Willed to Love
“Hello?”
“Hello. My name is Walter Bennington from Elmer, Bennington, and Tell. I’d like to speak with Ms. Mable Calabas, please.”
“Speaking. How can I help you?” Mable breathed deeply. She didn’t often answer calls from unknown numbers, but this one came from the area code where she had gone to college. She thought maybe it was an alumni call requesting money or maybe to let her know about the upcoming reunion. However, Mr. Bennington sounded like a lawyer, and that was never a good sign.
“Ms. Calabas, thank you for taking my call. How are you today?”
Mable quickly picked up on the perfunctory tone of his greeting. He had no interest in her well-being. He had a message to deliver and she might as well hear it straight away. “I’m fine today, thank you. Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Bennington?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I have some bad news about an acquaintance of yours by the name of Mr. Chris Byrne.”
Mable’s heart stopped. She had thought of Chris from time to time over the years, but at that moment, her mind conjured an image of them lying beneath a table, laughing. They had been at a party with too many people and had just wanted a moment alone to talk. “What’s happened to Chris?” she spoke breathlessly.
“I’m afraid he’s passed away, Ms. Calabas.”
“Call me Mable. You’re not giving me information fast enough,” she snapped. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Of course, Mable.” He stated her name slowly, as if trying to slip around a land mine. “Mr. Byrne was involved in an accident. He was hiking with some friends and fell. I’m calling in reference to Mr. Byrne’s estate. There is something he wanted you to have.”
“Oh,” Mable managed to say. She struggled inwardly with how she was supposed to react. In their time together at college, she and Chris had been close. Their backgrounds were vastly different, yet dorm proximity had brought them together. She had not seen Chris since graduation, but they had kept in contact through sporadic text messages and failed attempts to meet up. She knew very little about his life, yet this news was heartbreaking. She felt herself on the verge of tears.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Calabas,” Mr. Bennington whispered hesitantly. Mable realized that her reaction had caused a prolonged, uncomfortable silence. She quickly composed herself, as she thought she should.
“Yes, well, thank you for letting me know,” she stammered with a forced cadence. “We had been good friends.” She offered this last bit as if to validate the status of their relationship, although she felt immediately betrayed.
“Mr. Byrne left you something. He wanted you to have a plane ticket to Montego Bay. There is a hotel there called The View Bayside Resort. His wishes were for you to travel there and spend as much time as you’d like.” Mr. Bennington paused, allowing her to take in this information, and then continued, “I understand this is a lot to take in, Ms. Calabas. Can I give you our office number and, when you are ready, you can call to follow up on the arrangements for the journey?”
Journey. Mable wondered why he had used that word. Had Chris told him to use that word? Albeit common, that was Chris’ word. He never said “trip” or “vacation,” but always “journey.” It was his way of manifesting an adventure before it had even happened. She allowed herself to smile at the memory but was immediately saddened by the finality of Chris’ life.
“Did you say Montego Bay?” Mable asked inquisitively, trying to prolong the conversation. She felt this was her final connection to Chris. “As in Jamaica?”
“Quite right, Ms. Calabas. Montego Bay, Jamaica.”
“Please, call me Mable,” she requested again. “Did Chris leave a message as well? This seems like an odd bequest on his part.” Mable asked this, knowing it was not odd at all. There had been a silent joke between them during college that they would run off together to Montego Bay. It had been her suggestion. She knew nothing of the place, but it sounded fascinating. Chris had agreed that it would be a wonderful journey.
“I’m afraid not. His will only notes that you will understand.”
Mable flushed with the intimation of their inside joke and was suddenly ready to hang up. She jotted down Mr. Bennington’s phone number and ended the call. She was confused by the physical effect that the call had on her. She was trembling and her chest hurt. She pulled herself under a blanket on the sofa, curled into a ball, and wept silently.
Three weeks later, she was at JFK airport. It was early April and the morning air was crisp. She was alone, a design that had taken her some time to manufacture. The news of Chris’ death had driven a chasm into her reality, separating the sober reflection of her current life from the vivid picture of her spontaneous youth. She saw the journey to Montego Bay as time travel, something that would take her back in time, albeit for a brief luxurious moment.
She did not tell her partner about Chris’ death but had to tell him about the trip. Although she was not good at lying, she invented excuses, justifications. She was tired from work, she needed a trip, she had always wanted to go. When her partner offered to come with her, she hesitated, questioning the reasons behind her deceit. Yet she remained steadfast and, ultimately, convincing.
