by Claire Raye
“Maggie,” she says, once again, her tone clipped, like a jab at me for failing to mention it quickly enough.
“I’m so fucking glad the rest of the world knows my plans before I even get a chance to tell my fiancé.” I pull my hands through my hair, furious at Matt and Maggie for making me look like I’m keeping something from Bridgitte. And even though I am, I wasn’t keeping the trip a secret.
“I’m not your fiancé,” Bridgitte says, sharply and my eyes dart to her hand as she adds, “My ring is on the kitchen table.”
“What the fuck, Bridgitte? Seriously? This seems a bit extreme.”
“Listen, Elliot, go to Boston, get your shit together and we’ll see what happens when you get back.” She’s very definitive in her words, as if she’s given this more thought than just today.
I feel blindsided despite my own feelings. I didn’t expect Bridgitte to be the one who would end it. Quite honestly, I never even thought it would come to this.
“If this is what you want,” I start to say, not entirely sure where to go from there. I don’t want to lose Bridgitte, but maybe I’m only holding on to her because I have nothing else.
The conversation ends there, because a few minutes later Bridgitte has her suitcase packed and she’s walking out the door. No more words are exchanged and as much I feel like I should stop her, I don’t. I let her leave.
Chapter Fifteen
The week passes so fucking slowly that by the time Thursday night arrives I’m not even interested in trying to find Nora. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally. The breakup with Bridgitte is taking a toll on me that I never thought was possible. I miss her, and pair that with my stressful week at work and I’m done.
I’m on my way to the airport, driving mindlessly through the evening humidity and haze as it clouds my mind. Matt sent a text an hour ago letting me know he’s in Boston and has checked into the hotel. Matt bought tickets to a Red Sox game just so we’d have a solid alibi, but it’s unnecessary now. No reason to hide anything from Bridgitte, yet I still find myself wondering how much she knows about what I’m doing. Matt is the only person who really knows about Nora and by this point I’m sure he’s told Maggie. I can only hope he hasn’t, because there might be some time to salvage what I have with Bridgitte.
I have the file from the PI in my laptop bag along with the email saved on my phone, but it’s getting to a point where I’m not certain I even care. I’ve ruined my future with Bridgitte, something that was solid but is now a mess. The only thing I have left is finding Nora and what if that turns out to be a disaster.
I’m so fucking torn as to what I should do. I’ve spent the last twelve years trying to rid my life of Nora and every time I think I’m over it, something pulls me back. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about her after all this time tells me there was something between us, something stronger than anything I’ve ever felt and it needs to be pursued. I need to finally find closure.
Matt’s waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel when I arrive and I quickly dump my bag in the room, and we head out for dinner.
We choose a restaurant on the water, and taking advantage of the warm night air, we sit outside. We order a few beers, crab dip and some oysters. The water is calm, but the restaurant tells a different story with the noisy crowd and the packed tables. The two of us sit looking out at the ocean, neither of us speaking, but Matt eventually breaks the silence.
“So what’s your plan for tomorrow?” he asks, his eyebrows going up as if he knows this is so fucking idiotic. “You just gonna show up at this chick’s house and be like, ‘Hey, I think I fucked you on a beach a long time ago’ or do you have a legit plan?”
I don’t have a plan. I have nothing but the notes from the PI and a false sense of hope that keeps me going.
I wait a few seconds before answering, like I’m suddenly going to have some fucking epiphany and know exactly what to do.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m going to do,” I tell him because that’s really all I’ve got. I’m just going to drive out to the house, ring the doorbell and fucking hope like hell it’s her.
“It’s been twelve fucking years, so I guess the straightforward approach is cool,” Matt adds, but I can tell by the look on his face he thinks I’m crazy.
“I need it to be over. I know I’ve said this a million times before, but I really do. Imagine living your life wondering if the person you were meant to be with slipped through your fingers. Imagine not meeting Maggie?” I reference Maggie because maybe it will put my situation into perspective for him.
“I can’t imagine my life without Maggie, but I’m not sure I would have spent twelve years trying to find her. She hated me when we first met.” Matt shrugs his shoulders and laughs. He’s right. Maggie did hate him. He was a drunken asshole and sloppily hit on her. But in the sober light of day, she found him endearing and the rest is history.
Maybe he didn’t have that intense and immediate connection with Maggie, making it hard for him to relate. I know what I felt with Nora was different and it’s something that has been impossible to forget.
“Don’t be a dick,” I say, glaring at him. “Think about Maggie after she stopped hating you. Wouldn’t you do anything to find her, anything to keep her if something came between you two?”
Matt stops talking, contemplating what I’ve just said and then nods his head. “Yeah, I probably would. I don’t think I’d just give up. But twelve years…” Matt trails off and I know he’s once again thinking how obscene it seems, how much time has passed and that I’m seeking a girl I hardly know.
“What if her name isn’t even Nora?” Matt says out of nowhere, but the way he poses the question makes it sound like it’s been on his mind. “Your name isn’t Elliot. What if she’s looking for you too and all this time she’s been searching for Elliot.”
