Halfway to You(88)

I was Dorothy stepping into Oz. The rest of my life was about to start—a life of color. A life with Todd.

We had booked a suite at the Pearl Beach Resort, which was poised on the edge of Matavai Bay, just east of the city. It was a spacious, clean place, with fountains and big-leafed flora filling the gaps between long hallways and wide staircases. There was a swimming pool, an open-air restaurant, and a black sand beach. The bay was a dark turquoise, shaded gray by the moody clouds overhead. In three days, we would take a ferry to the neighboring island to snorkel in a true teal lagoon.

But for the night, I had the suite to myself; Todd’s flight wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow morning.

So I unpacked.

Wandered the beach.

Swam in the pool.

Read.

Ate dinner and turned in early.

I awoke at four, having slept nearly ten hours. I walked onto the balcony and watched the sky gradually bloom with light. The tropical breeze was velvet on my skin. White birds swung out of treetops that swayed just beyond my top-floor view. Everything was awake. Everything was lush and pulsing and alive.

I felt alive.

I felt lush, and pulsing.

At five, I found a table with a red umbrella shrugged up against the beach on a planked patio. The hotel staff were still setting up, but they brought me bad coffee and heavenly fruit. I lit a nervous cigarette and watched the surf kissing the sand.

Todd would arrive soon. Any minute.

I watched the shape of the beach change as the tide shifted. An hour passed. The sky darkened and opened up, rain pattering on my umbrella. In the distance, beams of sunlight streaked the sky. The rain departed as quickly as it had come, leaving behind the fresh scent of wet soil and hibiscus. I closed my eyes as the breeze caressed my neck.

The breaking of my heart that morning was a gradual thing, like the eroding of a cliff.

It started with the surf, then the rain, then my checking the time. People emerged from their rooms, filled up the restaurant. The waitress asked me about eggs, toast. I barely knew what was happening. I wouldn’t allow myself to worry. My heart would squeeze, and I’d tell myself gently: Don’t fret. Perhaps his flight had been delayed; perhaps he couldn’t catch a cab right away; perhaps the cab had gotten lost.

Perhaps: He’s not coming.

By ten thirty, waves of realization had battered the sandy bluff of my heart; I was the sum of a million fragmented, pulverized parts, drawn into the sea. By eleven, I wondered if I could ever reassemble myself into the solid land I once had been—or if I would remain as strewn and tiny as sand, from that morning into eternity.

I waited through the afternoon. Storm clouds continued to collide with the mountains, and rain pummeled the palms, the umbrellas, my balcony. In our room, I shivered with anger and worry. Either he had stood me up, or something terrible had happened. My mind circled through all possible scenarios, from Todd’s plane nose-diving into the Pacific to him organizing this trip with the sole intention of abandoning me as some sort of cruel revenge.

I fell asleep fretting and awoke to the phone ringing. I clambered for it, knocking the base off the side table. I held the receiver to my ear, saying, “Hello? Hello?”

“Ann,” Todd said, and a surge of relief thrummed through my core.

“Where are you?”

“Colorado.”

“What happened? Was there an emergency?”

A pause. “No emergency.”

I was glass shattering against rock. “But I . . . I came all this way.”

“Ann, there’s something I need to tell you,” he began.

“Well, what is it? The bookstore? Keith?”

“Just listen, all right?” His voice was strained. “Before I contacted you about Tahiti, I . . . slept with someone. It was only one time. She’s an old friend, and we got drunk, and—” He sighed, rattling the receiver. “The day before my flight . . . she called to tell me she was pregnant.”

I closed my eyes against the battery of emotions that smacked me all at once: Jealousy and betrayal.

Bitterness and sorrow.

Anger and anguish.

“You had already departed, so I couldn’t reach you. But I had to talk to her—be there for her—so I missed my flight. Today . . .” His voice grew watery. “She just called, and she . . . she miscarried.”

Deep in the tissues of my organs, a dull and numbing hurt bloomed. I didn’t dare move. If it was relief that I felt, it was horrible and guilt ridden.

“This news has gutted me. It took me right back to—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, Ann. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, I—”

“I came here for you,” I said. “Tahiti was your idea, not mine. I was doing fine before you invited me here, but now—” I choked back a sob. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to me? You’re giving me whiplash. You’re—”

“What was I supposed to do?” he said, his voice all breath and force.

“Not get a girl pregnant!” The situation made me seethe, bleed, ache.

“That’s not fair,” Todd said. “How could I possibly have control over—”

“I’ll tell you what’s not fair, Todd: flying halfway across the world for a man who didn’t come. Loving a man for the better part of fifteen years and never knowing where I stand. Either love me and be here with me, or don’t.”