CHAPTER V: FRANCES

It is very warm today, she thought as she gazed over her backyard fence onto the beach. It was a beautiful contrast of blues; from the piercing, oceanic blue to the soft and inoffensive lightness of the sky blue. The warmth of the sun hit her face as the wind blew and she felt at peace. Since her late husband’s death she had decided to move down south and live the rest of her days near the ocean where she’d often remember him. They had been just teenagers when they met, on this very beach. She was 18 years old, full of life and a hopeless romantic. She and her friends had decided to hit the beach for spring break and she offered her family’s beach house. The Stafford family were the owners of many and one textile factories. They had textile stores all over the country and were on track to expand internationally. She and her friends had arrived on Thursday the 19^th of March, 1957 and settled in the house. I was 18 years old then and the beach looked just as great as it does now, she reflected, only my body was a different deal back then. My face wasn’t this saggy back then and neither were my breasts.

In the evening of that Thursday, during the beach bonfire, she had met him.

Edward Archibald used to go to the University of Florida where he studied business and worked his way to an early grave, though I did not come as early as he had expected it to come. As soon as she saw him, she was drawn to him. He didn’t have an amazing body, but he did have beautiful green eyes. Although he wasn’t the athletic type, he wasn’t fat. She remembered him being really tall; taller than any of the other men in the bonfire. Edward noticed he had a fan rather quickly, he’d once told her, during their lovebirds’ years.

After their eyes had crossed a few times, Edward decided to come over and ask what her name was and if she wanted anything to drink. She simply replied with a “Frances, my name’s Frances. I’m fine, no need to get me anything. What’s your name?”

From there on out the conversation went on, and on. Hours went by and away and before they knew it, they were sitting on a long piece of wood, they’d told each other everything about their lives and dawn was breaking. “Look at that!” he said. But she couldn’t look away from his face. He really wasn’t all that, but he was all I could’ve asked for. “Really! Look at that!” he’d urged her. When she turned, she saw the beautiful dawn and its stunning colors. They went from a dark blue, to a dark purple, to a beautiful violet, to a warm gold, to a bright yellow, and then she’d see the sea line and the sun just making its appearance. Some stars could still be seen and the moon on the opposite side from where the sun was. She never saw another dawn like that in her life. “I hope this is not the last one I’ll see with you”, he whispered in her ear. That’s when I knew we were forever, she told herself with thoughts.

The ended up spending that whole weekend together and even her friends had loved how careless and funny he’d been. What was that joke you’d always make? The one about the crocodile? She asked in her mind, trying to find an answer from him, but it had been so long that she couldn’t recall what the joke was. I used to tell him it wasn’t very good, but it was, I was just tired of hearing it. It was suddenly Sunday and she had to go back to Massachusetts, back to Yale, where she was studying pre-med studies. Before she left, he gave her a sealed envelope. “Read it when you’re back in Yale.” he’d told her as he handed it to her.

And so she said “Yes! Will we keep in touch?” to what he responded “Sure! But make sure you read the letter. I’ll be expecting a one from you.”

Nineteen hours and some minutes later, she was back in Yale. She put her bags away, got some nice chamomile tea, which was her favorite, decided to open the letter and read:

“Dear Frances,

This might strike you as weird as I’m sure you’re not expecting it. Merely some days ago, I would never have guessed that I would be writing this or even thinking about someone so intensely. This, more than a letter, is a way of saying that you’re special to me. Maybe it’s my desire to cling to something I’m not supposed to cling to, but the truth is that now, even 1300 miles away from you, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you.

It is not good or bad that I’m saying this, it’s just what feels right in my brain and in my heart.

You find my address in the back,

Please write.

Yours truly,

Edward Archibald”

She could not say if she was extremely creeped out or just absolutely flattered. She sent a reply to that letter and to every one of the others that came every week for the following three months. Before she knew it, she was in love.

She felt crazy; she had only been with him those four days during spring break, but he’d hit the right spot in her heart and mind. The next time they saw each other, they were ready to take the leap and become boyfriend and girlfriend. It truly was a fairy tale for us.

