Chapter 17

The grieving process is different for everyone ... no matter what 'licensed professionals' try to tell you. In Andrea's case they tried to stuff her in a grieving box that had absolutely no connection with the facts.

"Your husband is dead," the tenth licensed professional said.

"You keep telling me something I already know."

"You need to move on."

"You won't let me."

"What do you mean?"

"My husband is dead ... and you keep telling me that. Give it a rest. The man who murdered him is dead and I have had my revenge."

"You haven't grieved."

"I don't need to ... I got even."

"Oh."

"You don't see it, do you? I'll bet you believe that gun control and the courts will save the country."

"Well, I abhor violence. Let the law handle it."

"It's a violent world..."

"Acts of God..."

"You must be one of those who believe that we're the culmination of His works."

"Well..."

"We're not."

"But..."

"We're part of Nature ... any other belief is plain ignorance."

"I believe we're here to glorify God."

"God doesn't care."

"How can you say that."

"He killed my husband." She got up and walked out. Then she turned back and leaned in the door, "Don't schedule me again ... I've put up with you people for two years ... did you know you're the tenth licensed professional I've seen in two years? How much money has the state paid out to help me? I won't be back and I won't see another."

Possession of the watch ... knowing she could drop back and see him again ... made her life miserable. Andy decided ... eventually ... that she had to limit her time in Bill's past. He was born in 1955 ... she in 1960. She realized that it was better to time it to the twenties and thirties than suffer Bill again. She had to move on.

Her position was being filled by an adjunct professor ... sort of a floater ... good enough to teach but not brilliant enough to publish. She made a decision. It was time to get away.

The faculty administrator was not pleased.

"You could have quit last year," he complained, "We had a perfect replacement apply. We held your job in hopes that you would recover. The man took a position at State." The word State left a bad taste in his mouth and it showed.

"I just didn't know last year ... it's killing me every time I walk past his lab."

"What are you going to do?"

"I have money ... I won the Spanish Lottery and haven't been able to spend the interest. I haven't touched my father's insurance. There's a lot of money actually ... I think I'm looking for something and I should get on with it."

"Where?"

"I think I'll start out in Pentwater. There's a nice sailboat there."

"Winter in Pentwater?"

"Ooh ... that does sound dire. Maybe I should check out the South Pacific campaign. I specialized in the European conflict ... there's a whole war I know very little about."

"I have a lightbulb event ... I'm going to buy that boat and sail it to the Atlantic ... through Panama and head to Australia and New Zealand."

"What on earth... ?"

"There's the ANZAC's to interview." Now she was speaking more for herself than the administrator. "I'm beginning to see why it's taking to long for the soldiers to speak out about the war. It's traumatic. Maybe we have enough in common now."

"That's an unusual approach."

"Most of the war literature was written by men who saw the Big Picture from behind a desk ... I want to know what the survivors thought."

"What about the Duke?"

"He's still alive ... doing well. I don't need to pull a John on him."

"Stop and see him before you go."

"I'll just do that. He's a nice old man ... for a Duke."

'"I assume this is your exit interview?"

"Yes ... I guess. I'll need to see about my cars and the house. You can not imagine how difficult it was to get out the blood."

"I think I can. My wife was murdered in our bedroom."

"Oh ... that's right ... Home invasion wasn't it?"

"Yes ... the man is still appealing. Fifteen years ... it's been that long?" He sat back in his chair and didn't even notice when Andrea quietly closed his door. She stopped at the secretary's desk.

"I think you should cancel his calendar for the rest of the day ... he's remembering his wife."

"He does that every time you come to see him." That was said in a very censoring tone.

"Today is my last ... I resigned. I'm leaving the country for field work."

The relief was noticeable, "Oh? Where are you going?"

"The Pacific... 1940 ... Hawaii first ... well ... sort of."

"That sounds boring."

"I doubt I'll be bored. When I get interested it's like I'm there."

"I'm sure."

"Me too."