Every Breath(48)

At Hope’s place, he took a seat at the kitchen table, examining the images. He wished that Hope were with him; she would know how to help him make sense of things, and without her, he felt on edge. To soothe himself, he returned to work on the drawing of the two of them while the rain continued to fall. Beyond the windows, lightning flickered, mirroring his own roiling emotions, and he thought of the odd parallels between himself and his father.

Harry had left his mother in Africa and returned to America; in a couple of days, Tru would return to Africa, leaving Hope here in the States. His father and mother couldn’t find a way to be together, but Tru wanted to believe that he and Hope could be different. He wanted the two of them to make a life together, and as he continued to sketch, he wondered how to make that happen.



Exhausted, Tru didn’t realize Hope had returned from the wedding until he felt her slip into the bed beside him. It was past midnight and she’d already undressed, her skin hot to the touch. Without a word, she began to kiss him. He responded with caresses of his own, and when they began to make love, he tasted the salty tang of her tears. But he said nothing. It was all he could do to not cry himself at the thought of what the next day might bring. Afterward, she curled into him, and he held her as she fell asleep with her head on his chest.

Tru listened to the sound of her breathing, hoping it would settle him, but it didn’t. Instead, he lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling, feeling strangely and entirely alone.





NO MORE TOMORROWS




Tru woke at dawn, just as the morning light began to stream through the window, and reached for Hope, only to realize that the bed was empty. Propping himself up on his elbow, he wiped the sleep from his eyes, surprised and a little disappointed. He’d wanted to spend the morning lingering in bed with Hope, whispering and making love, staving off the reality that this would be their final day together.

Rising from the bed, Tru threw on the jeans and shirt he’d been wearing the day before. On the pillowcase he saw smudges of mascara, a remnant of last night’s tears, and felt a wave of panic at the thought of losing Hope. He wanted another day, another week, another year with her. He wanted a lifetime of years, and he was willing to do whatever she needed so they could stay together forever.

He mentally rehearsed what he would say to Hope as he headed toward the kitchen. He smelled coffee, but to his surprise Hope wasn’t there. He poured himself a cup and continued his search, poking his head into the dining room and family room to no avail. He finally traced her whereabouts to the back porch, where he could see her beyond the window, sitting in a rocker. The rain had stopped, and as she stared toward the ocean, Tru thought again that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He paused only slightly before pushing the door open.

Hope turned at the sound. Though she offered up a tentative smile, her eyes were rimmed with red. The exquisite sadness of her expression made him wonder how long she’d been alone with her thoughts, replaying the impossibilities of their situation.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.

“Good morning.”

When they kissed, he felt a hesitancy from her he hadn’t expected, and it suddenly rendered moot all the speeches he had rehearsed. He had the sense that even if he said the words, she was no longer ready to hear them. Something had shifted, he realized with foreboding, even if he wasn’t sure what.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.

“No,” he answered. “I didn’t hear you leave the bedroom.”

“I tried to be quiet.” The words sounded rote.

“I’m surprised you’re even awake, since you got in so late.”

“Sleeping in wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” He watched as she took a sip of coffee before going on. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

“I didn’t, either. I’ve been awake since four.” She motioned with her cup toward the rocker. “I dried your seat, but you might want to give it another wipe just to make sure.”

“All right.”

Grabbing the towel she’d left on the seat, he ran it over the wooden planks before perching on the edge of the rocker. His insides were roiling. For the first time in days, the sky showed patches of blue, though a quilt of white clouds still trailed out over the water, the tail end of the storm receding in the distance. Hope turned back toward the ocean, as though unable to face him, saying nothing.

“Was it raining when you woke up?” he asked into the silence. Small talk, he knew, but he wasn’t sure what else to do.

She shook her head. “No. It stopped sometime last night. Probably not long after I got home.”

He angled his rocker toward hers, waiting to see if she would do the same with hers. She didn’t. Nor did she speak. He cleared his throat. “How was the wedding?”

“It was beautiful,” she said, still refusing to look at him. “Ellen was glowing, and a lot less stressed than I thought she would be. Especially considering her phone call the other day.”

“The rain wasn’t a problem?”

“They ended up holding the ceremony on the porch. People had to stand shoulder to shoulder, but that made it more intimate, somehow. And the reception went off without a hitch. The food, the band, the cake…It was a lot of fun for everyone.”