To die is different from what one supposes, and luckier.
― Walt Whitman
Rustic Retreat
After Jill left, I spent the rest of the afternoon patching up the remaining holes in the shelter and hanging the door.
I found a small wooden widow frame complete with glass in the basement―it obviously came from the old shed that had been taken down years before and I decided to recycle it.
I cut a hole in one of the walls and inserted the frame and then used the mortar I made to caulk around it. When I finished, the shelter was suddenly brighter and more habitable.
I sat back admiring my work. Then, it occurred to me that we had two low-slung beach chairs in the basement as well that I could bring out to the shelter. They would certainly make an improvement over sitting on bare ground.
By five o'clock I finished my work and as if on cue, Moll appeared with a picnic basket supper.
"Perfect timing," I chirped, "and looked expectantly for her reaction to my 'home improvements'.
"Jill was right," she said. "The shelter looks amazing―like a rustic cabin in the woods."
I gulped apprehensively, "You overheard our conversation?"
"Most of it―actually, I'm beginning to lose the ability to bi-locate. The more time I spend with you, the more grounded I become."
"That's good isn't it? You don't mind being earthy?"
She laughed. "That's not exactly the most delicate way of putting it―but no, I rather like returning to my life again."
"That reminds me―I've got a million questions to ask you, but first can we eat? I'm starving and whatever you made smells delicious."
"It's deep fried chicken and all the fixings and there's wine―a bottle for dinner and cab sav for later."
Her eyes went huge and dark when she said, later. and the romantic allusion was unmistakable.
"Sounds like a plan made in heaven," I laughed.
"I know,' she giggled, "but first you want to eat―right?"
"Right," I smiled, kissing her but then was surprised by my reaction. There was electricity between us.
Something had happened. Something definitely changed. She felt it too.
"Um, I think we should eat," she said hurriedly.
I knew what she meant. If we didn't eat, we never would get around to it because the air was charged between us.
But something was different―there was no denying it.
As we ate it started to get dark outside.
Rain was definitely in the forecast, but within the walls of the shelter, my portable battery-powered lamps lit the room and the fireplace fire bubbled merrily.
We ate our repast in relative comfort, reclining on the beach chairs and drank our wine from plastic wine glasses. It was magical, especially when rain began to fall and softly beat against the windows.
"Can we talk now?" I asked.
She caressed my cheek, "Okay Love, ask me your 'million' questions."
"I imagined you to be in some kind of state in between life and death―honestly, all I could think of was good-old Catholic Limbo."
"Limbo?" She giggled,"definitely not. I was in a haze and couldn't think clearly. I kept drifting in and out of focus and was lost―well until some nice old lady found me wandering in the rain pushing a shopping cart."
My jaw dropped and I stared at her in utter confusion. "Pushing a shopping cart? I don't understand. That doesn't sound like the afterlife."
"I thought you were being facetious about that. You actually thought I was dead?"
The room began spinning and I saw black dots before my eyes. I felt like I was going to pass out.
"I --I feel faint, " I told her.
"Here," she said, as she pushed my knees up toward my chest and pushed my head down to meet them. "Keep your head lowered until the fainting sensation passes."
After a few minutes I raised my head. I still felt shaky but no longer felt dizzy and weak.
"I don't understand any of this," I murmured, " you were pronounced dead and two days later were cremated."
The thought of what I just said hit me again and I felt nauseous. I struggled to my feet and moaned,"I need fresh air."
I stumbled out into the rain and took a half dozen steps before pitching forward on my hands and knees puking.
She came out and got me and helped me back inside.
"I need a drink," I said, reaching for the wine, but she stopped me and twisted the cap from a bottled water.
"No more alcohol, " she commanded,
I nodded mutely. I felt totally drained.
"Maybe we should call it a night and go inside," she suggested.
I shook my head. "No, I need to understand what's going on here. Who was this old lady and where were you?"
"Apparently, I was in a food store parking lot just outside of Cambridge Ontario. How I got there, I have no idea, but I didn't know who I was or where I was and had a massive head injury. The woman got me help, an ambulance arrived and I spent a week in hospital before being moved to a woman's shelter."
"This makes absolutely no sense. I saw you pronounced dead. I arranged with the funeral parlour for you to be cremated. I went to your funeral. I sprinkled your ashes in these very woods so you'd be near me."
"Yet, here I am," she said simply.
The whole precarious foundation of my universe came crushing down on top of me.