Found

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present.” ― John Rohn

  Hazel

  “After the way I behaved, I can see why you don’t believe you’re everything to me,” Elliot says, walking around the living room. “Nothing can be undone. But I wish it were possible. I want to erase all those years we spent without each other. I want to hug you, to talk to you for hours. Most of all, I want you to forgive me for everything that happened between us.”

  “You’re forgiven, but I don’t think we can go back to…” I shake my head.

  “But you’re here, everything can go back to the way it used to be.”

  I hug my stomach, soothing the uneasiness that his confession created. He erased me. I was nothing while he stripped. That’s a lot to process in just minutes. Days, months. Perhaps my brain is broken—again.

  Breathe Hazel, take a few sips of air in, then the same out.

  “Can we stop?” I glance at him and then around the house. This is just too much to take in one day. “Change the subject, talk about something different.”

  How about get out of my house. Lose my number. Make the pain go away.

  “Why?” He glances at me.

  “This trip down memory lane is too much. I was in therapy for years.”

  He straightens and takes a deep breath. His brows furrow, his eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I whisper, rubbing my sternum.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Have you ever heard that the most beautiful of memories are the worst? They cut your insides as if they were shards of glass. Nails puncturing your heart, making you bleed as you recall them.”

  “It’s worse for people who suffer depression.”

  Leaning forward, I say. “I have depression. I learned to manage it pretty well.” I lift one of my shoulders slightly, the corners of my lips stretching lightly. “Sometimes, I break down without notice.”

  My phone buzzes again, and I welcome the distraction.

  Scott: I forgot to ask, have you eaten yet?

  I smile at his question. He worries so much about me and even in the distance tries to make sure I’m okay.

  Hazel: What do you think?

  Scott: That you haven’t because when you’re busy, you forget. Do you want me to send you food? My treat.

  “Depression?” Elliot’s voice is low.

  I lift my gaze and find him studying me.

  “That’s impossible, you’re so active and strong-willed.”

  I shake my head because the stigma surrounding mental illness is too broad. Many people aren’t receptive or understanding. “So? Depression is like love, just because you can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

  My stomach growls at that moment. Elliot looks at me and presses his lips together.

  “It’s past seven, have you had anything to eat yet?”

  “I could use something sweet,” I respond.

  “Let’s grab a pint of rocky road with chocolate chips on top,” he suggests. “But first we should have something hearty at the diner.”

  “The diner?” I angle my head, thinking about their chocolate milkshakes. Moving my gaze toward the kitchen, I conclude that’s a no-brainer to accept the invitation. After I have some food, I can tackle my room.

  I open my mouth to say yes but change my mind at the last second. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Seeing you is confusing and painful. We’re now two strangers, maybe we should stay that way.”

  He’s crazy if he thinks I can do this again. I think about all the men I’ve dated since we divorced, and stop breathing. This is almost exactly the way I react when they start wanting more. Bugs are crawling under my skin. My lungs stop functioning. I have to go.

  “You’re back, we should find a way back to each other,” he suggests. “Heal, revisit our past…”

  I healed, didn’t I?

  “We can’t go back to what we had. Revisiting old places, reliving memories…” I hug myself.

  Elliot is right next to me, extending his hand. “Hi, Elliot McFee. Divorced. I own a construction company. Surfing is my passion, and construction is my profession.”

  “Have dinner with me, Hazel?”

  My gaze drops along with my stomach. Snatching my hand from his hold. “I’m sorry, Elliot but I’m too busy,” I exhale as I say the words, touching the base of my neck.

  ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

  Hazel: Have you ever had a serious relationship after?

  Scott: After what?

  Hazel: After the girl who pretended that you knocked her up and wanted a big wedding or a settlement.

  As usual, the man calls me. I answer with a hello.

  “Are you in your apartment?”

  “Yes, I just arrived,” I say, hanging my purse and taking off my shoes. “Where are you?”

  “Home,” he exhales and remains silent as he opens the doors of the cabinets over the bar.

  I can picture him taking the bottle of scotch, searching for a tumbler, and pouring himself a glass. Three fingers. Four if it was a hard day.

  “Why are we talking about her?” His tone isn’t angry, but it sounds like he’s spitting poison.

  I never met her. Only heard about her and all his other ‘serious’ relationships from Fitz. Later, Scott confirmed that everything his brother told me was true. One of them didn’t want to deal with Hunter’s agoraphobia. Another cheated on him. The last one pretended to be pregnant.

  “Just wondering because I’ve never seen you date long term.”

  “You haven’t either unless you count the last two years we’ve been together.”

  “Were we together?”

  “Is there a point to this conversation, Bee?” His voice is soft but rough around the edges. Only a man like Scott can pull something like that.

  “Elliot dropped by my parents’ house,” I explain. “While we spoke, I realized that I’ve let no man get too close to my heart.”

  “You don’t,” he confirms. “It’s well guarded.”

  But I gave it to you, and you never wanted it. Did I keep Scott away from me too?

  “Did you eat something?” His voice is soft.

  I march toward the kitchen. “No, I’m about to make myself a sandwich.”

