Thread of Hope

TWENTY-FIVE

Nine beers and a couple of tequila shots.

Those were my thoughts as I pried open my eyelids and squinted into the sunshine that seemed to be burning a hole through my hotel window. That’s what I remembered drinking at the hotel bar. I was pretty sure I'd put away more than that, but those were the numbers that stuck before the rest of the night went hazy.

I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled toward the window. I pulled the curtain closed, shutting out the bright light that threatened to scorch my retinas. The floor wobbled beneath me and I teetered back into the bed before it spun me out of control. I placed my hands flat against the sheets, bracing myself, and looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d slept that late. Couldn’t recall the last time I’d had that much to drink, either.

A nice, rhythmic pounding started in my temples and the aroma of stale beer cloaked the dark room. I rolled out of the bed, stumbled to the shower and turned the water on.

Cold. Full blast.

I stood under the icy water for a minute, letting the low temperature shock me back to life before turning the water up to a more tolerable degree of warmth. Slowly, the pounding subsided, my tongue shrunk from the size of a rug to its normal size and I got out, feeling almost normal.

I stood at the mirror, the towel wrapped around my waist, my hands on the cold marble counter and wondered how angry Lauren was with me now.

“Not a good idea,” I’d said when she brought up spending the night together.

She'd blinked several times and pulled her hand away from mine. “Why not?”

“Come on, Lauren.”

“What?” she asked, anger sweeping across her face. “You think someone’s gonna find her while we’re fucking and you’ll miss the call?”

I held up a hand. “Don’t do this.”

The anger intensified and her eyes lit up. “Do what? Admit that our relationship didn’t end for me just because you left? That it didn’t end for me because someone took our daughter?” Her mouth puckered up in disgust. “Sorry, Joe. I guess I just didn’t love her like you did.”

“Whatever, Lauren,” I said. “I’m not having this conversation.”

I stood and walked out of the cafe.

She came out on my heels. She grabbed me by the arm, her nails digging into my skin. “The hell you aren’t. You owe me at least that.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you serious? You seriously believe that?” She gripped my arm harder. “You were half a day away when you called me to tell me you weren’t coming back. And you don’t think you owe me anything?”

People walking past were giving us a wider berth.

I yanked her hand off my arm. “Our marriage was over, Lauren. We both knew it.”

“You knew it,” she said. “You knew it and by default, it was over for me. And you ran away like a scared little kid. You think it didn’t hurt me to see her empty room every day?” She hiccuped on sobs as she spoke. “You think you were the only one torn apart by that? My God! I told you that I still sometimes blame you. But even with that, I wasn’t ready to give up our marriage. You didn’t come back, so I had to.” The anger melted from her face and her mouth opened. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was trying to come up with an answer she didn’t have. “I mean, how did you just stop loving me? How did it change overnight? How did…”

“I saw her,” I said, cutting her off.

Her expression froze.

“Every time I looked at you,” I explained, the words coming out of my mouth like they contained jagged edges. “I saw Elizabeth.”

She took that in, started to say something, then stopped. Then she pivoted and walked off in a rush.

I didn’t go after her, just stood there as still as if I was standing in front of the mirror after a shower. I'd told her the truth. It had become too much to look at my wife every day and see my daughter. I held no illusions that that was my problem and no one else’s. But I hadn’t figured out a way to fix it and that was one of the reasons why I had stayed away from Coronado for so many years.

Seeing Lauren at the hospital, at dinner and in the cafe, I knew that nothing had changed for me.

Every time I looked at her, I saw my daughter who wasn’t there.