White Owl Island

The Phone Call

Well, I did fall asleep shortly after I lay down, but I woke up to a dark room with no hint of sunrise on the horizon.  My body knew it needed more rest, but my mind thought otherwise, wanting to jump out of bed and get the day started.  Those sore muscles I anticipated after yesterday’s run protested any form of movement, but as usual, my mind took the upper hand and forced me out of bed.  I switched on the light and checked my watch. 4:00 A.M.  I flopped back down on the bed and pulled the covers over my head.  I sat there, under the covers in the dark with my eyes wide open.  It reminded me of the time when my girls were young – Sydney around ten, the youngest, Hannah, seven with Molly in the middle at eight and a half.  One day during the summer we made tents with their bedspreads, using two by fours for supports.   Someone, I think Sydney, started tickling someone else, probably Hannah, and before I knew it we were all dodging each other, knocking into our supports, until the whole “tent” came tumbling down upon us.  After about ten minutes of non-stop laughing, we just lay there with the quilts resting on our heads, telling stories with just enough light to see each other’s eyes.

I missed the girls.  I knew that would be the hardest part about this yearlong cruise.  They had each other, living within thirty miles of one another, and unfortunately, I realized they’d get along just fine without me.  A mother should find some comfort in that, knowing her children are self-reliant, and I did.  But, where did that leave me? In my room in the abbey under my covers.  Despite the early hour and the soreness in my legs, I had to move.  I had to get up and get out before I drove myself into a funk that no shovel could dig out.

By the time I showered and dressed I managed to kill about forty-five minutes.  Since the first bus arrived at 8 A.M., I decided to start walking, thinking perhaps I could hitch a ride somewhere along the way.  Lenore was no New York City.  The door to the abbey remained open twenty-four hours a day.  If the abbess could be so trusting, then so could I.

During the first mile or so, my muscles kept reminding me what I did to them yesterday, but after a while, they warmed up and the walking felt good.   Left with just my thoughts and the empty road, I fought to prevent despair from settling in. To begin with, I promised myself that once I got to the city, the first phone call I’d make would be to the girls.  Of course I wouldn’t tell them everything that happened.  They’d think I finally lost my last remaining marbles; although I have to say, the thought of their reaction to the whole truth made me smile.  If I hadn’t lived it, I’d wonder about my sanity as well.  Whatever I told them, I needed to touch base, to hear their voices, to tell them I loved them. 

As I looked out over the lake, with the sun making its first appearance of the day, I then pictured myself back on the ship, reuniting with many of the friends I’d made since the onset of this cruise.  There were enough distractions on the ship to divert Depression’s attention, so I knew I’d recover quickly once I reboarded.  Now all I had to do was get permission.

Once I passed the lake and moved just beyond where I stopped and rested the day before, another road joined with the one leading from the abbey.  Now my options for hitching a ride improved because cars actually traveled on this road at all hours of the day.  Since it seemed a bit awkward for me to stick out my thumb, at first I decided to hold off on soliciting a lift.  Given my location, most people who saw me walking would suspect car trouble and, I hoped, take pity on me.  As several cars passed without slowing down, I was about to reconsider my theory when an elderly gentleman in a light blue station wagon pulled over to the side of the road.  He leaned out his window and asked, “Need a lift?” 

“Most definitely.  Are you going into the city?”

“No place else to go on this road.”

I moved to the passenger side of the car.  In our short ride into town I learned he, Jonah Thompson, lived on Lenore all his life running his parents’ diner for fifty-some years before passing it on to his great-grandchildren. Father of two, grandfather of five, four great-grandchildren with one on the way.  Most of the family moved off the island just as soon as the ferry could take them, except for the two grandchildren who took over the diner. He invited me to stop in for breakfast, and I promised I would after I made my phone calls.  

He pulled into a reserved spot in front of what looked more like a fancy restaurant than a diner, but I noticed the name “Thompson’s” engraved in a gold plate above the door, so I figured this must be it. 

As he opened his door he said, “If you’re wanting a pay phone, there’s one at Sally’s around the corner.”

“Thank you, but I have my cell; I just couldn’t get any service at the abbey.”

“Oh one of those gadgets.  My kids keep telling me I need to get one, but I see no reason.  I’m not much of a talker anyway – at least on the phone; last thing I need is for folks calling me anytime anywhere.  What I say is if you want me I’m either here or at home, phones work fine in both places.”

I laughed and thanked him again, promising to come back for some eggs and bacon, and then walked across the street to the park.  Finding an empty bench at this hour, just before 8 A.M., was easy.  But when I sat down I realized eight o’clock here meant 4 A.M. on the east coast.   How on earth could I call anyone at that hour? Sydney would be the first one up, but not until 5:30 at the earliest.  She taught music at the high school in her town, and I think she had to be in by 7:30.  She also lived for her sleep and if I deprived her of any of it, she’d have my head regardless of how far she’d have to travel for it.  Neither Hannah nor Molly, both still in school, had to be up before 9.  The phone calls to the girls would have to wait, but the ship’s captain was but a taxi ride away. 

I turned my phone on and noticed I had six missed calls and four voice messages.  Worried someone might be in trouble, I quickly dialed my voicemail and input my password.  As each of the messages played, my heart lightened and my smile widened.    The girls called to say hi or to tell me they missed me and that everything was okay.  So maybe I wasn’t dispensable after all, at least not yet.

Then I placed the call to the ship’s captain.  After about eight rings, the phone picked up and a message played, “I’m sorry I’m not available to take your call at this time.  I regret to inform you that the repairs on the ship are taking longer than projected.  We are sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you and plan to reimburse all passengers for the additional expenses they incur because of our delay.  Reboarding will now take place on Sunday beginning at 7 A.M.  We look forward to seeing you then, your captain of the S.S. Vulcania.”  Click.

Sorry?  Sorry?  What good would sorry do me?  And how could they reimburse me for mortification?  Ugh!  Now what was I to do?