Found

by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Twenty-Four

  “The marks human leave are too often scars.” ― John Green

  Elliot

  “Hey,” Hazel answers her phone.

  “Is it too late to call?” I check the time, it’s ten. The same time I used to call her when she left for college.

  “No, I don’t go to sleep until midnight. What’s up?”

  “I went surfing in Santa Cruz with some of my old buddies from college. I wanted you to join us, but no one answer the door when we knocked.”

  “I wished I had gone surfing,” she sighs. “Did you go with the usual suspects?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How are they doing?” She laughs. “God, can we sound more awkward?”

  “We could,” I offer, laughing along. “So what did you do today?”

  “I tried to take a cooking class, went to check some properties, and went horse riding.” I hear some shuffling on the other line. “Sorry, I was working on a few projects. Now, I’m free.”

  “Working on Sunday?”

  “It’s for a shelter that… never mind.” Her voice is more animated. “I wish you had invited us surfing.”

  “Us?”

  “Fitz, Scott and Harrison went horseback riding with me. And they are my surfing buddies.”

  My chest constricts by knowing she has surfing buddies. I ignore the jealousy burning in the pit of my stomach.

  “Maybe next week?”

  “Hey, I hate to cut this short but Willow is on the other line,” she apologizes.

  “How about dinner this week?” I offer.

  “Talk to you later, McFee.”

  Fuck, I should’ve started with the invitation. This qualifies as the most awkward, moronic and childish call I’ve ever had.

  ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

  Before I drive to the constructions sites, I open my email and type something quick to Hazel. I have this urge to let her know that I am thinking about her. And to erase the lame taste of last night’s phone call.

  To: Bee

  From: Eli

  Subject: Hello old friend.

  Last night reminded me of our usual late-night conversations. I wish we had had more time to talk. How are you? My day began earlier than usual. We had some problems in one of our properties. But enough about me. You still surf. That’s cool. Are there places to surf in New York? I wish we had more time to chat. My last stop of the day is the building where you live. Do you want to have dinner with me?

  I want to invite you to find a comfortable place in our relationship where we can exist. I haven't had a female friend in a long time, and lately, I find myself needing advice from one. Hope that's something we can discuss later.

  E.

  I stare at the phone, holding my breath after I pressed send. She might finally let me into her life. My muscles release all the tension they’ve been gathering since I saw her a few weeks ago. It might be long before we can lay together by the beach listening to the waves, enjoying the late breeze. I missed the peace I felt when the two of us were careless and only concerned with loving each other.

  --

  To: Eli

  From: Bee

  Subject: Your email confuses me.

  Your last stop is the building where I live? I’m confused, what you do for a living? We need to sit down, and discuss all of it. You work nights, you drive to Napa a lot, and you have stops along the way. Are you a tour guide? Comfortable place in our relationship you said. We already exist. Do you mean coexisting together?

  I like to be your friend. So now we are friends, what is it you need? Tell dear Hazel what kind of advice are you looking for, friend?

  Yes, there’re a few places in New York. Long Island is the closest to my place and the one we frequented the most.

  Your FRIEND,

  Hazel

  When I arrive in downtown, I read her email and laugh at the connotation of us being friends.

  --

  To: Bee

  From: Eli

  Subject: Advice

  Dear Friend,

  These days I do less construction and a lot of sales pitches and site supervision. I drive all over town. Some days, I’m in the truck more than I am on site. I’ve thought about starting my version of Uber. I transport wood, tools and paint instead of people. About the advice… well, there’s this woman I want to ask out. I don’t want to come off too strong. She’s a romantic at heart. I want to take her out on a date; make this date magical for her. However, I have two problems. One, I don’t know how to convince her to have dinner with me. Two, which might be more important than the first, is that I haven’t gone out in over ten years. I don’t know the etiquette for a first date. How much is too much?

  Sincerely,

  Dateless in San Francisco.

  --

  I put my phone back into my pocket and go around the house we are renovating. The new wood floors were installed over the weekend. My crew is painting the walls today. We’re waiting for the closet doors to replace them, but after that, we should be all set. I send a reminder to Kyle that we need to check on those doors. I email my realtor to make an appointment for next Monday. Everything is ready to put this baby on the market. As I climb on my truck, I get another email. My heart slams against my heart, expectant about her answer. It’s been long since the last time I fidgeted with my phone like this, anticipating her response. That I want to make a few calls and take the day off just to spend it close to the phone, waiting for her words.

  --

  To: Eli

  From: Bee

  Subject: Dateless?

  Dear Dateless,

  If she doesn’t want to have dinner, a date is pushing it too far. Mind if I highlight the following line: I haven’t dated in over ten years, and I don’t know the etiquette for a first date.

  Your first tip to date any woman is with honesty. Do you think she will believe you, McFee the Hottie, hasn’t dated in more than ten years? When was your last date?

  Sincerely,

  Your friendly dating counselor.

