JOHN BIEBE
July 23, 2010

For the past few weeks, three times a week, I’ve been sitting with the shrink. Dr. Harry Kirsch is an okay guy but I swear, every time I leave his office I feel more raw than when I went in. It’s the process I guess, and honestly it’s getting easier. It’s been a struggle; I did avoid taking meds for depression and even managed to be sane and honest with the dude … only put a fist through his wall once. Oh yeah, I kinda knew I was gonna do it and had a piece of drywall and tools already in the jeep. Fixed that sucker right up. Felt much better too, even with bruised knuckles. The recovery time after each appointment is getting shorter and I feel less like killing the guy every time I see him, so that’s good, ay.

Today’s my seventh appointment and there’s something strange about that number. All morning I’ve been trying to figure it out and finally, after dropping the boys at the Inn’s daycare, I knew. Seven. It was Riley’s number. She connected everything important to it, spiritual stuff I’d never understand, emotional stuff, coincidental stuff. Numerology, I guess. Who knows? All in all, realizing this was the seventh appointment I figured it was time to do something.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” I said when I sat on the overstuffed chair.

Harry Kirsch crossed his legs and watched me. “Time for what, John?”

“Ya know, I hate when you guys do that … answer a question with a question … and don’t go fucking asking how I feel about that, either.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, just trying to clarify. What do you think it’s time for?”

I rubbed my eyes. If I didn’t look at him and if I didn’t say it too loud, maybe it wouldn’t count. “Time to … uh … move on.”

“I see. The fact that you think it might be time to move on means just that. How do you plan to do this moving on thing?” He slouched down in his chair and set his notepad on the desk behind him. The guy’s crafty, I’ll give him that. But he’s good too. No crossed legs and no poised pen made me way more willing to talk. A man in my position is easily manipulated. So the fuck what.

“Doc, I have no clue. I was kinda hoping you’d tell me what to do.”

He retrieved the notepad and pen and strangely tossed it onto my lap. “Take notes,” he said. “Just write all this down so you have it, okay? Granted, you might not be able to do it all today, or this week, this month or even this year, but this is how you move on. Ready?”

I nodded like an idiot. My hand was shaking so hard I could hardly hold the fucking pen. What the hell was I thinking?

“Okay. Number one, a little housekeeping. What you –”

“You don’t mean what I think you mean, right? There’s no fucking way I’m getting rid of Riley’s stuff.”

“John … just write it down. Everything I say … write it down. That’s all I expect you to do today. Write everything down.”

He waited until I was breathing again.

“Yes, housekeeping means just that. You will need to go through everything, all her clothes and personal things. It’s time.

“Number two, choose carefully exactly what you shouldn’t part with. For example, if she had a ring or some jewelry you might want to keep for your sons future wives, or photos, knickknacks that mean something special to you or the boys, set them aside. Don’t ever let them go.

“Number three, get rid of things you shouldn’t keep. Think about it, John. What are you going to do with all that stuff? Not real normal to keep it forever, right? Not real healthy either. Moving on means letting go. So … think about who can use her stuff? You have a big family I understand. Maybe some of them would like to have something? Maybe they’d cherish a little memory of your wife? Everything else, Goodwill will be thrilled to have.

“Number four, do not … and I repeat … do not do this alone. Choose someone to help you. Someone close but not too close. Someone logical and detached enough to help you be rational about it.”

My writing was almost illegible. Harry went quiet and I finally looked up. “That’s it?”

“For now. After you’ve done all this, we’ll go on to the next list. Take your time. Call if you need to talk. Now … what are your plans about work?”

Whiplash. That’s what that felt like. “Uh … I …” I gulped, thought hard and realized that it really shouldn’t feel like whiplash at all, that at some deep level, I had been thinking long and hard about this. “Honestly, I’m not sure, but I think I may resign as mayor.”

He sat straighter and waited for more.

“The Inn, well it takes a lot. Maybe I’d do best just stepping away from the mayor’s office and focusing on the Inn.”

“Are you any good at running the Inn?”

Damn. “No. But I should be, don’t you think? I mean it’s Riley’s legacy and all. It’s not something I’m going to walk away from.”

“Are you a good mayor, John?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe I started to be a good mayor. Doesn’t matter.” I shrugged.

“I saw you at Monday’s town meeting,” Harry stood and reached into his little office refrigerator, tossed me a Coke and took one out for himself. “You seemed fine to me.”

