Jeff Shelby - Thread of Hope

She stood there for a moment, looking as unsure as I felt. She opened the driver-side rear door and pulled out a leather satchel and placed it over her shoulder. She shut the door and stared at me.

“Hi,” I said, my voice loud enough to carry across the street.

She just nodded.

“I owe you an apology, I think,” I said.

She shrugged as if I’d asked her a question about something she couldn't have cared less.

“I’m sorry,” I said anyway. “For the other night. I handled it poorly.”

The look in her eyes shifted, but I couldn’t tell what was there. Anger, sadness, nothing?

“I wasn’t expecting it,” I said, my knees shaking, my eyes moving to the exact patch of grass where I’d left Elizabeth to go get that fucking extension cord. “I didn’t know what to do, Lauren. I’m sorry.”

Tears distorted my vision now. I lifted my arm. It was heavy, uncoordinated, as if it had fallen asleep. My knees weakened and my back began to slide down the car.

“Joe?” Lauren finally said. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head, still sinking to the ground, still pointing at the lawn. “She was right there, Lauren. Right there.”

The tears pooled in my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks and I could barely see Lauren crossing the street toward me. I felt her hands on my arm.

“Right. There,” I said.

Lauren’s arms went around me. I buried my face in her shoulder and cried for a long time.

“Are you alright?” Lauren asked.

We were sitting on a rock near the Hotel Del, watching the ocean roll in and out. She’d gathered me up out of the street, put me in my car and driven us over to the hotel and the beach. It was a narrow strip of sand that we'd walked hundreds of times together and she knew it was a place that would settle me.

I hadn’t said a word since she’d crossed the street. My eyes were dry, but the breeze off the water put a mild sting in them.

“I think so,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“For missing our daughter?” she asked without looking at me. She shook her head slowly. “If I get through a week without a mini-breakdown, I’ll let you know.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d collapsed so thoroughly under the weight of missing Elizabeth. I thought about her every day, but I’d steeled myself against the tendrils of emotion that tried to find their way inside me. I'd managed to develop an ability to keep it all inside, not letting it crack my exterior.

But seeing the house again triggered everything I didn’t want to think about.

“How can you live there?” I asked, picking up a handful of sand and letting it fall through my fingers. “I could barely look at it. But you? You live there, see all of it every day. How? Why?”

Lauren ran a hand through her hair, pushing it all over to one side. “You see the bad. I see the good.” She glanced at me, a small, sad smile on her lips. “I go sit in her room, think about her, talk to her. I sit at the kitchen table and remember what an amazingly slow eater she was.”

We both laughed. Neither Lauren nor I were particularly fast eaters, but Elizabeth could stretch a meal out for hours, talking about anything, getting up from her chair, refusing to eat as we cajoled, ordered and begged her to finish the small plate of whatever was in front of her. It was the kind of thing that drove parents nuts, but given perspective, it was more charming than annoying.

“I go outside and remember how much she loved to work in the flower beds with me,” Lauren said. “Go out back and think of her sitting on the patio, swinging her feet on the chair.”

She turned to face me fully. “I don’t wanna forget those things, Joe. And I feel like if I left, they would just fade away. Staying here in Coronado, in the house, I stay connected to her. To us, as a family.” She paused. “I need that.”

The sun glimmered on the surface of the water, the white caps washing it away every few moments before it reappeared on the watery glass top.

“I miss her as much as you do, Joe,” she said. “But I do it in a different way. Your way isn’t for me.”

She’d said something similar to me when I’d left, but I couldn’t recall her exact words.

“And I don’t mean that in a critical way,” she said, touching my arm. “I don’t. There’s no right way to handle it. But I can’t do what you do. Couldn’t do it. The way you felt when you saw our house? That’s how I’d feel every time I went looking for someone else’s son or daughter. You don’t understand how I can live in the house? I can’t fathom how you can spend all your time looking for missing kids.”

A small wave rose up out of the water and crashed down, long lines of white foam rolling at us.

“I see the good, you see the bad,” I said.

Her hand was still on my arm and she tapped her fingers against my skin. “Exactly.”

We watched the water for awhile. Sitting there, the warmth of her leg pressed lightly into mine, transported me to that time when everything was right with the world. Almost.

“I blindsided you the other night,” Lauren finally said.

“You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“But I meant it,” she said.

I didn’t say anything.

“One thing I’ve learned from all of this, Joe. Say what you mean and don’t waste any time saying it.”

“You’ve always been like that, Lauren.”

“Maybe. But it rings truer for me now. I try not to waste a word, a breath, an action, anything.” Her fingers wrapped around my forearm. “I’ve missed you. I know our marriage is over. I’ve accepted that. But I miss you and I still love you. And I’m not going to not say those things just because it makes it awkward between us.”

Her fingers started to slide off my arm, but I placed my hand over them and kept them there.

“I miss you, too,” I said. We sat there for awhile longer, watching the sun slip down into the ocean.

Something was beeping.

I rolled over in the bed and the sheets twisted tighter around me. Lauren’s naked back was pressed up against mine. I pulled my legs out of the sheets and looked at her. She was still asleep, her mouth slightly open, her arms buried beneath the pillow.

I sat up and yawned. We’d gone back to my hotel room, ordered room service and spent the evening in bed. It wasn’t just like old times, but it was close and that was good enough.

As I stared at Lauren, thoughts about the implications of our night tried to rush into my head. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had sex, much less the last time I'd been with Lauren. I wondered how long it had been for her or if it was even my place to wonder. I really didn't want to thing about those things, though. I wanted to stay in the present. I wasn’t going to ruin the morning.

But the beeping was trying to ruin it.

Lauren stirred and twisted her head in my direction. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said, pulling on my jeans.

“What is that?”

“I think it’s my phone.”

“It sounds like a siren.”

I laughed. “Hung over?”

She laughed, too. “I don’t drink much anymore. Been a long time since I’ve killed off a bottle of wine in one sitting.”

I pointed to the table where our dinner trays and dishes were stacked. “Two bottles.”

She pulled the sheet up to her neck and closed her eyes. “Two bottles. Yes.” The phone beeped again. “And I will break that thing if you don’t turn it off.”

I sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor, but couldn’t find it. It beeped again and I realized it was coming from the bathroom. Somewhere in the foggy haze of the previous evening, I remembered plugging it in to charge. I unsnapped it from the charger and walked back out to the room.