Bottled Up

Jim opened up The Newfoundland Herald like he did every Saturday morning with a coffee, black with one artificial sweetener. He usually checked what hockey games would be on TV for the weekend, and then skipped to the back to do some puzzles. But as he flipped through on this particular day, the headline of an article caught his eye: ‘Wanted: David and Anna from Bonavista Bay.’

He stopped and flipped backwards through the pages until he found the article.

***

Dear Anna,

You wouldn’t believe the shit your son is giving me these last couple of months.

Always complaining I don’t come round and spend time with him and the youngsters anymore. Don’t know what he expects. Now that you’re gone I gotta cook and keep up the house for myself. And everyone knows the only bit of peace I gets is from coming out fishing on the boat.

I just had to get that off my chest, love. I miss you something awful.

Love, David

***

“My God, Jim, I just can’t believe it. I can’t picture your father writing a letter, let alone to someone not here anymore, and on top of that, throwing it out on the water for just anyone to find! What do you think? Are you going to call her? Oh Jim, you should call her!”

Pamela kept wiping her hands in the dish towel, even though they were dried after washing the pots ten minutes earlier.

Jim wasn’t sure he did the right thing by telling his wife about the article. He knew that she wouldn’t let up on it if he told her, but deep down, he knew that’s exactly why he did tell her. He wanted – needed – a push to pick up the phone and call this stranger.

***

Dear Anna,

So, I dropped by Jim’s place the other day, ‘cause I knew that’s what you would want me to do. But Lord Jesus, he’s not got a lick of patience. Contrary and pissed ‘cause I hadn’t been there last Sunday for Easter supper. You always said he was a fart in a mitt.

I just said, well, if that’s how you wants it, and turned on my heel and left. He tried calling me after but I didn’t answer.

I guess I better call him back and apologize I suppose. You were better at being a parent than I’ve ever been.

Love you always,

David

***

“Hi, could I speak to Dr. Johanna Jónsdóttir please,” Jim spoke into the cordless handset he was cradling between his neck and shoulder in the kitchen. His wife stood alongside as he pressed the speaker button.

A woman’s voice answered, and Jim and Pamela looked at one another, recognizing the voice had a kind-of-European accent. “Yes, this is Johanna.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Jim Gunson. I’m calling about the article in this week’s Herald. It says you’re from Iceland teaching at Memorial University of Newfoundland, here on the island, and you have a nephew in Iceland who found messages in bottles there?”

Before he had a chance to continue, her voice excitedly replied, “Oh, thank you so much, I hope you are calling because you know Anna and David from Bonavista Bay!?”

“Well, y—yes,” stammered Jim, “I think the letters you found were written by my father to my deceased mother – “

There is a pause on the telephone. “Wow... I could not have imagined... Well, I would very much like to meet him, do you think he would be open to it?”

“I’m not sure if he would have been, but unfortunately, he passed away this past year. And my mother, a few years before. I think he was writing letters to her… memory. Her spirit, I guess?”

Johanna replied softly, “Oh, that is so precious. Her death was a great loss to him, to you both, that is for certain.”

She took a quick breath before asking if she could meet Jim and Pamela and send a picture of his parents and family to her nephew. “He is going to be thrilled to know I located the letters’ writer!”

***

Dear Anna,

I think I might be with you soon. I’ve been awful miserable and the doctor confirmed I have cancer. I told him I would deal with it on my own and wasn’t going to have any treatments.

I haven’t told Jim, and I know you think I should, but I don’t want him taking pity on me. I promise you I’ll try to spend more time with him though and be less hardheaded. That would be a miracle in itself, I bet that’s what you’re thinking right now.

I miss you. I know you’ll keep an eye out for my stubborn arse.

Love your husband,

David

***

Jim and Pamela met with the professor over a bowl of seafood chowder at his restaurant, and even shared a phone call with her 10-year-old nephew Daniel in Hornafjördur, Iceland. They told him they would also send photos of David’s boat on the harbour.

Jim told Dr. Jónsdóttir he knew the grief over losing his mother was what kept his father away so much for the last couple of years. David started coming around again before his death, but Jim never knew what triggered the change, not until it was too late.

Jim had assumed his father just didn’t want to come by anymore. He had always been more interested in cooking than fishing and thought it bothered his father that he spent more time in the kitchen with his mother; that he wasn’t a ‘man’s man.’

Johanna said she would let them know if any more bottled letters by his father were found, as the Fréttabladid newspaper in Iceland wanted to publish the story. Jim and Pamela thanked her.

***

Dear Anna,

This will likely be my last letter to you, but I got a couple more bottles tucked away, just in case.

I wrote a letter for Jim, telling him I’m proud of him and the restaurant, even though we both know I never said as much to him. Best chowder in Bonavista Bay, but I never said it out loud, you know how I am.

I told him I loved him, and I’m OK because I’m with you. Please God.

He might think it’s foolish, but I want him to have the boat. Even if he don’t ever go fishing. He’s my only son and I want him to have it. That’s what I wrote to him.

I’m feeling pretty rotten now. The doctor said he’ll see what he can set up at the house for me. He’s poisoned I won’t tell Jim earlier on, but I told him he can send for Jim when he figures I don’t have much longer.

I dreads for Jim to see me like it, and he’ll be upset I didn’t get treatment, or tell him sooner.

Don’t be angry with me, Anna. You hated worrying us too, remember?

See you soon my love,

David

***

A couple of evenings after Johanna Jónsdóttir returned to St. John’s, Jim took his father’s boat out on the harbour for the first time. As he motored out to sea, he noticed a couple of empty coke bottles roll towards his feet. He smiled.

“OK, Dad. I’ll bring a pen and paper with me next time.”