“Fine? Fuck, Harry, I can’t remember one minute of that meeting. I felt like I was in a coma or something.”

“John … it’s how you’re supposed to feel right now. Your wife died, she was your soul mate, your kids’ mother, your partner and friend, everything. Did you think life was going to just fall back into place?”

“Of course not. I just … I just … fuck … the boys … the Inn … the town. Maybe it’s too much right now. Don’tcha think?”

“Do you really want to know what I think? Or are you looking for coddling here. I do both real good.” He grinned.

“Spit it out. I need some reason in my life.”

“Okay, here goes.” He pointed to the notepad on my knee. “Write this down too. My honest opinion is … don’t resign. John, you need your own life. You’re a community kinda guy. You listen, you care, you’re a cornerstone in this town. Everyone’s worried about you and everyone cares enough to wait until you’re ready to swing back into the job. Don’t leave it.

“As far as the Inn. You make money there, no two ways about it. Money can always buy a solution. You need an excellent general manager to handle the responsibilities your wife carried. You need a decent nanny. My secretary says you have a great daycare at the Inn, but face it. There are going to be times your boys want to be home, especially if you have occasional long days at the office, evening town meetings or special projects. Those kids need stability and the familiarity of their own room, their own bed, their own toys.

“I’m just guessing here, but you probably need a housekeeper too, maybe that’s easy to solve and you can just have one of the Inn maids do a run through of the apartment.

“You might need to take some cooking classes or maybe you want to hire a nanny who cooks for the kids and you can just grab dinner from your own restaurant.”

“Oh … ah … wow, yeah, guess that could work.” Harry was good at this.

“Bet you never realized how much of your heavy load could be taken care of just by looking outside your door. Everyone’s not so lucky, John.”

Tears swam in my eyes. “I’m far from lucky.”

“I know. I know. But like you said … it’s time to move on. You take all the help you can get. Eventually everything gets easier I swear, but right now, use whatever and whoever you can.” He stood, stretched and looked at his watch. “Jeeze, I never talk this much during an appointment. We can extend another fifteen minutes if there’s anything else you want to talk about.”

I looked at my notes, carefully tore the pages free and tucked them into my shirt pocket. “No, we’re good. I’ll be back Saturday. Maybe I’ll have some of these issues straightened out.”

“They’re not issues, John. They’re massive challenges and I know that. Be kind to yourself. Do what you can and don’t push further than you’re ready to go. Take your time.”

I nodded and left. My knees didn’t give out until I was walking off his front porch on Main Street. I sat on the top step with a thud and sucked in a deep breath. Was I ready for this? Really?

Yes.

I looked up and down the street. A few doors to my left was Kelly Wigand’s gift shop. I tugged the notes from my pocket and jotted Jeff’s name down for a possible short list of general managers. That would all hinge on his heart condition. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even talked to him in weeks. I almost scratched his name out, feeling like I had no right to even consider asking then changed my mind. Use everyone and everything I can to get through this. That’s my new mantra.

I could see down the street that on such a nice summer day, Kelly’s store was hopping, people standing on her front porch and milling around the display tables on the sidewalk. No point in considering Kelly as a possible assistant to go through Riley’s things. She was obviously too busy.

Man, my chest hurt even thinking about this, but it was a good hurt. Like the hurt you get while a wound heals. Yeah. It’s time. To the right and a block back, was the Curry’s big old house. Maybe Jessie can help me do the … thing … with Riley’s stuff? Nah, Jessie doesn’t have a booming business, what she has two kids, the youngest even littler than Michael. I groaned to my feet.

There’s always Natalie but I hated to ask her to do this. First, I think it might be too hard for her. Second, Harry said to get someone not too close to the situation, and Nat’s way closer than not too close. She does everything to take care of the boys and me. I just can’t ask more from her.

I stepped into Starbucks and before I even reached the counter the girl handed me a mocha, just like I like it, double hot, no whipped cream.

“Whipped cream’s for pussies,” she teased but I could see sadness for me in her eyes. Fuck, I hate this. I wanted to pay for the coffee and just go home but when I walked outside I realized, maybe I should put off going home as long as I could. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.

I went to the City Office Building, actually looking at everything around me along the way. I don’t think I ever really looked at Stowe. I mean really looked at it. I always liked small towns, there’s no place better to raise kids … oh … ow … I just didn’t expect to be, you know, raising them alone. My eyes drifted right back down to the sidewalk and my shoes. Well, that was nice while it lasted.

