The Cliffs

I’d been hiking along the Cliffs of Moher south from Doolin toward the visitors’ center for about an hour. Years ago, Jeanie and I kicked around the idea of this hike, but as we got older, we thought we’d have to drive to the center and walk across the road to see the shale and sandstone cliffs that tower more than 500 feet over the Atlantic. I wasn’t sure my knee would approve of the hike, and she was pretty sure her heart wouldn’t cooperate.

As it turned out, her heart stopped long before I booked my flight to Ireland.

We’d been planning the trip for at least twenty years. The last time we talked about it, she was home and resting after her first heart attack. Her husband passed away the year before, so I took time off from teaching to stay with her as she recovered. Her kids were scattered across the country and didn’t seem to want to be bothered with ensuring their mom had the care she needed.

“I’m feeling a lot stronger,” Jeanie told me on the third morning we sat at her patio table, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

“I’m not leaving yet,” I said.

She sighed. “I love you, you know, for being here. The kids …” She sighed again. I pressed my lips together and waited. “They’re doing their best,” she said.

“Mmhmm.” I sipped my coffee and kept my eyes on the horizon. This was such a special part of any day. My favorite, really.

“How much time off did they give you?”

I tilted my head to one side and then to the other. “I’ve got a LOT of days banked, Jean. You know that.”

She smiled a little, acknowledging that I hadn’t answered her. “Yes, I know. But you need to save quite a bit of that for our trip to Ireland. We want to go in the spring, right? Before the school year actually lets out?”

It was early November, and yes, we’d talked about a springtime trip. I loved the idea.

“Does that mean you want me to start looking for deals for this spring—say March or April?” I couldn’t keep the hopeful note from my voice. We’d talked about this for so long. “Do you think you’ll be up to it by then?”

“You know what the doctors told me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. We were both bundled up against the early morning chill, so I didn’t think she was cold. What was it I saw written in the creases around her eyes, the furrow of her brow? “I can resume my normal activities next week and they want me to start walking regularly. I’m going to do that, so I know I’ll be more than ready and definitely able to go.”

I slapped a hand on the table and grinned at her. “I’ll start searching for deals today!” I turned back to the horizon. “But I want to finish watching the sunrise first.”

“Lena?” Jeanie laid her hand on my forearm, gripping it firmly. I turned back to her, expecting to see an expression that matched my own—enthusiastic, excited, giddy even. Instead, my best friend was still frowning.

I sobered quickly. “What is it?”

“Please don’t read anything into this,” she said. “I truly am feeling much stronger, much better.” She paused and I nodded, a tangle of fear knotting itself together in my belly. “But if something should happen and I’m not here to make the trip, promise me you’ll go without me. Prom—”

“Jean!”

She held up a hand. “Promise me you’ll take the trip we’ve always talked about.”

I nodded. “I promise.” I swallowed, hard, my mouth suddenly full of sand.

“I’ll still be with you,” she said, her brow finally relaxing. “I promise you that.”

***

The wind off the Atlantic whipped my hair around my face, so I stopped and stared at the water, facing it full-on, wishing so much Jeanie was beside me. Her second—and final—heart attack stole her from me before Christmas. It was quick; the doctors said it was likely painless—for her, not me.

As the waves broke against the base of the cliffs hundreds of feet below with only inches of ground between me and an open-air drop to the bottom, I said, “I wish you were here,” to Jeanie, to no one, to everyone.

I stepped back to the path and headed mostly south again, toward O’Brien’s Tower, which I could finally make out. My knee was taped and doing well, thank goodness. When I got to the center, I’d take a shuttle back to Doolin to grab a pint—of cider not Guinness—and probably another dish of shepherd’s pie, and then motor my little rented Ford to my next B&B.

So far I’d met only a few other people on the trail, which surprised me a bit. I chalked it up to the weather—windy and wet (good Irish weather)—and the fact that I was here in March, too early for tourist season.

As I walked, I thought a lot about Jeanie and me and our friendship that had spanned almost fifty years. I was thinking about the few years we spent estranged from each other, trying to remember what caused it and feeling grateful it didn’t last longer than it did.

I heard footsteps behind me just before she spoke.

“Why did we stop talking for a while, all those years ago?”

I stumbled and had to concentrate, putting both feet solidly back on the path before I could turn around. Even with the wind blowing and the sea crashing below me, I knew that voice. Her voice.

She looked so good. So healthy. So strong. I watched the wind tangle her hair just as it was doing to mine. I watched the ends of her scarf dance. I saw her quirk an eyebrow. She was really there with me. On the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, just like we’d planned. Before she died.

“Jeanie …” I spoke. I felt the vibration in my throat. Felt my tongue hit the roof of my mouth for the J and the puff of air between my lips. I knew I said the word, but my ears didn’t catch the sound.

“Come on,” she said, stepping up beside me and then continuing along the trail. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

I fell in step with her and for a minute or two we just walked. I consciously planted my boots, one at a time, on the muddy ground. I opened and closed my hands at my sides, feeling the wind and the mist on them before running them through my hair. I was here. I was awake. I was alive. Wasn’t I? Had I actually stepped too close to the edge of the cliff back there? Did God spare me the memory of the fall and the crash and just set me back here on the trail so that I could finish the walk with my best friend—even though both of us were dead now?

I shook my head. No. Nope. I was alive. But Jeanie …

“So why did we?” she said. I noticed her breathing was much more even than mine. I was in pretty good shape for a sixty-five-year-old, but I’d been huffing and puffing a little before Jeanie appeared and now I sounded like I was speed-climbing Skellig Michael.

I glanced at her. I wanted to touch her, but I wasn’t sure I could handle the reality—or the unreality—of that. “Why did we what?” I asked.

“Why did we stop talking all those years ago?” She hadn’t looked me in the eye yet, focusing instead on the middle distance over one of my shoulders.

I shrugged. “I don’t remember. I was just thinking about that before you … before you … I don’t know.” I shrugged again.

“I think it was my fault.” Her face was set. We continued on the trail.

“I don’t think it was,” I said. “It takes two to screw something up like that. I think we both made mistakes.” I remembered what I was thinking just before she showed up. “I’m just glad we got back together. I’m glad I didn’t lose you for good.”

Then she looked at me. Really looked at me. And she smiled.

“You will never lose me for good.” We stopped walking. She held my gaze for a beat or two and then looked out at the Atlantic.

I turned away from her and took in the scene again. It was never the same, no matter how long I stared at it, no matter how many times I looked.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jeanie.”

I turned around.

She was gone.