Like this same thought hasn’t crossed my mind a thousand times. But in that moment when I was standing there on the porch with her, the smell of her hair, the warmth of skin, the intensity of the situation, it never occurred to me to explain to her that while I go by Elliot, it isn’t actually my name.
“You should blame your great grandfather for this whole fucking mess,” Matt jokes. “Fucking family name is keeping your girl from finding you.”
“If it was only that fucking simple,” I joke back. “Too many in one family, so I get Elliot.”
That’s exactly what happened. I was named after my father, who was named after his father, who was named after his father, but in a room full of people with the same name, nicknames only last so long before you run out, so I was shackled Elliot, the middle name we all share. And if Matt’s even remotely close to being right, my name has fucked up everything.
The conversation shifts and instead of talking about Nora we fall back into our normal rhythm of pointless topics. It’s a nice break from the thoughts that have consumed me since I heard back from the PI, but that doesn’t mean it’s not always there in the back of my mind.
After a few too many beers, the two of us make our way back to the hotel where I’m hoping to crash hard, wake up tomorrow and end this endless search for Nora. Whether it’s her or not, I have to commit myself to the fact that it’s over. Once and for all, I need to move on with my life and finally figure out where I want to be. Maybe my move to Chicago was a mistake. Maybe meeting Bridgitte isn’t what was supposed to happen. And maybe this whole obsession with Nora was just a one-off thing, but I cling to it because I need something to believe in, something to remind me that I was happy once.
We’ve been walking in silence since leaving the bar and Matt is the first to speak, asking me a question I still wish I had a solid answer for, but I don’t.
“What makes her different?” he says and for a split second I wonder if he’s talking about Nora or Bridgitte.
It’s the same question I ask myself each time my thoughts are consumed with her. Why her? Why not Bridgitte or the girl I dated my freshman year or my fir
st girlfriend from high school or anyone I’ve had more than twelve hours of contact with?
I sigh hard and run my hand through my hair. I don’t even know where to begin. The entire night was such a whirlwind of fate, at least that’s what it felt like. Meeting Nora, and knowing she wouldn’t have left that party with anyone, but she left with me. The beach and the stars, the silence and the conversation; it all meshed together in a way that was unexpected, yet somehow exactly how it should’ve been.
“She was different,” I say, but it’s a copout, a fake answer that doesn’t give any insight into why I’m still holding on to her memory, holding on to the memory of us. Because in the end, maybe that’s all it was, just a memory.
“How?” Matt asks, questioning me with more authority this time, pushing me to be honest with not only him, but with myself.
“I don’t know,” I respond, my tone growing annoyed because answering these questions means I have to admit I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. “The connection was…” I trail off looking for the right word. “Different. Stronger. More intense.” Even the way the words come out makes it sound like I’m questioning myself, as if I have no idea what was so different about Nora. She was different though.
I wanted to be near her even if we didn’t talk, even if there was nothing said. I remember the way she smelled and the color of her hair and the way the pen slid across her skin as I wrote the words ‘write what you love’ on her arm. There was a connection there, an understanding of two personalities and I’ve never felt it again. It was as if she knew me before we even met.
I don’t say any of this out loud. It feels too personal, too over the top and obsessive. Like traveling to Boston to meet a stranger isn’t.
“I wish I could explain it,” I say, hoping this culls Matt’s need to know the background behind it all. “It’s hard to put into words without sounding crazy.”
“You’re already crazy,” he jokes, but I know it borders on the truth.
“Yeah, I know.”
The silence falls all around us once again, but Matt breaks it with a final question, “Will it really be over after this?” He’s heard me say this over and over, but I never follow through. I still return to the beach and leave the note every year. I spent an entire year searching for her before I had the resources I have now. I’ve hired the PI and scoured Facebook and email records, college databases and phone records. And after each failed attempt, I give up or at least I say I do. This time I want to mean it.
“I hope so.”
We reach the doors of the hotel and Matt pulls the door open and I walk in. With my back to him he says, “Bridgitte’s a great girl. You’re just having a hard time seeing that right now. I hope you don’t regret all of this one day.”
I can’t respond, because I think he’s probably right.
I fall into bed with the hope this is all a dream, that tomorrow I’ll wake up and none of this will have happened. Meeting Nora and my breakup with Bridgitte, showing up in Boston to stalk an unknown girl.
What a fucking mess.
I wake up early the next morning with a sick feeling in my chest and a rock in the pit of my stomach. Something about the day feels all wrong, like it’s already doomed. And I think I know the outcome already. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.
I drag my ass out of bed and into the shower before Matt is even out of bed. It’s not like I’m in a hurry, but in a way I am. I just want this over. I could just go home and never find out if this woman is the Nora I’m looking for because I know the likelihood is almost nonexistent. It would wear on me, so I push through.
I shower, get dressed and begin looking through the file for her address. As soon as I find it, I put it into my GPS and see it will take about fifteen minutes to get there without traffic, but given it will be rush hour soon, it will probably take longer.
Matt is still sleeping and I debate about leaving without him, but a few minutes later he wakes up and begins to get ready.