Mr. Bennington’s office had secured her a seat in first class. In the moment it took her to sit, an efficient flight attendant had offered a drink. Normally she would not drink at 10:00 a.m., but she was tense, and a drink sounded like the right thing to do. She ordered a Bloody Mary, sighed, and stared out the window.
A journey, she thought.
In the past weeks, she had replayed memories of Chris from college. He wasn’t attractive, but he had a palpable energy about him. He was always game for anything, any experience.
She remembered those evenings when she was no match for her homework and just needed a break. She would search the campus for Chris — the dorm, the library, the recitation hall. When she finally found him, she’d walk up, close his books, and tell him to come with her. Without a word, but with a smile, he’d follow her and they’d go to the campus cinema to watch classic black and white movies.
As Mable sifted through these memories, she knowingly avoided one question — did she love him? She danced on the periphery, as if this question were a deep lake. Sometimes she’d dabble her foot in the cool water, but quickly pull it out. Although Chris had many lovers during college, he would always leave them behind to spend time with Mable. She didn’t need to peer far below the surface to fully accept the indisputable signs that he had loved her deeply. She had never allowed herself to acknowledge this, however, and wasn’t ready to start now.
The flight took four hours. This statistic filled Mable with remorse. Those messages Chris had left her over the years since college had sometimes mentioned meeting up in Montego Bay, even if just for a weekend. Mable had taken them for a joke. That was, at least, her recollection. Now, as she sorted through the weeds and shadows of the chasm in her life, she wondered why she had never considered a short, four-hour flight. It disgusted her to be taking this flight now without the intention of meeting up with Chris.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about twenty minutes from landing in beautiful Montego Bay. It’s a humid eighty-one degrees, with clear skies and white sands. I suggest going straight to the beach,” the captain remarked with levity.
Mable opened her eyes, realizing that she had drifted to sleep. She felt a pang of anxiety and asked for water. She rarely left the U.S., and when she had done so, she had been with others who had made the travel arrangements. Suddenly, she realized that she was alone. Really alone. And this was unsettling.
She was met by a gentleman holding a sign with her name. He was courteous and efficient, which allowed them to leave the airport quickly. The heat was a welcome change from the stale, cold airplane air, so she asked to keep the windows open during the drive to the hotel.
With equal efficiency, she was checked into The View Bayside Resort. In less than an hour from landing at the airport, she was standing on the porch of her suite, looking out over the playful mixture of turquoise and blue water. The waves broke pleasantly on the sandy shore. Mable’s mind was silent for the first time in weeks.
Now what? she thought. The question lingered lightly on the horizon with little expectation of being answered. With robotic movements, Mable changed into beach-appropriate clothing and found herself walking barefoot on the sand. The warm breeze, salty air, and completely new location was a catalyst for introspection. Now what?
She lowered herself carefully into a hammock on the beach and sighed heavily. She felt herself becoming angry at Chris. “Why would he want me to come here? Is he getting back at me for never taking him up on meeting before?” she wondered out loud. It disturbed her that this mystery hadn’t occurred to her before. She had been so focused on getting away to Montego Bay that she hadn’t fully answered the question of why she was going in the first place.
The sun crept timidly from behind a cloud and forced Mable to squint. She loved the feeling of the sun on her face, she always had. She remembered that Chris had preferred the shade. She had admonished him once, telling him that he did not understand the sunshine. Mable squinted up at the sun and asked in frustration, “If he didn’t like the sun, then why did he want to come with me to sunny Montego Bay?”
Mable stopped breathing suddenly, and her heart pounded in her chest as she came to a realization. “Because he loved me,” she whispered helplessly into the wind. “And this is how he is telling me, by bringing me here.”
Mable closed her eyes, extended her arms to her sides, and swung gently in the hammock. She was floating. She had always known that Chris loved her, but this was the closest he had come to saying it. This was him saying it.
But this wasn’t the true discovery. At this moment, Mable realized that she loved him too. She always had, but never thought to tell him.
A little girl squealed as she jumped into an oncoming wave, her mother close behind. The rhythmic hitting of a volleyball punctuated the air from the nearby court. Empty glasses clinked together on a tray as a waiter moved with haste to attend to clients. A man with a broad hat was walking toward Mable.
She closed herself in the hammock to return to her reverie. The sand shuffled as someone walked nearby.
A voice asked, “How was your journey?”
