Between Lost and Found

by Shelly Stratton

  “We’re all adults. You couldn’t make things right for her. Just accept it! We all have to take responsibility for our own messed-up lives, and it is not your job to—”

  “Yes, it was my job!” he shouted, pointing at his chest, making her jump. His voice echoed in the dark, seeming to bounce off the trees and the starry canopy above. “It was my job! I was her husband and I made a vow. ‘In sickness and in health.’ That’s what I told her. That was my promise, and I broke it—and now she’s dead! And I’ll never get a do-over. I’ll never get to make that up to her.”

  Janelle’s heart stopped. “She’s dead?”

  He closed his eyes and, after what felt like forever, finally nodded. “She killed herself this morning. An old buddy of mine called me and told me.”

  That cyborg stare at the fashion show—now she understood. It all made sense.

  “Oh, Sam, honey, I’m so—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “Like I said, I’m not one to depend on.” He placed his cap back on his head. “Get a good rest. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning in town, huh?” He dipped his head in a curt good-bye and started to turn toward the porch steps. Watching him, she felt her throat tighten. She started to shake.

  There was no way she was going to let him walk back to his patrol car and drive home alone to sit with his thoughts and his regrets. She knew what that was like, and frankly she had had her fill of it.

  Janelle reached out and grabbed his arm, making him turn to face her.

  “I heard what you said. I understood and . . . and I still want you to stay. Because I’ve . . . I’ve been where you are. Okay? I thought I came to Mammoth just to find my grandfather but . . .” She took a shuddering breath and released his arm. “But I did it to save my father, too, as crazy as that sounds. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t devastated when he died, but I was. No matter what he did to me and my mom, he was still my father! I still loved him. And I’ve been burdened with guilt because I didn’t try to save him when I had the chance. I could have looked for him, but I didn’t. I let him . . . I let him die alone. So I get it. I get it, okay?” She took another step toward Sam, drawing close. Tears were in her eyes. “But you can’t save someone who’s been dead for thirteen years. And I’ll be honest. . . I couldn’t save him even then, because he didn’t want to be saved, Sam. I realize that now. And you couldn’t save Gabby, either—no matter how much you wanted to . . . no matter how hard you tried.”

  At those words, she saw something break in him. He swallowed, and she could see tears were in his eyes, too.

  “We have to let it go! We have to forgive ourselves.”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Do you think you can do it? Because I think . . . I think I’m finally ready.”

  She then stood on the balls of her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. He squinted at her in confusion. She didn’t just want to let go of the guilt—but of the past, those old rules that guided her. That told her to leave her impulses and emotions behind and lead a boring, orderly life without risk or chaos. She was done with that, too.

  “I’m ready, Sam. Are you?”

  He dipped his head, almost in a nod, like he had finally relented. She raised her lips to his and kissed him. He responded almost immediately, wrapping his arms around her and parting his lips. Whatever last misgivings she had fell away like the clothes they would later leave on the cabin’s bedroom floor.

  The kiss deepened. She inhaled his scent and reveled in the rough feel of his five o’clock shadow against her cheek. She drew him closer. Janelle felt like someone had offered her a glass of some exquisite vintage wine and said, “Here, have a sip,” and instead she had decided to down the whole thing with one gulp. Sam was just as ravenous with her, shoving his hands into her hair, never pulling his mouth away.

  Janelle hadn’t slept with another man in almost two years and only five men in her entire lifetime, including an awkward sexual encounter on a stained tweed couch in a rec room her junior year at college. As she and Sam undressed in the soft glow of bedroom’s only lamp, she belatedly realized that he resembled none of her past lovers: he was pale, hairy, tall, and blond. As they lay in bed on top of crumpled sheets, she acknowledged that the torso pressing against her own and the arm wrapped around her were both new and foreign. But the newness was exciting, enticing. She took delight in the novelty known as Sam Adler.

  By the time he was centered between her thighs, she was gasping for air, feeling herself being pulled under some unseen tide. She clung to him and tried to hold on to the sensations of the moment, tried to appreciate the significance of what was happening, but couldn’t as the wave crested then fell over her again and again. Finally, she relented. She took her last gasp, closed her eyes, and let herself sink under the current.

  CHAPTER 27

  She snored. Sam didn’t know why that discovery amused him so much, but it did.

  “You know, I’ve been told that I’m a really quiet sleeper,” she had boasted at around two a.m. after they had made love for the second time and were nestled beneath the wrinkled sheets like caterpillars in their cocoons.

  Sam had yawned in response, more out of fatigue than boredom. By then, he could barely keep his eyes open. It was the type of sleepiness that came after a hard day ended with good, sweaty sex and little to no regrets.

  Her voice had sounded far away as she spoke. So did the squeak of the old bedsprings beneath them as she shifted closer to his side.

  “You’ll barely hear a peep out of me,” she whispered into chest hairs before he drifted off to sleep.