  “Come over here, and I’ll cook for you all weekend,” he offers. “Or I’ll take you out on a date.”

  “We never went out on a date—well, not in Manhattan.” I sigh, pressing the speaker and setting the phone on the counter as I open the loaf of bread.

  “I’d take you to Juanes,” he says. “Your favorite Mexican restaurant. One of the few places where nobody is watching us.”

  “I love that place, but there's nothing romantic about loud mariachi music and spicy food,” I spread mayo on top of the bread, and go to the fridge for the deli and condiments.

  “Well, it’s winter. The option to take you out on the yacht and cook for you is off the table.”

  “How about just staying at home?” He offers after a long pause.

  “Is it because we’re not in New York that you’re different?” I dare to ask, cutting a tomato.

  “There’s nothing different about me.” He grunts, then exhales. “What’s the purpose of this call, Bee?”

  “I have so many questions.” I open the turkey, staring at my healthy dinner, removing one of the tomato slices.

  “Please, don’t ask what you’re not ready to hear.”

  “What does that mean, Scott?” I grab the second slice of bread and close my sandwich. “You sound frustrated, defeated…what’s going on?”

  “I feel like I’m in the middle of a war and I’m losing.”

  “What are you battling?” I take him off the speaker, grab my plate, my phone and go to my bedroom.

  “My demons, your past, the uncertainty of my future…” He trails off as if losing himself on the answer of what seems his entire existence.
“I wonder if I’m part of your timeline, or how can I make my way back to it.”

  That last sentence caresses my soul. He understands my essence. I might not be my timeline, they don’t define me, but creating them matters.

  “Does it matter if you are?” I retort, waiting for an answer, for much more. “The last time I check you didn’t want to be a part of it. You know, commitment, kids, house, dog…infinite.”

  “Can we change the subject?” he suggests. “I’m not in a good place.”

  And that’s our biggest problem, I always want more, everything from him. He only gives me smidgens of what I need.

  “When are you coming back?” I ask, wondering if I should take a plane to be by his side.

  “Sunday.” He sounds like a hurt lion.

  “How was your day, grumpy?”

  “Too short, too long…” His rough voice lowers, the edge and defeat doesn't disappear. “I didn’t like it.”

  “You want me to fly back home?”

  “Where is home, Hazel?”

  I gasp. Where is home? Looking around my bedroom, I only find four white walls, a bed I’m just enjoying, and a new comforter I got only a few weeks ago. I reach for the frame I have on my nightstand, it’s a picture of us.

  “That’s a complicated question, Scotty,” I respond weakly, scared at the emptiness taking over my mind.

  “Have you found what you were looking for?”

  “I’m not even sure what it is that I’m looking for,” I whisper.

  “It’s time for me to go to bed,” he announces.

  “Please, don’t leave me. Not yet,” I plead, trying to fill the void with his voice. “I miss you.”

  “You have me for as long as you wish,” he responds. “Tell me about your day.”

  My heart relaxes knowing that he’s by my side, that his voice will accompany me until I’m asleep.

  I’m not alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality.” ― Lao Tzu

  Hazel

  The house in Santa Cruz was built in the sixties. The kitchen, living room, and dinning-room are actual rooms. There’re no open spaces. After watching a YouTube video on how to demolish a wall, I am ready to continue the purge. The stuff in my room can wait a few more days. Tonight, I need to smash through the walls. This has been the day from hell. Scott sent a bouquet. Not just any flowers, but my favorite blue orchids along with a granola bar. It arrived at eleven. The note read:

  To remind you I’m always right beside you.

  Scott

  P.S. Don’t forget to eat lunch.

  I wanted to call him, ask what that meant but my gut talked me out of it.

  When I arrived at the house ready to declutter this residence, I found a surprise on my doorstep. A basket with wine, Doritos, and a note.

  Have dinner with me.

  Eli.

  Translation, here’s some wine to numb the pain I caused. Can we try to break your heart one more time, Hazel?

  I swing the sledgehammer, hitting the wall, I release some of my pent-up energy. How dare he asks for another chance? It didn’t take me long to find purpose. Some days, I was strong enough to let myself smile. Others, I couldn’t shed the sadness. There wasn’t a night when I didn’t cry. They were tears of pain, anger, denial, and depression.

  I remember the time when it seemed impossible. It was to put one foot in front of the other, but once I got the hang of my new life the sun shined, and the possibilities became infinite. Each day I learned to fight the sadness and the darkness. It's hard, but with each breath I am fighting it.

  Boom! Boom! I smash the wall harder. Pieces of drywall and dust fly all around me. Once the debris and trash are out of the way this place will be bigger and brighter. That’s what I need, to declutter my mind. Clean out everything that’s not good for me.

  That’s why I’ve been closed to the world. Last night, I realized that I’ve been pushing away all the opportunities that I’ve come across, because of Elliot.

  Is that what happened with Scott?

  It’s hard to know when he’s just as screwed up as I am. My hand itches to reach for my phone and call him. I have so many questions, and I know in my heart he has answers. A lot of them would help unknot the mess that’s my mind.

