Every Breath

She wondered at how immediate it all still felt—the tangible weight of his feelings for her; even the implacable guilt. Something had truly broken inside her that morning she left, but she wanted to believe that in the break, a stronger element had eventually taken root. In the aftermath, whenever life seemed unbearably difficult, she would think of Tru and remind herself that if she ever reached the point where she needed him, he would come. He’d told her as much on their last morning together, and that promise was enough for her to carry on.

That night at the beach, as sleep remained out of reach, she’d found herself attempting to rewrite history in a way that gave her peace. She imagined herself turning the car around at the corner and racing back to him; she imagined sitting across the table from Josh and telling him that she’d met someone else. Dreamy images of a later reunion at the airport, where she’d gone to pick up Tru after his flight back from Zimbabwe, played out in her mind; in this fantasy they embraced near the baggage claim and kissed amid throngs of people. He put his arm around her as they walked to her car, and she pictured the casual way he tossed his duffel bag into the trunk as though it had actually happened. She imagined them making love in the apartment she once called home, all those years ago.

But after that, her visions had become clouded. She couldn’t visualize the kind of house they would have chosen; when she pictured them in the kitchen, it was either at the cottage her parents had sold long ago or the home she owned with Josh. She couldn’t imagine what Tru would do for a living; when she tried, she saw him returning at the end of the day dressed in the same kind of clothing he’d worn the week she’d met him, as though coming in from a game drive. She knew he’d regularly return to Bulawayo to see Andrew, but she had no frame of reference to even conjure up how his home or neighborhood might appear. And always, Andrew remained a ten-year-old, his features forever frozen in time, just as Tru remained forever forty-two.

Strangely, when she fantasized about a life with Tru, Jacob and Rachel were always present. If she and Tru were eating at the table, Jacob was refusing to share his french fries with his sister; if Tru was drawing on the back porch of her parents’ cottage, Rachel was finger-painting at the picnic table. In the school auditorium, she sat beside Tru as Jacob and Rachel sang in the choir; on Halloween, she and Tru trailed behind her children, who were dressed as Woody and Jessie from Toy Story 2. Always, always, her children were in the life she imagined with Tru, and though she resented the intrusion, Josh was there as well. Jacob in particular bore a strong resemblance to his father, and Rachel had grown up thinking that one day she might become a doctor.

Hope had eventually gotten out of bed. It was chilly at the beach, and, putting on a jacket, she’d retrieved the letter Tru had written to her long ago and seated herself on the back porch. She’d wanted to read it, but couldn’t summon the will to do so. Instead, she’d stared at the darkness of the ocean, clutching the well-worn envelope, overwhelmed by a surge of loneliness.

She’d thought to herself that she was alone at the beach, far from anyone she knew. Only Tru was with her; except of course, he was never really there at all.

Hope had returned from her week at the beach the previous year with a mixture of hope and dread. This year, she told herself that things would be different. She had decided that this would be her last trip to the cottage, and in the morning, after placing the box on the back seat, Hope rolled her suitcase to the rear of the car with a determined step. Her neighbor Ben was raking his lawn and came over to put it in the trunk. She was thankful for his help. At her age injuries came more easily and were often slow to heal. Last year, she’d slipped in the kitchen, and though she hadn’t fallen, catching herself had left her with a sore shoulder for weeks.

She ran through her mental checklist before getting in the car: the doors were locked, she’d turned out all the lights, the garbage cans stood by the curb, and Ben had agreed to collect her mail and newspapers. The drive would take her a bit less than three hours, but there was no reason to rush. Tomorrow, after all, was the day that mattered. Just thinking about it made her nervous.

Thankfully, traffic was light for most of the trip. She drove past farmland and small towns, keeping a constant speed until she reached the outskirts of Wilmington, where she ate lunch at a bistro she remembered from the year before. Afterward, she swung by a grocery store to stock the refrigerator, stopped at the rental office to pick up the keys, and began the final leg of her journey. She found the cross street she needed, made a few turns, and eventually pulled in the drive.

The cottage resembled the one her parents had once owned, with faded paint, steps leading up to the front door, and a weather-beaten porch out front. Seeing it made her miss the old homestead keenly. As she’d suspected, the new owners had wasted no time in tearing it down and building a newer, larger home similar to the one where Tru had stayed.

Since then, she’d only rarely visited Sunset Beach, as it no longer felt like home. Like many of the small towns dotting the coast, it had changed with the times. The pontoon bridge had been replaced with something more modern, larger homes were now the norm, and Clancy’s was gone as well, the old restaurant limping along until a year or two after the century began. Her sister Robin had been the one to tell her about the restaurant’s closing; on a trip to Myrtle Beach ten years ago she and her husband had made a detour to the familial island, because she, too, had been curious about the changes time had wrought.

These days, Hope preferred Carolina Beach, an island a little ways to the north, and closer to Wilmington. She’d first visited it upon her counselor’s suggestion in December 2005, when the divorce proceedings with Josh were at their worst. Josh had made plans to bring Jacob and Rachel out west for a week during winter break. The kids were young teenagers, moody in general, and the implosion of their parents’ marriage had compounded the stress they were feeling. While Hope had recognized that the vacation might be a beneficial distraction for the kids, her counselor pointed out that spending the holidays at home alone wouldn’t be good for her own mental state. She had suggested Carolina Beach to Hope; in the winter, she’d said, the island was low-key and relaxing.

Hope had booked a place sight unseen, and the little cottage at the beach had turned out to be exactly what she’d needed. It was there where Hope had begun the process of healing; where she’d gathered the perspective she needed to enter the next phase of her life.

She had known she wouldn’t reconcile with Josh. She had cried over him for years, and while his last affair had been the deal breaker, the first one was still the most painful to remember. At the time, the kids weren’t yet in school and their needs were constant; meanwhile her father had recently taken a turn for the worse. When Hope learned of the affair, Josh apologized and promised to end it. However, he remained in contact with the woman even as Hope’s father got sicker and sicker. She felt as though she was on the verge of panic attacks for months, and it was the first time she’d considered ending the marriage. Instead, overwhelmed at the prospect of upheaval and afraid of the devastating effect divorce could have on her kids, she stuck it out and did her best to forgive. But other affairs followed. There were more tears and too much arguing, and by the time she finally told Josh that she wanted a divorce, they’d been sleeping in separate bedrooms for nearly a year. The day he moved out, he told her she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

Despite her best intentions, bitterness and rancor surfaced in the divorce. She was shocked at the rage and sadness she felt, and Josh was equally angry and defensive. While the custody arrangements had been fairly straightforward, the financial wrangling had been a nightmare. Hope had stayed at home when the kids were young and it wasn’t until they were both in school that she went back to work, but no longer as a trauma nurse. Instead, she’d worked part-time with a family practice group so she could be home when the kids finished at school. While the hours were easier, the pay was less, and Josh’s attorney argued strenuously that since she had the skills necessary to increase her salary, any alimony should be drastically reduced. Nor, like so many men, did Josh believe in an equal property division. By that point, Josh and Hope were communicating primarily through their lawyers.