EIGHT WEEKS. IT’S BEEN a long two months without any word from Noa. Hannah talked me into waiting a few weeks to give her time to come to her senses. In my mind, she means Noa coming to her senses about leaving me, but I know she mostly means to give her time to re-think not giving up her job here.
After four weeks passed, I asked Hannah to pack her things up. She took her time, giving me a chance to change my mind about the request, but I didn’t.
When six weeks passed, I gave up and finally cried. The shower washed away my tears, but I missed seeing her shampoo and smelling her soap. I can’t tell you how many times I almost ripped open the bathroom box to smell them.
At seven weeks, Hannah felt sorry for me and took them to the shipping office. I must have looked tortured because all the women brought me food.
Lately, my workouts are my mental salvation. Breathing and running the way she showed me for efficiency. Doing yoga and stretching as she suggested. The only thing I’m not doing is eating.
Everyone is waiting with baited breath for her return. I wish she’d call or write or text— communicate in some form with someone; it doesn’t have to be with me, but she stays silent.
My phone dings with a text. I rush to look at the notification hoping it’s her. My hopes plummet, and my stomach twists when I see it’s not. It’s the delivery notification of her things. All six boxes. Well, that’s it. It’s over. The most silent parting of two people I’ve ever been a part of. Why does this hurt so much worse than the screaming, cursing and bitter words of my past breakups?
I need to get away from here. Lose myself in what I know best.
The show opens in Salinas tonight. I’m not competing, so I drive into Monterey to run on the beach.
I used to love the beach. It was my favorite place to relax and watch the sun go down, especially in California. Today, it’s just another place that I go to get in some cardio.
As I run along the beach, Noa runs through my mind. It’s extra painful knowing she’s just a few hundred miles away, and I can’t go to her.
I give up running halfway through my workout when I see a redhead sunbathing on a towel. I almost approached her with Noa’s name on the tip of my tongue, but then she sat up and removed her sunglasses. Brown eyes smiled back at me, and my heart broke all over again. I bend down to pick up a seashell and walk away.
Every time I look out at the ocean, I keep seeing the view from her parent’s house that night in the truck. Tears well up in my eyes and I have to stop walking and stop thinking. So I sit down and commiserate with my sadness in the sand until my skin burns.
Afterward, I walked around town and found a small Italian Bistro for dinner. Noa was right, no one in California eats carbs— the place was empty, but the food was delicious. So good, I’m taking a couple of pieces of cheesecake and tiramisu back to the Harkins’ as a thank you for feeding me these past few weeks.
As I drive back to our camp in Salinas, the sun is setting over the ocean. I can see it sporadically through the tree clearing every few miles. The sunlight is filtering long, thin beams of light through gray rain clouds, perfectly reflecting my mood. The gray sky keeps reminding me of Noa’s eyes.
I’ve got to get out of this state. There are seventy-two more hours until I pass over the state line. I think the memories will do me in before my time is up.
I circle through Salinas before heading back, looking for a distraction— anything that will waste my time from going back to a lonely night without conversation or a smile.
I’ve only been here once before, but I love the open-air complex. It’s a nice stadium, and you can see the beautiful Gabilan mountain range from the stands. The people here are extra friendly, but not enough to make me stay.
The show must be over. Traffic is picking up as I get closer to Main Street. I look around, and people watch as we all take our turns stopping at one of the few stop signs in town. I catch myself waiting for each redhead I see to turn so I can see their face.
I’ve got to get out of this state before I go nuts.
I finally make the turn into the camp lot and park next to my trailer. The lights are still on over at the Harkins’, so I knock on their door. Virgil invites me in, but not before seeing the cheesecake bribe I hold out in front of me.
“Oh, man. You must have it bad to be bringing late night treats like this over. Hazel, look what Braxton brought for us.”
“Nah, I don’t know what to do with myself at home. And I wanted to say thank you for feeding me for the last few months. It’s not that I couldn’t feed myself, but I appreciated every meal and the company that went with it.”
“So you don’t think she’s coming back?” Hazel slides her fork into her dessert and holds it out to Virgil offering him the first bite. Now that’s love.
“I figure she would have called by now if she was, so I went ahead and sent her stuff back to her. I don’t know if she needs it or if she was too ashamed to ask for it back. I thought I’d save her the emotional stress and ship it.”
“Noa’s got a big heart. She’s a sweet person. Losing someone in your care isn’t an easy pill to swallow. I cared for my Mom up until she passed on, and the guilt of wondering if I could have done anything different lingers— twenty years later.” Hazel swipes at a tear on her cheek remembering the pain of her loss.
“Things happen for a reason, Braxton. Hazel and I both believe that because if we didn’t, she’d be Mr. Robert Caldwell the Third right now. And I’d be back in Dallas living a miserable drunken life.” Virgil leans sideways and kisses Hazel’s cheek where her tears are. She grabs at his hand and squeezes. “Now, I’m not saying wait forever, but don’t give up either. There’s always a woman worth the wait.” He leans back and winks at me.
“I’m trying to get back to my daily routine before she came along. It’s hard though. Time passed quickly when she was near. Now it stands still, completely arrested by her absence.”
“Come on. Let’s sit outside. It’s cooler in the breeze.” Hazel picks up the rest of her dessert, and we follow her outside to their makeshift patio area.
“Braxton, Hazel and I have been worried sick about you. We know you’re hurting badly. This kind of break up isn’t like a divorce. There’s no bitterness or harsh words to push you to move on.”
Hazel lights the citronella candle illuminating our little space. “ What Virgil has been trying to say, but is taking the long, sweet road in getting to the point, is someday she’ll be ready, and she’ll come to you. And if you don’t believe him, believe me. I know it because I’ve seen the look on her face when she’d say your name, or watch you jog past, or ride that bull. That woman is in love with you.
“Nooooo. We were building to that, or at least I was, but we weren’t there yet. I didn’t want to repeat what happened with Julie. And besides, Noa was pushing to be ‘friends’ until her contract was up because of that doctor-patient privilege idea in her head.”
“What? You two might have been trying to fool each other into being just friends, but the rest of us know what we saw when we looked at you. You’re both smitten.”
Is she right? Are we fighting a losing battle?
I’m so tired of losing, but this feels worse than losing my ride. This is losing my life and my heart. We sit in silence for the longest time. Hazel is holding Virgil’s hand. Not one word is spoken, but the looks that pass between them speak volumes of their love for each other.
It reminds me of the long rides between tour cities with Noa. There were long stretches of silence where I’d glance over at her, and she’d be wearing that brilliant smile of hers enjoying the scenery. There were too few of those rides, and I want more.
“Now, it’s late. Go rest. We’re gonna hit it hard tomorrow because your points are dropping and Finals are two months away.”
“Alright. 8:00 am at the practice area?” He nods his head in agreement, as I fold my chair and set it up against the trailer tire.
I walk back to my trailer, yawning. It has been a long day, and the quiet solitude of these rooms is closing in on me.
I miss our conversations.
I miss coming through the door, and she’s here waiting.
I miss her perfume lingering in the air.
I hate having all this space and no one to share it with.
I get into bed for the night, and the only thing that comforts me is knowing she once laid here. The sheets are clean, but the pillows are saturated with her scent. I don’t have the heart to wash the pillow cases, so I fall asleep with my face buried deep in the fragrance of her shampoo.