WASN’T ABLE to get a flight out today. The soonest available seat is tomorrow morning at seven a.m. I’ll have to get up in the middle of the night, but at this point, I don’t care.
I’m up with the sunrise this morning, anyway. Sleep never fully came. I tried for a few hours, but stayed awake in a thin veil of consciousness, self-recrimination pounding in my brain, filming my skin in a heat of sweat.
I get up at five-thirty, order a pot of coffee and stand under the shower while I wait for it to come. I make the water as cold as I can stand it, letting it sluice over my face and body in a punishing assault.
I finally give myself a break and step out, wrapping one of the hotel’s enormous towels around me.
I’ve just slipped on a thick, terry-cloth robe when the doorbell rings. I answer to the same cheerful waiter who’s brought my coffee each day, and I try not to bring his mood down with my own, smiling and agreeing with his comments on the predicted brilliance of the day ahead.
But once he leaves me on the terrace with a fresh cup poured in front of me, I set my gaze on the pink-tinged skyline at the far edge of the ocean and determine that it is time for me to get back to real life. Back to doing what I do best. Running ActivGirl. At least for another two years to finish out the term I agreed to when I sold the company. Beyond that, I have no idea what my life will look like, but I feel an urgency to get my wants and hopes back under control.
I have the entire day ahead of me though. I decide to spend it on the beach, getting a last dose of Vitamin D before returning to the New York winter and the fact that my skin won’t see the sun until May.
I head for the beach and my designated chair at nine. I skip breakfast, my appetite for the large buffet this morning non-existent. The friendly beach attendant gets me set up and brings me an icy bucket with a bottle of water in it. I pull the novel I’d started reading days ago from my bag andattempt to lose myself in it.
After a half-hour, I’m sweating and decide to take a dip in the ocean. I walk across the warm, white sand, my feet sinking in until I reach the packed edge. I stand for a moment and take in the beauty around me, realizing how much I will miss this place. It feels as if I have found a spot in the world where I would love to wake up every day, retire all my winter clothes, figure out a new plan for my life. But I know that isn’t reality. And that I made my choices long ago.
I wade out farther and dive in headfirst, swimming under water until I’m far enough out that I can’t reach the bottom. I paddle for a bit and float face up, squinting against the sun and I close my eyes, letting it bathe my face with its heat.
I stay that way, floating. In these moments, I realize that I have grown to love this place. Love its color and warmth, the cheerful disposition of the people and the birds.
My eyes start to tear in the corners just as something touches my shoulder. I yelp and topple forward, looking for the bottom with my feet.
An arm goes around my waist and stops my struggles.
I know instantly that it is Anders.
Despite the water I am submerged in, I’m infused with heat.
