Be Still, My Love Read online

  Be Still, My Love

  Deborah J Hughes

  Copyright Deborah J Hughes 2011

  This book is a work of fiction except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form.

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  DEDICATION

  To my Uncle Paul, I love you. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging my dreams. Though you live in Spirit, I feel you still and am grateful for your continued encouragement and guidance. To my mother, whose belief in me has kept the dream alive. And finally, to my husband whose loving support got me going again and brought this dream to fruition. How lucky I am to have such great people in my life!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are so many people who deserve to be acknowledged for the important roles they have played in my life and in the realization of this particular dream. If I do not mention you by name, it doesn’t make your importance to me any less. To my family, thank you for believing in me. I love you all. To my dear friends, your unwavering support, belief and encouragement are appreciated beyond measure! You are all awesome, my angels on Earth, and I love you! To my critique group: Debbie Young, Bonnie Smith, Barbara Doran-Rogel and April Hughes (my very talented daughter whom I hope someday will make her own dream of being an author come true!), thank you many times over. Your honest and helpful opinions are what every writer needs in a critique group. I must especially thank my children Wes, April and Carrie for getting me through the dark times and the sad times. Your early lives were fraught with many changes and difficulties but we got through them together. I love you so much and I am proud of each of you. And finally, but certainly not least, I must thank my editor Robin Wolstenholme. Your talent, advice, support and assistance in all facets of the creation of this book are priceless. Finding you was like finding a writer’s treasure trove!

  PROLOGUE

  Two years ago, I lived a rather charmed life. I was privileged to converse with a beautiful spirit I called Sheila. She was, I thought, my guardian angel. I trusted her implicitly. During meditations, she came to me in vivid imagery, her presence as real to me as my husband. I presented her with questions about a variety of things and she responded with helpful answers. Things were found, reassurances made, suggestions given. She was like a direct line to universal knowledge and God. I was also sensitive to the souls of people flourishing in a place commonly known as 'the other side'. However, I came to learn that in the big scheme of life, these things did not matter.

  The one harsh lesson it has pained me to learn is that life can easily become an unfair situation for the human soul. We are given moments of happiness that might, if we are lucky, last a few years. And then, in one terrible instant, it is all gone. Misery prevails. It happened to countless others who came to me in hopes of contacting loved ones ripped from their lives. And it happened to me. My so-called ability did nothing to help me when I most needed help. Conversing with angels did not exempt me from tragedy. What angers me most, I think, was the fact I was given no warning…no time to prepare…for the anguish about to occur. I truly believed a life-changing event merited a sense of warning in some way, especially to someone who enjoyed open communications with the spirit world like me. I should have been warned. They should have helped me. But I wasn’t and they didn’t and I am so darned angry about that.

  My vivid recall of that fateful, life-changing day is the seeming perfection of it. Begun as so many summer days begin … sunny, warm … vibrant. Normal. Truly, though I’ve searched my memory for a warning I perhaps ignored or did not recognize, I felt no trepidation, no uneasiness, no sense of pending doom. Why … why did my intuitive instincts fail me? How am I going to come to terms with this and accept it? Even now, thinking back, I can recall that day with crystal clear clarity.

  CHAPTER ONE

  My husband Mike and I woke early thanks to the birds making a merry racket of morning song in our back yard. One of the things we loved about our home was its location. Built on the outskirts of a quiet park, we enjoyed relative privacy. Situated at the end of a cul-de-sac with large maple trees on each side of our house, we had no immediate neighbors sharing our space. Our yard in the back faced the park, its woodland and shrubbery providing a natural fence line. As if that weren’t enough to brag about, a five-minute path through the trees led to a large pond, complete with lily pads, frogs and very hungry ducks.

  Another perk we enjoyed was the fact that our bedroom faced the back yard and because of its natural seclusion, we could leave the French doors next to our bed open all night during warm weather without the worry of prying eyes. We loved falling asleep to a cool, fresh breeze and to the lullabies of crickets and frogs. This we did on our last night together.

  I remember how we lay there listening to the cheerful sounds that delightful morning in lazy contentment. How were we to know it would be our last such moment? Why didn’t I savor it just a bit more?

  We worked in our vegetable garden until noon and were so happy with the outcome that we paused often to admire our handiwork. As Mike was a hard-working attorney, he enjoyed stripping off the rigid persona his career demanded and indulging in gardening or woodworking projects. Such activities offered welcome relief from the long gritty hours of courtroom drama. Before we started on the garden, Mike had suggested we have a barbeque for lunch so I threw together a salad and wrapped potatoes in aluminum foil while Mike marinated a couple steaks.

  A few hours later, we could no longer ignore our growling stomachs and Mike fired up the grill while I headed for the kitchen. He came in as I was pulling the steaks from the refrigerator and wrapped his arms around my waist.

  “You smell like the outdoors. What is that scent? Garden Fresh?” He laughed at his corny joke as I turned in his arms and accepted his kiss.