  I place the sledgehammer on the floor. The handle leans against a bare beam. I take off the safety glasses, pull down the respiration mask, and admire my handy work. My heart beats fast as the tightness that had squeezed my lungs since yesterday is gone.

  My phone buzzes and I take off the top of my white jumper to pull it out of my pocket.

  Fitz: I’m outside waiting for you to open the door.

  I open it, and find him and Harrison smiling at me.

  “Oh my God, you’re here!” I jump into Harrison’s arms, and he twirls me.

  “How are you, squirt?” He places me back on the floor.

  I blink twice as I find my footing. “You’re alive,” I say, looking into his clear blue eyes, making sure it’s him. Holding his face, I look for bruises or new scars. “Where’s the wife?”

  I look around for Luna—my bestie, and partner in crime. Maybe I can convince her to help me demolish all the walls. She’s a hundred times stronger than me and loves to destroy things.

  “Your little friend is working,” he reveals with a bitter gaze.

  “Alone?”

  Luna can take on a mission by herself, but Harrison always works with her. Part of their rules and marriage vows.

  “Her brothers are with her,” he discloses. “They didn’t invite me to play with them.”

  Luna and her two brothers work with Harrison. One of them co-owns the company with Harry and two other guys.

  “I bet there’s more to it than that. What is it?” I ask, curious about this only sibling’s mission.

  “Yeah, but if I tell you about it I’d have to kill you.” Harrison winks at me, picking up a tote bag from the floor and some lawn chairs.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Fitz glares at me.

  “You’re here!” I open my arms and give him a big hug.

  “I thought you were never coming back,” I whine, placing my arm on my forehead.

  The three of us laugh.

  “You’re too much, Beesley,” Fitz winks at me.

  They make their way into the house, looking around.

  “You seem to have channeled your inner Hulk tonight,” Harrison says handing me the bag and setting the chairs on the floor.

  “This looks like a lot of fun.” He lifts the sledgehammer and pretends to hit the wall. “Tomorrow I’m helping you all day long. But can you take a break today?”

  “For my boys?” I smile at them, taking off the overalls and industrial boots. “Always.”

  “It’s ugly outside though,” Fitz states.

  “You just came from some fucking ugly weather, Fitzhenry. It was snowing in New York when we left,” Harrison argues with his brother.

  I poke my head outside, looking up at the sky. “You’re crazy, it’s just another cloudy evening.”

  The clouds roll in covering the last of the twilight sky. It never fails that at night, the balls of cotton and streams of gray become as invisible as the stars it conceals, but the air is humid.

  “How’s New York?”

  “Freezing, like every fucking winter,” Fitz complains, rubbing his arms and fake shivering.

  We go to the backyard and set up the lawn chairs that they brought.

  “So, what’s going on, Beesley?” Harrison asks, sitting down.

  “Have you seen L’asshole?” Fitz asks.

  I tell them about last night, and how I went from picking up the trash to falling asleep with Scott’s soothing voice.

  “You should share a meal with him,” Fitz comments.

  “It’s not that simple. Being around him awakes memories I want to keep under wraps.”
I open the bag that Harrison gave me. There's beer, wine, and snacks. “He insists that he didn’t cheat.”

  “Cheating isn’t just fornicating,” Harrison tells me.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Cheating can happen in many ways. You can have an emotional affair without ever sticking your dick in the chick.”

  “Or the dude,” Fitz adds to Harrison’s statement, taking a beer from the bag.

  My chest burns as the night I caught Elliot replays in my head. I’m fighting hard to forget everything, and it’s useless. The more I try to push those memories away, the more they push back.

  “What would you have done if your parents hadn’t had so much money, Harrison?” I throw the question waiting for him.

  He scratches his head, glaring at me for several beats. Then he grins. “I’d had enlisted. Scott would’ve stripped. In fact, I would’ve pimped him.”

  I push him slightly, but his muscles weigh a ton each and I can’t move him or do any damage. “You’re an idiot.”

  “Look, I can’t think of the scenario. What Elliot did for his family is respectable,” Harrison says, his tone is now sober. “But…you’re my family and what he did to you was fucked up.”

  “That’s why I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

  “What about Scott?” Fitz stares at me.

  I freeze when he asks me that. “What about him, Fitz?”

  “He cares for you,” he says, casually staring at the ocean.

  “Caring isn’t the same as loving unless you know something I don’t.”

  “I’m under oath to protect the conversation I had with Scotty the other day,” he continues. “If I open my big mouth, a lifetime of torture will be unleashed upon me.”

  I laugh, drinking more wine. “Scott never tortured you. Did he?”

  “You don’t know the half of it, my older brothers weren’t little angels.” He smirks.

  Harrison grins. “We had fun with our little brothers.”

  Fitz rubs his arm. “Too much fun.”

  They both burst out laughing and don’t stop for several beats. I can’t imagine what they’re referring to, but I know that there was no such thing as torture.

  “To answer your question,” I clear my throat. “Scott enjoyed the benefits of having steady sex.”