  But by six a.m., evidence to the contrary filled the cabin’s bedroom. Her snores sounded like a grizzly bear hibernating for the winter in a dank cave, and it roused Sam out of his blissful slumber. Once he heard it, all attempts of going back to sleep were impossible.

  She didn’t wake up when he climbed out of bed, nor did her snores subside. As he dressed and made his way to the bedroom door, they got louder. He watched her with her face partially obscured by her pillow and her mouth cocked open and he chuckled silently. He shook his head as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

  How could she not know she snores?

  He considered this as he made his way across the living room that was illuminated by intermittent shafts of light from the window facing the front porch. He entered the kitchen and opened and closed cabinet doors in search of coffee, real coffee. Not the bag of blond roast Starbucks that was sitting on the counter. He had turned away from the bag faster than if the label had said “Laced with arsenic.” After shifting aside a jar of olives and two boxes of linguini, he finally found it: a half-empty bag of unexceptional Community Coffee and a pack of coffee filters. He found the coffeemaker next to Bill’s old toaster near the fridge, poured in some ground beans and water, and waited for it to brew.

  Hadn’t anyone told Janelle she snored?

  You’d think her boyfriend would have told her by now, Sam thought as the coffee began to percolate.

  And just like that, the euphoria of the moment wore off. The realization hit Sam with a wallop. Her boyfriend . . .

  This wasn’t some ordinary morning after. They weren’t going to sit around, drink coffee, eat buttered toast, and gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes while they exchanged stories about their childhoods and joked about her snoring.

  Janelle was in a relationship with another man with whom she lived in a big house halfway across the country. Meanwhile, Sam was still recovering from a divorce from a woman who killed herself only yesterday. And now he and Janelle had slept together.

  He leaned back against the laminate counter and swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat.

  He hadn’t made any promises last night, and neither had she. Though, truth be told, they hadn’t said much of anything to each other after she kissed him. Neither had been very interested in conversation after that point. Desire, sadness,
and loneliness had made them both get swept up in the moment.

  Just two people dealing with a lot of shit, he thought.

  He had done something like this before with Rita and immediately felt regret the morning after—but he didn’t feel the regret this time around. He was at peace with what had happened between him and Janelle and hoped it could develop into something more.

  The last of the coffee dribbled into the beaker beneath the filter and a loud suction sound filled the kitchen. Sam turned off the coffeemaker and opened a cabinet in search of cups.

  As he pulled out two chipped mugs and set them on the counter, he resolved that he wouldn’t try to brush off what had happened between them. He wouldn’t pretend like it was nothing—a satisfying roll in the sheets—but he wouldn’t try to paint Janelle into a corner, either. She held all the cards in this. If she wanted to end it with her boyfriend and try to give a go to whatever was going on between her and Sam, he would try his damnedest to make it work. He had walked away before from one woman he loved because he didn’t think he had the strength, the fortitude to stick with her through thick and thin. He would find that strength this time around.

  But if Janelle decided that what had happened was something nice but also brief to be fondly remembered but not repeated, he would accept her decision—grudgingly. He would have to.

  Sam heard Janelle walk up behind him less than twenty minutes later. He was sitting in Bill’s rocking chair on the front porch, sifting through his muddled thoughts, finishing his cup of coffee, and watching the sun rise. He had left an empty mug on the counter next to the coffeemaker for her.

  “So this is where you are!” she exclaimed. “I was wondering where you had gotten off to. I thought you had left.”

  She sounded relieved that he hadn’t. That meant something, didn’t it?

  He turned toward the doorway where she stood, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t have to be at City Hall for another hour or so. I’ve been out here the whole time. I was going to leave soon, though. Should probably head home and take a shower, change clothes, shave.”

  “Oh?” Janelle asked, sounding a bit crestfallen.

  For the first time, Sam wondered how he could have ever confused her with Gabriela. The two women were similar but so vastly different. It was like comparing mayo to peanut butter, the Dodgers to the Braves, or the moon to the sun.

  She’s different now because I know her.

  He knew her, and he liked her. He more than liked her—and now he stood a good chance of losing her before he could even say definitively that he had her.

  “Yeah, but I can stay for a little while longer. Come sit with me,” he said, holding out his free hand to her.

  She hesitated, rubbing her bare arms against the chill in the morning air. He could see goose bumps sprouting on her skin. “I-I don’t have on a coat.”

  “Neither do I. Come sit with me.”

  She wavered a moment longer before finally stepping through the doorway and walking toward him on the porch. The floorboards creaked slightly beneath her weight with each step she took. When she reached the rocking chair, she hesitated again.

  “Go ahead and have a seat,” he said, gesturing to his lap. “Watch the sunrise with me.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and shook her head. She stared down at her feet. “I can’t do that. I’m not going to sit on you! You want your legs crushed?” she joked, forcing out an awkward laugh.

  “You didn’t crush them last night, did you?”

  Her gaze leaped to his face.

  Even though he promised himself that he wouldn’t, he was pushing her again, forcing her to make a decision.

