Chapter 13

Eight months later

"Trust me on this, Ms. Thompson," I said into the phone, in a last-ditch effort to reel in a very reluctant potential client. "Term life is the way to go. I can get you a very competitive quote."

My persuasions fell on deaf ears, and after a curt declaration of, "I'll check with a few more insurance companies, and get back to you," Ms. Thompson ended the call. I sighed and headed for the water cooler. Then, it was back to my desk in short order, as I once again dove headlong into the duties of my job.

That was my life these days – pushing aside the pain of losing my beloved spouse by throwing myself into my work. Every day was the same; it was one foot in front of the other, over and over again. I was going through life on autopilot. Make no mistake about it, I was able to function surprisingly well under those conditions, even going so far as to excel at my job on occasion. I'd actually been named Agent of the Month in October. However, I gained no personal satisfaction from the award; my work was merely a means of avoidance, of suppression.

They say the process of acceptance following the death of a loved one passes through several stages. I'd slowly transitioned from crippling depression at the outset to a brief period of bitterness and anger. I found myself asking, over and over, What had been the point of my being rescued from my two-year ordeal in China, only to have Erin snatched away from me right after I got home? What kind of a sick joke was that? In China, my life had been starkly miserable at times, but at least I had reason to believe it was temporary. Now, I found myself in the midst of a hell from which there was no escape. The light of my life had been extinguished forever.

Erin's family was wonderfully supportive through it all, never failing to check in on me on a regular basis. Of course, they'd experienced their own crushing loss, and it gave me a commonality with them I couldn't find elsewhere. At the same time, their presence was, in and of itself, a very vivid reminder of the huge hole in my life.

That issue was counteracted with encouragement from friends outside of the family realm. It had been a few wise words from Odalys that had finally managed to lift me out of the pit of bitterness. "Please don't take offense to this, Jake," she had said to me one day over the phone, after I'd directed an angry rant into her willing ears. "You're looking at this the wrong way. Be happy that you were given a few months to share with Erin after you were rescued. Just imagine how it would have been if you'd come back to find her already sick, or even worse, if she'd passed away while you were gone." Odalys had a knack for getting right to the heart of the matter, and her brief admonishment changed my entire way of thinking. Yes, I had been blessed with a few extra months of happiness with Erin following my return. If there really was a God up there, perhaps he was merciful and just after all.

I had a long way to go, however. From there, I moved into a lengthy period of avoidance. I shut myself down emotionally, and tried to shun all meaningful human contact. I stopped returning emails and phone calls. I spent my days in the office, and my nights and weekends in front of the TV.

Yet again, it had been Odalys and Jose, her better half, who'd managed to snap me out of that funk. It was now mid-December, and with the holidays approaching, they'd made me an offer I couldn't refuse. "Why don't you take a little time off from work, and fly up to New York and spend the holidays with us? We don't have any family nearby, and we'd love the company. Plus, it will do you a world of good."

I didn't need much convincing. Once I turned the idea over in my mind, I realized its merit, and I accepted their offer at once – with one modification. "I really should spend Christmas with Erin's folks," I told Odalys. "But I can head north a few days later, and ring in the New Year with you guys."

"We'll have a quiet celebration," she laughed. "We promise not to drag you over to Times Square with the rest of the party animals."

"It's a deal," was my earnest reply. The next day, I cleared my schedule for a few days on either side of New Year's, let my bosses know of my plans, and made the flight reservations.

It was just as I'd anticipated. Being away from home for a short period of time was exactly what the doctor ordered. Now, I certainly saw it for what it was: a temporary escape, a transient suppression of reality. In the long run, nothing tangible would be changed. But the trip did serve to provide a much-needed perspective adjustment.

I arrived in New York on the 28^th of December. Right away, I felt refreshed, and I actually found the cold winter weather invigorating. Odalys and Jose were both off from work that week, and we spent the first couple of days taking in the sights of the Big Apple, with the subway our preferred mode of transportation.

"Neither one of us misses Florida all that much," Jose put forth in the midst of the subway hubbub at the end of my first full day in New York. "Once in a while, we'll get a hankering for those little Cuban eateries that are all over the place in the Miami area. But that's it. The lifestyle here suits us perfectly."