  --

  I laugh at her signature and that fucking nickname. We both hated it, but she used it to give me a hard time. This day can’t get better, can it? My heart skips several beats. I haven’t been this happy for a long time, not since she left. Before I drive to Napa to check on the winery and the properties, I send her another email.

  --

  To: Bee

  From: Eli

  Subject: McFee the Hottie

  Dating counselor,

  Have you become a love coach? If so, please send me your rates before I agree on hiring you. And … McFee the Hottie? Seriously? I can’t believe you brought that stupid nickname into the conversation. We’re not in high school anymore. No one has called me that since I graduated. By the way, there’s a rumor that my girlfriend is the one who named me that. Do you know something about it?

  My last date was on the beach, outside of my ex-wife’s home. The day before she left town for New York. I might need to do more explaining so you can understand why I haven’t dated since her. She was the first and only woman I ever loved. I haven’t met anyone like her since then. She was a part of my daily life. We went from childhood friends to best friends and high school sweethearts to getting married.

  Every time we were together, it was a big deal. A date, so to speak.

  This woman I want to date is so much like her, yet, so different. She lived in the Big Apple for a while. What if I’m too bland for her taste?

  What if I ask her out and she makes up a friend to get out of it? I never thought dating was such a big deal. But I feel like with this woman I must get it just right. Perfect.

  Regards,

  Confused in San Francisco.

  PS. What about dinner tonight?

  I throw the question reserving the ‘I love you’ for much later. Months from now, I hope that I can email her and we can agree on where to eat that night. Or just talk about the weekend plans. I keep thinking about all the sacrifices
I made after my father died. The biggest was our relationship. I hope she forgives me, but I just don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.

  Every stop I made today took me longer than usual. Among other things, the Wilson family wanted to chat about renovating their bedroom after we finish the kitchen. They invited me to dinner, and I couldn’t say no because they had already ordered food for me too. When I arrive at Hazel’s building, I stop and check my phone. I breathe as I see she just emailed, and tense when I read the subject.

  --

  To: Eli

  From: Bee

  Subject: Are we talking vanilla sex?

  Dear Confused,

  All lies, your girlfriend never called you McFee The Hottie. Don’t believe the rumor mill ;-)

  My apologies for answering your email just now, but I had lunch with a potential client.

  Could you please explain why living in New York makes this woman different? For some reason, I imagine her wearing a red leather corset and fishnet leggings. You should be aware that not all New Yorkers are kinky, and not all kinky people live in New York.

  I swallow hard, thinking about sweet Hazel wearing a red corset and knee length boots. Her lush lips red and her hair curly and wild. I’m hooked at the image of what a woman like that could do. The things she’d let me try. We were kids, teenagers, when our relationship began. We were so new, so innocent. Missionary and her riding me in my car were our only positions. But now, she’s all grown up. Fuck, my dick throbs at the thought of the things we missed and what we can do now. With more time, with more practice…

  Forcing my mind out of the gutter and back into the email, I breathe because she has to trust me before we can take any other steps.

  I’m not judging, but are you into that kind of scene?

  About that wife. It sounds like you had a fairy tale kind of relationship with her. Also, it’s unfortunate to learn that you didn’t find someone new, or different after your divorce. What if instead of dating this confused woman, you date someone new? I can coach you and introduce you to a few great prospects. My hourly rate is about $500.

  Sincerely,

  Your dating coach.

  P.S. Sorry, I have plans for tonight. We have dinner with a client. Rain check?

  As I read it, I close my eyes and take several breaths. She’s not judging, but what kind of sex does she like now? Is she with Scott? I shouldn’t care, but my chest burns as I think about them together. I have to get over that. Whatever she did between the time we broke up and now is irrelevant. I haven’t been a saint. Fuck, I’ve slept with more women than I can remember since that fateful night.

  I walk through the building, making sure the prep-work was finished. The crew starts working tomorrow. Kyle warned everyone that the power will be off from ten in the morning until noon every weekday for the next three weeks. But, I predict a wave of emails complaining they don’t have power. As I finish my inspection, I leave a pale lilac rose in front of her doorstep with a bag of Doritos. I email her on my way to the truck.

  To: Bee

  From: Eli

  Subject: Coaching

  Being with my wife was perfect for the first few months. At least, it was perfect for us. Since you have assigned yourself as my coach, I want you to know that my lack of dating doesn’t mean I haven’t gone out with women. After my separation from the wife, I had a dark period where I drank too much and partied a lot. Clearly, I’m not a saint.

  Was I a good husband? I tried, but I made a big mistake I’ll always regret.

  Sincerely,

  Lonely in San Francisco.

  I get in the car, driving back to the place I share with Kyle. Thinking about the endless nights I shared with Hazel. The email I sent was all true, but I should’ve added more. Maybe add that it was great until my father died. That after that, my family came first. I faked caring. And I wasn’t invested in us. As I park in front of my house, I slam my head against the wheel. My phone buzzes, it’s an email from her.

  To: Eli

  From: Bee

  Subject: Thoughts and memories.

