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“Are you sure he’s coming back today?” The first thing I think is, she’s wrong. This must be the first mistake she's made in all the time I've known her. But I should know better because when it comes to business, Claire is never wrong.
“I’m positive. I spoke to him as he was boarding.” She gives a little laugh. “You know how stuck in his head he gets when he’s working on a new ad campaign; I practically have to direct him step-by-step through the day.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I called you. Not only did I forget the time, but I got the day wrong as well.” I try to joke, but it sounds flat even to me.
“No problem at all. Some days I go crazy trying to keep track of my teenagers, so much so that I don’t know if I’m coming or going. And on top of taking care of your adorable girl, you run your own business. I can see how things can get lost in translation.”
Somehow, I couldn’t see Claire ever being unorganized. She was the poster child for organized.
“Okay, well, thanks for clearing that up for me. I’m so sorry to have interrupted your day. Lucas must have left you loads of work in his absence.” I don’t know how, but somehow I manage to keep my voice light and upbeat, even while I’m shaking inside. We end the call, and for a moment, I stand there, clutching the phone in my hand while staring at Lizzy without really seeing her. A brief flare of jealousy shoots through me towards Claire for knowing more about what’s going on in my husband’s life than what I do. But I shake it off quickly. She’s only doing her job, and at the end of the day, she goes home to her husband and kids, her real life. I know for a fact that Lucas said he’d be back tomorrow, but maybe meetings got canceled or moved around. That kind of thing happened, right? It sometimes happened to me where something last-minute came up, and clients had to reschedule. But why wouldn’t he say anything? Maybe he’s planning on surprising me. That must be it, I decide with a firm internal nod.
By five, I finally manage to wrestle Lizzy out of the pool, only to replace it with more water. She empties almost half the bottle of bubble bath under the running tap, and by the time she gets in, there’s a real threat I might lose my child forever amidst the mountain of bubbles. Bath time safely over, she changes into her butterfly pajamas while I head to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. I’m on autopilot, the sounds of Sponge Bob and Lizzy’s laughter coming from the family room as I make some wraps. I’m not hungry, and Lizzy loves wraps, so wraps it is for dinner. By the time seven rolls around, I’m biting my lip, trying not to look at my phone every five minutes. Barring any flight delays, Lucas’s plane should have landed. Briefly, I debate calling him but then decide against it. If he wants to surprise me, I don’t want to spoil it.
A couple of hours later, all my chores done and Lizzy asleep, I settle in the family room after pouring myself a glass of white wine. I mindlessly flick through the TV channels before finally settling on Kitchen Nightmares. Normally, I love watching poor unsuspecting restaurant owners scurrying around like their asses are on fire, but tonight I can’t pay attention. Deciding that walking to the kitchen each time I want to refill my glass is too much effort, I grab the bottle and settle back on the couch.
As the minutes tick away, I try to stay positive, but by nine, a million scenarios are whirling through my head, each one getting progressively more ridiculous. If his plane landed at seven he should have been home by now. Maybe there’s been an accident on his way back home, and he’s hurt, or maybe the plane crashed.
A bolt of panic shoots through me at the images racing through my head, and I grab my phone. It rings and rings until it finally goes to voicemail, and I’m relieved, but yet I’m not. If his car or the plane crashed, surely his phone wouldn’t have survived, and it would go straight to voicemail? But where the hell is he?
The beginnings of anger stir through me, and I take a big gulp of my wine. There’s this little voice that’s nagging at me, telling me that something’s seriously wrong, but so far I’ve ruthlessly shoved it down. The later it gets, however, the louder that voice gets. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but through the years, I’ve learned to trust my gut, and now my heart and gut are at war. My heart is telling me that Lucas would never do anything to hurt me, but my gut is telling me I’m being naïve.
We had a huge argument on Tuesday, the night before his trip. He’s been working so hard, and the pressure he’s been under is insane, so I phoned Claire to check his schedule. He had nothing planned for next weekend, so I booked us a couple of days away at a house in Islamorada. It has a pool and sits right on the beach. I thought we could leave late Friday night and spend the weekend having lazy mornings and relaxing on the beach. I thought spending some time together as a family and a change of scenery, even if it only were two days, would do him good.
But boy, was I wrong. I thought he would appreciate it. Instead, he blew up and said he couldn’t afford to take time off work and it wasn’t my place to book the holiday without discussing it with him first. He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him I checked his schedule with Claire or where I had booked before he stormed out of the bedroom and shut himself in his study. I was fuming but somehow managed to fall asleep before he came to bed. The silence between us the next morning was strained, so I didn’t mention it again. I really didn’t think I did anything wrong. I was thinking of him, trying to take care of him, and his reaction was over the top.
In the three days he’s been gone, he’s called me once a day, but it’s been brief and to the point. But I’m still holding out hope. Hope that he’ll be back tonight, hope that at any minute, I’d hear his car come up the drive, hear the front door open, and feel his arms around me, reassuring me that everything is okay.