It wasn't until the evening of January 1^st when the focus turned toward more serious matters. My hosts, perhaps sensing that I needed some warm-up time, kept the conversation light up to that point. That evening, their two kids were crashed out in front of the television, which afforded us three adults the chance to hang out in the living room and talk freely.

It started with a lengthy chat about our respective jobs. Unprompted, I gave voice to a thought which was barely beginning to emerge from my subconscious. Odalys had mentioned how grateful she was to have gotten away from insurance sales. I surprised myself by publicly admitting that I wouldn't mind following suit.

"It's starting to drain on me a little," I acknowledged. "Management tries to drill into us how much better our products are, and how our clients need what we have to offer. But how often is that really true? They're only concerned about the bottom line. I've looked a little at the competition, and to be quite honest, if I was your average consumer, I'd likely choose some of their products over ours. It's what I call the dilemma of the honest salesperson ... more and more, I'm in the position where I need to push products on the clients that I would never buy myself. That bothers me on many levels. I'm earning enough money to make a decent living, but those clients of mine ... are they really benefiting from my efforts?"

Odalys gave me a knowing smile. "That's a big reason why I prefer the real estate business. When I show a property to someone, they see it with their own eyes. Yes, I give them the company sales pitch, but in the end, it comes down to their visual inspection. Insurance is different. You're dealing with things on a conceptual basis. It's all abstract."

"Ever thought about going into business for yourself? Starting your own insurance company?" threw in Jose.

"Well, for one thing," I replied, "I'd have to move out of the local area if I did, since there's a non-compete clause in my employment contract. I can't say I've never considered running my own business, but when you get right down to it, I'm just not the entrepreneurial type."

I simply couldn't see myself striking out on my own like that. Nevertheless, I realized I'd been given some more food for thought. Before too long, the topic of conversation edged in the direction of my late wife. I shared a few stories and memories. Odalys and Jose, realizing that I was getting some things off my chest, mostly stayed in listening mode at this point.

Finally, there was a long pause in the conversation, and it was Jose who brought it to a close.

"If you feel like I'm prying, Jake, feel free to put me in my place," he began. "But what's next for you?"

When I didn't answer right away, Odalys stepped in to elaborate. "What my husband is trying to say, Jake, is that you're thirty-nine years old. You have a lot of living left to do. We've spent a good part of the evening talking about your professional life. What about your personal life? You told us how insistent Erin was that you move on with your life, that she didn't want you to dwell on her loss for too long." She let that statement hang in the air.

I remained silent, trying to formulate an honest reply. But before I could, Jose proceeded to go off on a tangent, one that made me more than a little uncomfortable.

"What about that young lady you knew in China?" he said with a discernible grin. "From what you told us, there must have been something there. Why don't you try to get in touch with her somehow?"

"Hell, you lived with her for, what, more than a year?" giggled Odalys, who always enjoyed teasing me. "If that isn't a basis for compatibility, I don't know what is."

I hesitated some more, stammered and stuttered a little, and then communicated what I felt in my heart. "It's ... too soon to think about things like that. I know what Erin said. But it's still too soon."

I'm one of those people who could sleep through a nuclear war. Even so, it's rare for me to remember much about my dreams. And when I do recall pieces of them, they're much too scattered and chaotic to make any sense at all. But in mid-April, close to the one-year anniversary of Erin's passing, I had a dream so vivid and coherent it almost appeared real.

In it, I was seated on a bench alongside the bike trail that Erin and I had frequented. It was a beautiful spring day; the thick foliage which lined the trail on either side seemed impossibly green and verdant, with plentiful flowers in full bloom. The whole setting had a distinct Garden of Eden vibe. I turned to look to one side – and there she was, seated there right next to me.

Erin was dressed from head to toe in white. Her blonde hair hung loose and unconfined. Her eyes had that familiar look that had always unnerved me a little – the one that signified I was about to get a lecture. She smiled vaguely, and motioned toward my bicycle, which was positioned nearby.