To the Sea (Follow your Bliss)

To
the Sea

By
Deirdre Riordan Hall

To the Sea

Copyright© 2014 Deirdre Riordan Hall

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,      
including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and
retrieval system, without the written permission of the author/publisher except
where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the
author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Please visit me on the Web:
http://www.deirdreriordanhall

Twitter:
http://www.twitter.com/deirdrespark

Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/deirdreriordanhall

“The
cure for everything is salt water: tears, sweat, and the sea.”

-Isak
Dinesan

Part
1: Tears

“for
whatever we lose (like a you or a me?/ it’s always ourselves we find in the
sea.”

–
e.e. Cummings

Chapter
One

Late
night. Don’t wait up for me. Kiss.

At
the sight of the text, Kira’s knuckles blanched from gripping her phone so
tightly. She quelled the temptation to chuck it across the room. The only thing
stopping her was the thought of having the vintage linen paint of her custom
colonial touched up.

She
blew out the tapered candles, immersing herself in darkness. Before she found
the dining room dimmer switch, she drew a deep breath, reminding herself that
Jeremy’s new position at the firm kept him busy, but it wouldn’t always be that
way. As she returned the unused dinnerware to the china cabinet, she decided to
hang onto one of the wineglasses.

Alone
again, Kira nibbled the cold asparagus and mushroom risotto. Her cell phoned
jingled, startling her in the silent house. For one hopeful moment, she thought
it was Jeremy, their plans for the romantic night back on. Her best friend’s
name lit up the screen.

“Hey
Nic,” she answered.

“Hey
yourself, what’s wrong?” After years of late night calls, gripes about guys—on
Nicole’s end—and knowing each other like sisters, she knew something was off
just by the dropped tone of Kira’s greeting.

“Nothing.
I’d just planned a dinner in and—”

“He’s
late?”

“No,
he cancelled,” Kira said glancing at the guidebook to Paris on the kitchen island.

After
the ceremony last fall, they settled for a night’s stay at a B&B in
Nantucket, but already that seemed ages ago. The promise of visiting the City
of Light for a proper honeymoon strengthened her on nights like these.

“I’m
sorry. I wish we were closer. What city could we live in together? Each week we
could have a girl’s night out or stay in and watch You’ve got Mail, eat Ben and
Jerry’s—I know you love Chubby Hubby. Or how about teleporting? A portkey,
maybe?”

Kira
squeaked out a laugh. Sometimes she wondered if it’d been smart to marry so
young, she was just out of college.

They
wrapped up the call with details about their respective jobs, and Nicole
listened intently while Kira outlined some of the itinerary she’d planned for
Paris.

Once
off the phone, Kira sighed and grabbed a wedge of the chocolate and raspberry
tart she’d bought at a quaint little bakery. Along with the full wineglass, she
slouched upstairs to her bedroom, alone.

She
unpinned her long, brown hair and sat on the end of the bed with the wine in
one hand and the TV remote control in the other. The opening credits for the
Bachelorette glided ironically across the screen. The suitor in the grey V-neck
sweater reminded her of Jeremy with his dark brown hair, distinct eyebrows, and
arched smile.

When
they met, Jeremy Annandale wasn’t a rising star at a big shot law-firm in
Boston, but with Kira at Harvard where she earned a business degree. They found
each other a terrific distraction from endless studying. Up until Jeremy, she’d
never been serious with anyone. In high school, she committed herself to her
education, not offering her heart, or anything else, to a guy.

After
graduation, Jeremy unexpectedly proposed as they celebrated with friends at an
upscale steakhouse. It took Kira by surprise, but then again so did his
interest.

Just
before the Bachelorette returned from a commercial break, a sneak preview of
the prior season’s upcoming wedding piqued Kira’s interest, having recently
orchestrated her own.

Kira
sipped her wine, cursorily keeping an ear open for Jeremy’s BMW pulling into
the driveway. It was the third night that week he’d had to work late. It was a
big case. He’d said, “All eyes were on him.” Jeremy liked the attention; he was
a ham, an educated, well-manicured, Beemer-driving ham.

Kira
sighed deeply as Brianna slipped into a hot tub with the suitor that at least
seemed to have half a wit. She dozed as they leaned in toward one another and
the screen faded.

The
alarm clock roused her from a fitful sleep, but she was pleased to see Jeremy
snoozing beside her. She pulled the duvet up on her side of the bed and crept
to the bathroom, careful not to wake him. A few extra minutes of sleep after a
late night meant she was less likely to meet a grump later in the day; that is,
if she saw him that evening.

Leaning
into her custom closet, she selected a pair of grey Manolos to complete her
outfit. Once downstairs, the green digital numbers on the microwave clock
warned there was only enough time to pour a cup of coffee, grab a muffin from
the pantry, and dash out the door into the misty April morning. It should have
been a forty-five minute commute, but often resulted in an hour and fifteen
minutes locked in traffic. She thought wistfully of their old condo and the
convenience of its central location in Boston. 