I have mixed feelings about him coming with me to see if this person is Nora. It’s embarrassing that I’m still looking for someone after all this time, but it’s also weird to go it alone.
We don’t really say much to each other as he gets ready and the minutes pass slowly leading to a strange silence. I’m sure Matt doesn’t know what to say anymore so he just goes through the motions with me hoping it will be over soon.
“You ready?” Matt asks as he’s putting on his shoes and all I do is nod my head. I’ve been trying to find the words to explain to him why I keep doing this, but I come up short every time. No matter what I say it still sounds fucking stupid.
I hit start on my phone as soon as we’re in the car and the voice begins to direct us to the address. Matt turns on the radio drowning out the awkward silence in the car, and right now any noise is better than the thoughts that cloud my head.
Within fifteen minutes we’re driving around a small neighborhood on the edge of Boston. It’s quiet and the houses are small but well maintained, and we pull up in front of a brick bungalow with a wide front porch and a white Toyota in the driveway.
I let out a sigh of relief that the house isn’t in some terrible neighborhood or that it isn’t rundown or riddled with repairs because I’ve always hoped Nora did something great, that her life was as she envisioned it. And as much as I believe this isn’t her, it’s still a relief.
The relief fades quickly and the anxious feeling from this morning returns with full force. I attribute it to the situation but it feels like more than that. My throat begins to tighten up and my palms sweat, and just as we’re about to step out of the car my phone rings.
I grab it from the cup holder and look at it, my hand on the door handle, the other on the phone as I see Bridgitte’s name appear on the screen. I just can’t fucking deal with her right now. She obviously realizes the timing of her call is just damn perfect and is now regretting her decision to run off.
“You gonna get that?” Matt asks, but he already knows the answer.
“No. It’s Bridgitte. It seems like a bad time.”
Matt shakes his head and gets out of the car, following his lead, I get out too and we both meet at the front of the car.
Feeling the need to defend myself I say, “She wouldn’t have left with anyone at that party but she left with me. There was a reason she did.”
As we’re standing outside the car, the front door of the house opens and I suck in a hard breath. This is it.
Chapter Sixteen
My phone rings again just as an older man steps out onto the front porch, locking the door behind him. I pull my phone from my pocket and find Bridgitte’s name lighting up the screen once again. Ignoring her, I shove it back in my pocket, but her incessant calling distracts me, because my phone begins ringing immediately following the last call.
My heart is pounding and I don’t know if it’s from what I’m about to do or the fact that Bridgitte keeps calling. Everything about this moment feels wrong and I suddenly grow nauseous as the man walks toward his car. He catches a glimpse of Matt and me standing at the car and stops.
“Can I help you?” he calls out
Neither Matt nor I say anything. I can’t seem to gain my composure or figure out what the fuck to say. It’s obvious it’s not Nora.
“You married?” I ask, and the question comes out strangely and really intrusive. This isn’t my business but the man pauses a second and then answers.
“I was, but my wife passed away many years ago.”
That explains so much. The reason why there is no information on the Nora the PI found. She’s dead. No pictures, no email address or Facebook page, no record of her. It’s not her.
His hand is on the car door as if he’s in a hurry to get somewhere, and all I can say in response to his answer is, “okay.”
He steps away from the car, walking toward Matt and me, and says, “Maybe you’re looking for my daughter Alice?”
I don’t say a
nything at first because my phone keeps ringing. It’s clear this man isn’t who I’m looking for and with my thoughts a total fucking mess and my assumption that his deceased wife’s name is Nora, I thank him for his time and get back in my car.
By now I have six missed calls from Bridgitte and one from a number I don’t recognize along with two voicemail messages.
“So that’s it?” Matt asks with a hint of annoyance to his voice as he closes the car door and we both watch the man drive away.
“Something’s wrong,” I tell him, my phone in my hand. I knew it the moment I woke up this morning, I felt it, and I could sense it, and now I know it had nothing to do with finding Nora and everything to do with Bridgitte.
“What do you mean?” Matt questions as his annoyance with the situation turns to pissed off.
“There’s something wrong with Bridgitte,” I say and as the words leave my mouth my heart bangs wildly against my chest. The car is warm and the collar of my shirt begins to choke me and I tug at it as my phone rings again.
This time I answer, my is throat dry and I swallow hard as Matt mumbles, “For fuck’s sake.”
“Bridgitte,” I say, a panic lingering in my voice and as I say her name it sounds abnormally loud in the car, like it echoes in my brain reminding me of what I’ve lost.
“No, Elliot,” the voice says and I recognize it immediately, my empty hand reaching across and slapping Matt in the chest.
“Maggie!” I shout and as my hand makes contact with Matt, I can see the fear in his eyes. “Why do you have Bridgitte’s phone? Why are you there? Where’s Bridgitte?” The questions fly from my mouth before she even has a chance to answer and the panic I’ve been feeling seems to fill the car and take Matt with it.
Maggie begins to cry and I can hardly understand what she’s saying. It’s a jumbled mess paired with Matt trying to ask me what the fuck is going on.