  “Very funny. You should have been a comedian.” I set the steaks on the counter and picked up the potatoes. “I forgot to buy sour cream when I went shopping yesterday. How are we supposed to enjoy these without it?”

  “It’s no problem,” Mike said. “I’ll just run to the store and pick some up. You go ahead and toss your steak on the grill while I’m gone and it might even be done by the time I get back.” Mike liked his steaks medium-rare while I preferred mine nearly burnt to a crisp. He grabbed the car keys and gave me another kiss. Thank God for that. He always made a point of kissing me goodbye. Tootsie, our spaniel, heard the keys jingle when Mike picked them up and went into a tizzy of excitement. She loved to ride in the car. Mike smiled at her with fond indulgence. It was hard for us to deny Tootsie anything and as a result, she was shamelessly spoiled and slightly overweight. Honestly, we treated her like a coveted child. Since we had decided to wait a few years before having children, Tootsie filled the position quite nicely. Mike’s eyes met mine and he shrugged. Though a short ride, he couldn’t deny her. I affectionately watched her prance away with him. God, why hadn’t I patted her head or something? But, it was all so normal. They were going to a store just a couple blocks away. They’d be back in ten minutes at the most.

  The sound of sirens a short time later didn’t really register with me. In the suburbs of New York such sounds are normal … one of the unpleasant aspects of big city suburb life. When thirty minutes went by, I wondered for the umpteenth time what was taking Mike so long? The potatoes would be ready soon.

  The phone rang just as the doorbell began to chime so I grabbed it on my way to the door and answered both at the
same time.

  Fran, a neighbor and close friend, was on the phone, her voice frantic. “Tess? Are you okay? Oh my God … I’m so sorry … I’m coming over, I’ll be right there.”

  Fran’s voice and the words barely registered. A police officer stood on my doorstep and with him was Charlene, another neighbor, who lived at the end of our street. In fact she was the one who had given Tootsie to us from her dog’s first litter. She looked at me with tragic eyes and began to cry. I couldn’t comprehend it, nor did I want to. The combination of the call and the people at the door spelled doom, and I was not prepared for it.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew, just knew my life was about to make a drastic descent into hell. Defense mechanisms kicked in and denial, for whatever they were here to tell me, built momentum. It didn’t matter why they were here. I was not going to accept it.

  “Tess … oh God …” Charlene’s wobbly voice dissolved into a sobbing mess. She shook her head helplessly and looked at the solemn police officer, obviously leaving it to him to explain what she could not.

  My gaze shifted to him as well. He was about the same age as my father, mid-fifties, a tad overweight, tall and firm. One hand rested on his duty belt while the other fidgeted with a clipboard. The expression on his stern face was grim. He didn’t want to be standing on my doorstep any more than I wanted him there. His eyes, a soft gray, regarded me in silence. All I could think in that short quiet moment was how much I wished he looked annoyed or disgruntled or even unpleasant. Anything but gentle and sympathetic. My heart began to pound so hard it actually hurt. I broke contact with him, turned slightly and set the phone on a table by the door. I pressed both hands to my chest for I needed some kind of sensation from the outside to balance the incredible hurting that was welling up within. I think Fran was still babbling but I couldn’t be sure. It didn’t seem quite so important just then. I returned my focus to the police officer and realized by his sympathetic stance that he was giving me time to collect myself.

  A frantic thought flittered through my mind that if I didn’t hear what he had to say then everything would be fine. I glanced at Charlene again hoping the tragedy stamped all over her face had cleared somewhat. It hadn’t. If anything it was worse. A hasty retreat into the sanctuary of my home and my ignorance was in order. Shaking my head apologetically, I waved them away.

  “Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested.” As I made to shut the door, the police officer put out a hand and gently prevented me from closing it in his face.

  “Are you Mrs. Schafer? Tess Schafer?”

  I shook my head in denial because right then, in that moment, I did not want to be her. Again I looked at Charlene, hoping the desperation I was beginning to feel would communicate itself to her and she’d tell me it wasn’t as bad as all that.

  “Please tell him to go away. I’m waiting on Mike, we are having a barbeque …”

  Charlene opened her mouth in a silent response then closed it again. No help from that quarter. I returned my gaze to the police officer’s and knew by his set, grim features that he saw the pleading in my eyes and understood what they conveyed. I wanted him to give me some hope that nothing was final. Whatever had happened, it could be fixed. His expression gentled, as if that would make what he was about to say less painful. But it wouldn’t and I was done with this.

  “Please go.”

  “There’s been an accident, Mrs. Schafer.”

  He didn’t say anything more because I backed further into the house, my mind casting for an avenue of escape. I had to get out of here! The police officer took a step toward me, his hand raised in a calming motion. I shook my head defiantly and sent him a look I knew he would correctly interpret. I wanted him to say nothing more, to turn around and get the hell out of my life. Now.

  Oh God. If only I could shut the door and stop this! If only I had some time to make it all right again. Why was this happening? How could everything be going so wrong in such a short time? Five minutes ago my life was fine. How to keep it that way?