As she kept watching the waves roll in and out, hitting the white, soft sand of the vast beach in before her, she heard the phone ring. She calmly walked towards the phone, feeling totally at peace. She answered, “Hello.”

“Momma Frances.” Her granddaughter’s voice was unequivocally recognizable.

“Alessa, honey, how are you? It’s so great to hear your voice,” she said. “Something’s happened momma. Dad died a few hours ago.” and as soon as she heard that, all the peace that had overwhelmed Frances disappeared. “It can’t be! How’s it possible?” she asked. Not another one. A mother should not live to bury two of her children.

She and Edward had had four children; Julius, the eldest, was conceived three years into their marriage and two years into her medical studies, which she felt obliged to drop out of. Two years after that Esther, their second born had come on June 4^th of 1965. Third came Claudia, a beauty of hazel eyes, like Frances’. She was born in the midst of winter of 1970, five years after Esther. Their last born, Emmanuel, was brought to the world in 1979, 16 years after Julius had been born. And although it had been a risky pregnancy, Emmanuel was the most handsome one of her children come adulthood.

Claudia loved travelling and her bubbly and constant eruptive, impulsive personality made her go to at least four different cities during spring break, which was her demise. She died at the age of 20 in a plane crash in 1990. It had been a horrible tragedy, all 145 passengers and 7 crew members had died as the plane hit the rocky mountains of Colorado. Now, 25 years later, she was bound to bury another one of her precious offsprings.

“He stopped breathing for no apparent reason.” Alessa said. It must’ve been all the smoking he did. “A respiratory deficiency?” Frances asked her granddaughter as tears filled her eyes. “Yes, grandma.” her words hurt as they were said with a broken voice. “I’m calling to let you know of the funeral, it’ll be tomorrow morning. I’m going to call Aunt Esther and Uncle Emmanuel to let them know, too.” Alessa rushed when she said that, and soon the call was over. “I’ll hang up now, grandma. See you tomorrow.” Frances did not even have time to say a word. All she did after that was cry; she cried for a complete hour. My children are all I’ve got left, she reflected. And now, it’s only two of them.

When her tears dried and she could catch her breath, she started packing. She packed for a week. A few blouses, black, gray and white ones. Three dresses and four pairs of shoes, all black. I’ve mourned way too much in my life. It’s not fair, she thought as she continued putting clothes together in a baG.

She gathered her things together and got into her car, she drove all the way to the Hollywood International Airport in Fort Lauderdale, where she lived. It took her about an hour to get there. While driving, she couldn’t help but think back about the day Julius had been born. I was so sure you were going to be a girl. I felt it in my gut. I’d even picked the name Julia for you. It was a cold November up in the Hamptons. Frances’ younger sister, Allison Stafford, had come over to her place to help her with the last few weeks of her pregnancy. In the morning of the 24^th of November, she felt him coming. “The baby’s coming! IT’S COMING!” she screamed at her sister. “Oh my god! What do I do now?” her young sister, who was 16 years old at the time asked back at her. “Get me to a hospital! NOW!” she replied to that. Her sister rushed to get all the things. They had rehearsed this a hundred times, but still the moment was so nerve-wrecking for her sister that Frances’ had to walk herself to the car. They didn’t even have time to give Edward a call, who was on business in New York City that weekend. The whole way to the hospital she was trying to calm the cramps by doing breathing relaxation exercises, but it did not work; it hurt like hell. It was all worth it in the end, she thought as she remembered pushing for the last time and Julius being placed in her arms. It really was worth it.

  As soon as she got to the airport, she rushed to the first desk she found and purchased tickets to New York City. The earliest flight was at around 6 p.m. that day, and so she bought the tickets and decided to wait. All the while softly weeping and going through all her memories. I’ve got to cry all I need to cry here, I’ve got to be strong for them. She’d always been their trunk, their shoulder to cry on and she could not afford to be weak and absent for them. They needed her. Alessandro and Alessa needed her. And so she waited, until her flight was announced and wiping her tears away and breathing deeply, Frances Stafford was bound for the Hamptons.