  Are we or are we not going to do this, Janelle? I’m a forty-year-old man with little patience. Show me you want this or push me away, but don’t waste my time with the polite brush-off, he thought, feeling his pulse quicken as he waited for her response.

  Her smile widened, and she laughed an honest laugh this time around. “Fine. Have it your way.” She then plopped onto his lap and fell back against his chest, facing the vista of the mountain and trees.

  The wave of relief that washed over him was indescribable.

  He set down the coffee cup beside his feet on the porch and wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her close. She rested her head back on his shoulder and snuggled against him. They watched the dawn in mutual silence. She was soft and warm and the weight of her on top of his chest wasn’t crushing, just as it hadn’t been last night. It was reassuring.

  How low had he been yesterday? To what depths had he fallen? And now the world had flipped. At that moment, his contentment was surreal.

  “I’m about to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me,” she said out of nowhere several minutes later.

  Sam correctly guessed her question had nothing to do with the sunrise. His sense of euphoria was quickly waning.

  “Okay . . . what do you want to know?” he answered quietly to the crown of her head, feeling his heart go ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud against his rib cage. She was still looking off into the distance, but he was staring at the part at the center of her head with a focused intensity that made his eyes burn.

  “Is . . . is the body you guys found in the woods Pops?”

  That question had caught him off guard. He hadn’t thought that’s what she would ask. “Well . . . I can’t say for sure until they finish the autopsy, but it doesn’t look like it. The body . . . its condition . . . the medical examiner said he doesn’t think it’s Bill.”

  She sighed. “Okay, so if it’s not Pops, what are the chances of you guys finding him alive after all this time? Is it still good? Just tell it to me straight. I wanna know the truth.”

  He waited a beat before answering her question. He tightened his hold around her. “Anything is possible but from my experience . . . no, it’s not . . . it’s not good.”

  She sat silently for several seconds, not moving.

  “I’m sorry, Janelle.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ve . . . I’ve been bracing myself for this. Last night before you came, I cried my eyes out. I did my mourning—so I can do what I have to do next.”

  He frowned. “What do you have to do next?”

  “I have to go back home. I have to deal with my life. I don’t think I can stay with Mark anymore, and it’s not just because it’s what Pops would’ve wanted or because of . . . well, what we did last night. I don’t recognize myself anymore, Sam. I’m not . . . I’m not the same woman I was when I boarded that plane a week and a half ago.”

  “You don’t think you can stay with him?” he repeated back to her slowly.

  “No.” She paused and raised her head. She turned to gaze at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His lips tightened as he sat up in the rocking chair, forcing her to also sit erect. “You said you know what you have to do next, but it still doesn’t sound like you know for sure what you want to do.”

  “I said I couldn’t stay with him, that we had to break up.”

  “No, you said you don’t think you could stay with him.”

  “Why do you keep harping on the ‘think’ part?”

  “Because those two statements are very different. It still doesn’t sound like you’re sure what you want.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Look, I’m trying to take more risks and be braver, but I’m not like you, Sam. I wish I were, but I’m not.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you left Mammoth Falls and started a new life halfway across the country after falling in love with someone! I bet you didn’t even give it a second thought, did you?”

  He thought back to the moment in April 2007 when he had decided to toss his plane ticket into the hotel room trash can after his second date with Gabriela. He had opened his hotel menu and ordered the shrimp linguini an hour later. As he waited for his meal to arrive from room service, he had called his father and told him
that he was staying in the D.C. area permanently.

  Sam shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “See, I could never do that! Even if I know my life can’t continue the way it was, I can’t just . . . just drop everything! I can’t go down a checklist and just . . . just dump my boyfriend . . . quit my job . . . leave my house. I have to consider the repercussions!”

  “What repercussions?”

  “What repercussions?” she stared at him, dumbfounded. “Sam, I was in love with him and I think he was in love with me, too . . . kind of. We have a house together . . . a million-dollar mortgage. We were setting up a life together, and I can’t just—”

  He leaned forward so that they were almost nose-to-nose, and she instantly quieted.

  “None of that stuff matters if all those things make you unhappy. . . if they aren’t what you really want,” he whispered against her lips. “What do you really want?”

  She trembled as she exhaled, and he felt the heat of her breath on his mouth. He wanted to kiss her again but resisted the urge.

  “I want . . . I want to be . . .” She seemed to grasp for the right words. “I want to be brave enough to do whatever I need to do. I want to be confident that I made the right decision, and I wasn’t doing it out of fear or desperation or to prove to myself that I won’t have a screwed-up relationship like my parents. I want to make the best decision for me.”

  That wasn’t the answer he had hoped for or expected, but it was an honest answer. He could see the fear in her eyes as she said it.

  Despite what Janelle had said last night, what she had professed to him about being “ready,” he could see now that she was still lost. She was closer to finding her way and might have even found the beacon but hadn’t decided yet if she wanted to follow it. Sam had been here before, but he knew from experience that no one can drag you out of the forest. He had tried it before with Gabriela and failed. No, this was something Janelle would have to do herself. You had to find your way out on your own and trust in the direction you were going.