***

Before
Kira knew it, the sounds of computers shutting down, briefcases clicking shut,
and lights flicking off signaled the end of the day. Hoping Jeremy would keep
their reservation at a French restaurant in the city, she checked her cell
phone for messages from him. The little black letters in the awaiting speech
bubble read,

Late
night again. Sorry. Let’s resched for tomorrow. Kiss.

Deflated,
Kira swiveled back to her desk and took an extra half hour to finish her
report. At least she and Jeremy shared a commitment to their professions. She
took her time leaving the office, thankful she’d miss rush hour traffic, but
disappointed she’d find out which eager suitor Brianna selected. Don’t pick a
lawyer she silently suggested.

The
unlit house on Lilac Court stood cold and empty when Kira returned. She fixed
herself leftovers and sat at the center island flipping through mail. She
picked up an envelope from Winter, her older sister, who sent her hand written
letters once a month—her way of staying in touch without them actually having
to speak.

They
couldn’t be more different, yet they were alike in one precise way. As soon as
they were able, they high-tailed it as far as possible from the commune their
parents raised them on. Not far in the physical sense, Winter, her partner
Acacia, and their children, lived in southern Connecticut and Kira, just
outside Boston. However, they distanced themselves emotionally, each erecting a
fortification of civilization, education, and a kind of order that their
free-spirited hippie parents never offered.

Dear
Summer,                                                

I
hope you’ve settled into your house and have the pantry, medicine cabinets,
drawers, and chests organized alphabetically, chronologically, and
categorically. I’m expecting perfection when we spend Thanksgiving with you.
I’m kidding. But I’m not, actually. With the new baby due at the end of the
summer, I just don’t think Acacia and I will be able to pull off another big
meal this year, so we’re leaving it up to you. Time to pass the baton, as they
say. But you have months to prepare, so pull out your notebooks, or whatever
high-tech gadget you use, along with some post-its and page dividers, and get
on it. The seven of us will only accept the best. You know I’m teasing.

Winter
went on to describe in careful detail the lives of her children, their firsts,
and of course, drama from the commune. Although their father died and their
mother took off, Kira was thankful not to have any contact with the vestiges of
her past. The patchouli, drum circles, and lentils were long behind her. Winter
closed the letter with her usual,

Look
after yourself and keep happy. Love, Winter

She
always used their given names, Summer and Winter; though as a young business
professional, Kira used her middle name, which was slightly more acceptable.
Kira Speranza or now that she was married, Kira Speranza-Annandale sounded far
more respectable.

Winter
was witty and irreverent and said Summer Speranza sounded like a stripper’s
name. She suggested she keep it, if only to annoy stodgy colleagues. The truth
was
it
annoyed her. She would have preferred Jane or something similarly
simple, easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and easy to understand. Jane would
have been suitable, Summer Kira Speranza was another animal altogether, and she
had yet to meet her.

Uncorking
the bottle of Pinot from the night before, she once again adjourned to the
bedroom, alone. She was less than riveted by the romance between Brianna and
her men, yet yearned for some of her own.

Kira
picked up her cell phone to send Jeremy a text, but realized they hadn’t
actually spoken that day or the one before.

She
considered surprising him with take-out and a little hanky-panky at the office,
like she’d bravely done at his frat house back in college, but he’d made it
clear that the firm was no place for such things.

After
tapping his icon to call, the electronic ring sounded a few times. There was a
muffled noise before Jeremy’s, “Hello.”

“Hi,”
Kira said, her voice scratchy from disuse.

“What’s
up?” Jeremy asked hastily. “Everything alright?”

“I
just—” she paused. The space and time dividing them stretched before her,
making her unsure what to say. “I just wanted to see how you were,” Kira said,
clearing her throat.

 “Ugh,”
he said. “Just getting this finished up. The end is in sight, though. Not to
worry.”

“Good.
I miss our evenings together.”

“It’ll
be a late one again. Don’t wait up for me,” he said.

Kira
heard a banging sound and laughter. “What’s that? Is someone—” she started.

“Oh
that? Just the cleaning crew checking if I’m still here.” His voice came out
strained.

“Are
you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah.
I’m just working on this big case. Don’t worry; I’ll make it up to you.”

 She’d
heard that before. Nevertheless, a small smile spread on her lips. “Miss you.”

“Yeah,
me too.” With that, they said good night, and Kira rolled over, hoping he’d
soon be sleeping softly beside her.

She
hugged her crimson Harvard sweatshirt tightly, thinking back to when they’d
met. Over the years, her books hadn’t provided the best companionship and Kira
welcomed his attention. She longed for the romance of plays and novels or
reality TV for that matter. But their whirlwind relationship and the pressures
of school, followed by current commitments at work, left little time for that
sort of thing.

On
nights alone, Kira wondered if she was just another notch in Jeremy’s belt, the
pretty and intelligent wife added to championship rowing, a legendary
fraternity, the law degree from a prestigious university, a budding career, and
a well-to-do family. Adrift in thoughts of the past and her present longing,
she fell asleep.