At the door I discovered I just couldn’t walk in, like going in there, looking at my office and taking the whole town onto my shoulders was gonna crush me, break me, finish me. I looked at my list again. Breathe. Don’t panic. Stick with the plan. First things first.

Use everyone and everything I can to get through this.

I fucking swear I heard the pop from a cartoon light bulb go off over my head. I turned, walked six blocks down and stepped inside Tracy Wade’s fancy beauty shop.

Like everyplace, the shop was bustling. I stood inside the door for a few minutes, trying to get my act together and figure out how to ask. Then Tracy, currently a redhead with pink streaks, looked up. In her chair was old Mrs. Buckstroud. Tracy was trying to tame the massive poof of white hair, rolling it on curlers and chatting up a storm. The old lady spotted me first, then Tracy, then the whole shop went silent.

“Hey, Trace,” I waved like an imbecile.

She rushed up and grabbed my hand, all the time looking at my head. I keep forgetting I shaved it weeks and weeks ago. Now it’s growing back in crazy tufts of salt and pepper grey and brown. To a stylist, I must have looked like a complete disaster. She sat me down beside Mrs. Buckstroud and fingered my fizz.

“Uh, Tracy, I’m not here for a haircut. I was just kinda hoping,” I leaned closer and spoke quieter, “I was kinda hoping we could talk.”

She looked into my eyes. “I do my best talking while I’m working.”

“Uh, well, I was kinda hoping we could talk … someplace else?”

“Your place? I can fix this hair at your place.”

“When?” I asked and I know I sounded like a kid begging for candy or something.

“Go,” said old lady Buckstroud. “I’ll be fine with Carol. Go take care of Mayor Biebe.”

Can’t say I was happy or sad or worried or anything at all. I drove to the Inn and Tracy followed behind. In fact, she followed me all the way to the apartment door before actually realized I was numb. I turned, leaned back and didn’t even try to hide the tears. “Tracy … I need you to … I need you to help me go through Riley’s things.”

She stepped back, pressed a hand to her chest then hugged me. “I’ll be honored to help you, John. Let’s just start by having some lunch and a beer down in the pub, okay? Then we’ll start.”

“Yeah,” I kinda gasped like Nathan does when he’d been crying for hours. “Yeah. Sounds good to me.”

The pub was crowded. I was uncomfortable. Then Cory White’s lovely Daisy walked over with a tray. I drank beer, ate the first sandwich I actually tasted since the funeral then finally decided I could talk.

“Tracy, the grief counselor said it’s time I clean house. I don’t want to. I really don’t want to, but if you can help me, maybe we can at least get through Riley’s closet today.”

“I’m here. We’re all here for you.”

MAXIMUS

I sat in the dark, quiet corner of the Inn pub and watched my brother finally reach out for help. It had been nearly seven weeks since the passing of our Little Sister and for this long while, I feared for John. Riley has passed through the many astral planes; I watched her lovely soul do this as I sat alone in the left tower the night after her burial. She smiled and passed along many, many requests of us all, but until her life-mate and love has accepted her loss, nothing can be started. Nothing. Perhaps, with the help of our brother Ben’s wife, with the ongoing assistance from sweet Natalie, perhaps, perhaps we will soon be able to move ahead.

The gods have been torturing John. They have torn the sinew from his strength and left him weak. A battle rages inside his heart and I am most familiar with this war, this field of blood and pain … this empty land. Having passed through the death world before waking here in this world, I know all to well the importance off following the requests of those ancestors gone before. I can only wait … and hope.

My wife in this world, Sophia is most gracious and giving, allowing as much time as needed to see this battle won for John. Sophia and our little daughter, Lucy, are now back in Napa, caring for the land and the grapes, the olives and our home. They were here in Vermont with me for a week, but as John was accepting no one, hearing nothing, seeing only his own agony, I sent them home, far from this place of misery. My dear one calls often to talk and to encourage me. But I am frustrated. There’s nothing I can do without John’s acceptance.

Also on vigil here in Vermont is Thorne. A comrade, a soldier to stand guard at my side … together we wait. The light around John is shifting, altering, becoming again alive with pale color. Soon. Perhaps soon. Perhaps before the next full moon I will be able to tell him what his beloved wishes him to know, but not today.

Not yet.