  It was my understanding that probabilities were endless until one is chosen. If that were true then surely I could influence the outcome of whatever it was they were here to convey? I needed to focus. Any second now that grim looking police officer was going to get a call on his cell phone telling him there has been a mistake. Hope surged. All I needed to do was ensure he did not say anything that did not go along with the outcome I was looking for.

  “Please … don’t say anything else. You must go.”

  “Oh, Tess … oh, Tess. I’m so sorry.” Charlene finally found her voice. Only now I didn’t want her to speak.

  I watched her for a moment as a feeling of helplessness shot through me. I couldn’t do it. I could not influence what was happening! It was all beyond my control. Panic fluttered within me and I fought against it. What to do? Suddenly, my emotions settled to calm, as if a stranger stepped into my body and took control. The feeling of detachment only lasted a blessed minute before something inside began to crumble–pieces of me shattering into bursts of pain. Breathing is difficult when your lungs are crumbling. My heart, though, didn’t crumble. It hurt from the pounding. The police officer started to speak again and I put my hands to my ears to block out the words. I heard them anyway.

  “Mrs. Schafer, I’m so very sorry. Your husband … there wasn’t anything he could do.”

  I looked helplessly at Charlene. This wasn’t making any sense. What did he mean? There was nothing he could do?

  “Charlene?”

  “He died instantly, Tess. Tootsie too.” Charlene reached for me as I lost my balance and fell back. The crumbling affected my bones, my strength. Then, blessedly, nothing.

  That was how my living nightmare began.

  ***

  The day of the funeral, the weather turned fittingly dismal. The exact opposite of the perfect day on which Mike and Tootsie were killed. Numbness invaded the ache within and made the pain a distant thing. Though aware of it, I couldn’t really identify with it. My chest felt empty and that made everything so much easier.

  But as the drizzle increased to a downpour, the numbness washed away and the pain in my soul surged into a flood of tears. I could almost fancy the angels of heaven were grieving with me but I knew that couldn’t be right because Mike and Tootsie were now with them. The thought made me feel alone and bereft. The angels whom I trusted had allowed this to happen. My mouth began to tremble. The harder I tried to control it, the worse it trembled. Then I started to shake all over. If only Mike were here to hold me. If only Tootsie would press against my leg in her loving, concerned way. But neither of those things was ever going to happen again. The hurt increased to unbearable proportions and chipped away at the control I was trying so hard to maintain.

  The casket began its descent into the ground. Pain seared through my soul and a sudden panicky thought raced through me that nothing in my life was within my control. Nothing. A few short days ago, I thought I controlled everything. A few days ago I had a wonderful husband. And I had the best of dogs. Now Tootsie was a pile of cremated ashes sharing my dead husband's casket. My heart lurched painfully reminding me that though broken, it still functioned. I choked on a sob and fought to control the threatening rage boiling within.

  I was angrier than I’d ever been in my life. Why had this happened? A drunk driver–at noon? Why were people drinking so early in the day that they were drunk and driving by noon? Why did that stinking drunk slam into my innocent husband’s vehicle as he sat at a stop light? Innocent, sober Mike obeying the traffic laws only to be killed by a drunk driver who was not. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of innocent little Tootsie sitting happily and trusting in the front seat beside him. Both gone in an instant. I couldn’t bear it. The whole thing was so damned unfair. I wanted to scream at God but felt a more apt retaliation would be to ignore him. If a so-called loving creator could do this to Mike and Tootsie … to me … I wanted nothing more to do with it. The bleak
ness of such a decision was frightening. How did one go on without God? How was I supposed to go on at all?

  The casket went out of view and my control dissipated. My loving husband and my devoted dog were now in the cold, wet ground. I heard a strange, mournful noise and then realized it was me. My parents tried to put their arms around me but I pulled frantically away from them. The only pair of arms I wanted around me was forever gone. A wild feeling of anxiety surged through my body and I looked wildly around me. Couldn’t people see how little influence we had on our lives? No matter what we believed, in a moment everything could be snatched away.

  Even our abilities were at risk. The silence from the other side had been deafening in the past few days. I got nothing. After all the connections I had made for others who had lost a loved one, I could not do the same for myself. Damn it. Why the hell not? Why didn’t Mike come to me? I needed him to explain this to me. I needed to know why he left me here alone. And I needed to know they were okay. Surely I wasn’t being unreasonable to want those things. But still I got nothing. As I sank to my knees and sobbed my pain, I could only ask one question over and over again. “Why?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Tess, you should go on a vacation. Get away somewhere for a while.”

  I looked at Dr. Nixon, my very patient and unnervingly calm therapist, and made a face. “Where do you propose I go that I won’t be taking my memories with me?” Though I intended my reply to sound more like a biting response, it came out sounding weary. I had to blame the lack of fortitude on my pounding head. It ached mercilessly and I lay back against the sofa, eyes closed, willing the pain to dissipate. “Next week will be two years but it seems like it was only yesterday.”

  “Because you keep living in the past.”

  “Because that is when I was happy.”

  “Does it make you happy then to think of the past instead of living in the present?”