  You’re walking me through a treacherous path today, Mr. McFee. Was it a fairy tale? Yes. We lived in Utopia for years. Inside our bubble, everything was perfect. From the outside, it wasn’t real. We lived in a fantasy that couldn’t withstand reality for too long. We were children, playing house and taking on responsibilities that didn’t belong to us.

  If anything, I have the best memories a woman can have from her first love. They are safe in a place where no one will tarnish them.

  Sincerely,

  Nostalgic in San Francisco.

  --

  When I arrive home, it’s empty. I’m glad that Kyle isn’t here. There’re too many emotions and memories I have to work through. Like Hazel talking about me as if I was the best person. I want to be that for her once more. This time it’ll be forever. How can I explain to her that what’s between us exists? It was my selfishness that broke us. She loved me so much.

  --

  To: Bee

  From: Eli

  Subject: Be honest …

  Do you still love me?

  E

  I can barely breathe while waiting for her response. My hands shake as I stare at the screen, hanging on for something. This interminable wait is making my chest ache and my palms sweat. I want to drive to her apartment and ask her that same question again as I hold her gaze. I force myself to remain still and wait for minutes, hours, forever.

  --

  To: Eli

  From: Bee

  Subject: Answer

  Eli,

  I pledge the fifth.

  Hazel

  --

  To: Bee

  From: Eli

  Subject: Can we start again?

  Do you remember this letter?

  Eli,

  Thank you for your note along with the pictures. It was a bittersweet memory of my childhood that I’m glad to have with me. In response to your question, yes, I had to proceed with the divorce. I had to do this for myself, but also for you. Things didn’t work out the way we planned years ago.

  How could they work out? We were children.

  It pains me to admit that this is the end of our story. We must close this chapter of our lives in order to start a new one. Our time together was precious. It’s part of what makes me, well, me. We learned so much together. Every moment I spent with you will be forever in my mind, my heart, and my soul.

  Thank you for the memories.

  Thank you for all the firsts we experienced together.

  Thank you for being my rock.

  Thank you for the big milestones we shared.

  Thank you for being the best boyfriend a teenage girl could have.

  Most of all, thank you for loving me.

  I wish you nothing but happiness. That one day you’ll find that person who will ignite your soul. Believe in love, E. It’ll happen. Remember, life should include deep kisses, midnight adventures, silent conversations, and a universe of laughs. Great love will find you—the best love.

  Hazel Bee

  That great love found me years ago—it’s you. Let’s not miss the beauty of our love. Let’s start again.

  Eli

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.” ― Doug Larson

  Hazel

  Is it Saturday, yet?

  Nope, it’s still Thursday. I sigh heavily, moving the loose strands of hair floating around my face. It’s been a long week. Like every Thursday, I send my reports to my grandfather. Tomorrow morning he’ll call to discuss them and implement any changes he might consider necessary. I miss having breakfast with him on Fridays and plan my weekends around him.

  Why did I think I wouldn’t miss my family when I moved?

  And with the renovations in Santa Cruz, I don't know if I'll be going to visit soon.

  My phone buzzes just as I’m searching for the updates from N
orth Bay construction.

  Elliot: How’s work?

  My heart clenches as I read his text. A couple of weeks ago, he sent an email with the letter I mailed along with the divorce papers. I stared at that emails for hours, chewing my lip, and working through the emotional punch he served me. Elliot wants to try again. The letter hit me down to my very core. I’m still shaking with sadness, and anxiety.

  I remember writing it after the one he sent begging me not to leave him. I close my eyes for a second, gathering my strength, keeping myself afloat. Those were dark days, but he’s right. What we had was unique. Is our love still alive? Do I want to try?

  Don’t over think it.

  Hazel: It’s been a busy week.

  Elliot: Do you want to go for lunch?

  My stomach growls, complaining about the lack of nourishment. “Yes, I’ll accept the offer.” I pat my tummy.

  Hazel: Yes.

  Elliot: Then come downstairs, your carriage waits for you, my lady.

  Hazel: Give me one second, I’ll be there in a few.

  Locking my computer, grabbing my purse and dragging my jacket along, I rush through the hallways, and jump into the elevator that takes me down to the main floor. When I reach the door, I see him leaning against his old truck. This old version of Elliot McFee makes some parts of my body get too excited just with the view. The stretched over the chest t-shirt, those worn out jeans hugging his muscular legs and that stubble peppered along his strong jaw.

  “You still have her?” For a moment, I’m transported back to high school.

  “Dad said it would be the only car he’d buy for me,” he answers opening the passenger door. “I have a newer truck, but I like to use this one from time to time. She holds a lot of memories I want to keep forever.”

  “The memories,” I whisper.

  He cocks his head to the side. I chew my lip. He’s right if this car could talk…

  At ten o’clock my shift at the diner ended. I rushed to the employee room to clock out, change my blouse and my shoes. Then, I made my way to Elliot. He leaned against his new, black truck. He held a lilac rose, and his cocky smile. I waved at him, exiting the diner and speeding toward him. He opened his arms and I jumped into them.