Hopeless

We sleep through breakfast and lunch. By the time afternoon hits and Holder walks in with food, I’m starving. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve eaten anything. He pulls two chairs up to the desk and takes the items and drinks out of the sacks. He brought me the same thing I requested after the art showing last night, but that we never actually got around to ordering. I remove the lid from the chocolate shake and down a huge drink, then take the wrapper off my burger. When I do, a small square piece of paper falls out and lands on the table. I pick it up and read it.

Just because you don’t have a phone anymore and your life is crazy dramatic, I still don’t want your ego exploding. You looked really homely in your t-shirt and panties. I really hope you buy yourself some footed pajamas today so I don’t have to look at your chicken legs again all night.

When I set the note down and look at him, he’s grinning at me. His dimples are so adorable; I actually lean over and lick one this time.

“What was that?” he laughs.

I take a bite of my burger and shrug. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I saw you in the grocery store.”

His smile turns smug and he leans back in his chair. “You wanted to lick my face the first time you saw me? Is that usually what you do when you’re attracted to guys?”

I shake my head. “Not your face, your dimple. And no. You’re the only guy I’ve ever had the urge to lick.”

He smiles at me confidently. “Good. Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever had the urge to love.”

Holy shit. He didn’t directly say he loves me, but hearing that word come out of his mouth makes my heart swell in my chest. I take a bite of my burger to hide my smile and let his sentence linger in the air. I’m not ready for it to leave just yet.

We both quietly finish our food. I stand up and clear off the table, then walk to the bed and slip my shoes on.

“Where you headed?” He’s watching me tighten the laces on my shoes. I don’t answer him right away because I’m not sure where it is I’m going. I just want to get out of this hotel room. When my shoes are tied, I stand up and walk to him, then wrap my arms around him.

“I want to go for a walk,” I say. “And I want you to go with me. I’m ready to start asking questions.”

He kisses my forehead then reaches to the table and grabs the room key. “Then let’s go.” He reaches down and laces my fingers through his.

Our hotel isn’t near any parks or walking trails, so instead we just head to the courtyard. There are several cabanas lining the pool, all of them empty. He leads me to one of them. We sit and I lean my head against his shoulder, looking out over the pool. It’s October, but the weather is pretty mild. I pull my arms through the sleeves of my shirt and hug myself, snuggling against him.

“You want me to tell you what I remember?” he asks. “Or do you have specific questions?”

“Both. But I want to hear your story first.”

His arm is draped over my shoulders. His fingers are stroking my upper arm and he kisses the side of my head. I don’t care how many times he kisses me on the head; it always feels like a first.

“You have to understand how surreal this feels for me, Sky. I’ve thought about what happened to you every single day for the past thirteen years. And to think I’ve been living two miles away from you for seven of those years? I’m still having a hard time processing it myself. And now, finally having you here, telling you everything that happened…”

He sighs and I feel his head lean against the back of the chair. He pauses briefly, then continues. “After the car pulled away, I went inside the house and told Les that you left with someone. She kept asking me who, but I didn’t know. My mother was in the kitchen, so I went and told her. She didn’t really pay any attention to me. She was cooking supper and we were just kids. She had learned to tune us out. Besides, I still wasn’t sure anything had happened that wasn’t supposed to happen, so I didn’t sound panicked or anything. She told me to just go outside and play with Les. The way she was so nonchalant about it made me think everything was okay. Being six years old, I was positive adults knew everything, so I didn’t say anything else about it. Les and I went outside to play and another couple of hours passed by when your dad came outside, calling your name. As soon as I heard him call your name, I froze. I stopped in the middle of my yard and watched him standing on his porch, calling for you. It was that moment that I knew he had no idea you had left with someone. I knew I did something wrong.”

“Holder,” I interrupt. “You were just a little boy.”

He ignores my comment and continues on. “Your dad walked over to our yard and asked me if I knew where you were.” He pauses and clears his throat. I wait patiently for him to continue, but it seems like he needs to gather his thoughts. Hearing him tell me what happened that day feels like he’s telling me a story. It feels nothing like what he’s saying is directly related to my life or to me.

“Sky, you have to understand something. I was scared of your father. I was barely six years old and knew I had just done something terribly wrong by leaving you alone. Now your police chief father is standing over me, his gun visible on his uniform. I panicked. I ran back into my house and ran straight to my bedroom and locked the door. He and my mother beat on the door for half an hour, but I was too scared to open it and admit to them that I knew what happened. My reaction worried both of them, so he immediately radioed for backup. When I heard the police cars pull up outside, I thought they were there for me. I still didn’t understand what had happened to you. By the time my mother coaxed me out of the room, three hours had already passed since you left in the car.”

He’s still rubbing my shoulder, but his grip is tighter on me now. I push my arms through the sleeves of my shirt so I can take his hand and hold it.

“I was taken to the station and questioned for hours. They wanted to know if I knew the license plate number, what kind of car took you, what the person looked like, what they said to you. Sky, I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t even remember the color of the car. All I could tell them was exactly what you were wearing, because you were the only thing I could picture in my head. Your dad was furious with me. I could hear him yelling in the hallway of the station that if I would have just told someone right when it happened, they would have been able to find you. He blamed me. When a police officer blames you for losing his daughter, you tend to believe he knows what he’s talking about. Les heard him yelling, too, so she thought it was all my fault. For days, she wouldn’t even talk to me. Both of us were trying to understand what had happened. For six years we lived in this perfect world where adults are always right and bad things don’t happen to good people. Then, in the span of a minute, you were taken and everything we thought we knew turned out to be this false image of life that our parents had built for us. We realized that day that even adults do horrible things. Children disappear. Best friends get taken from you and you have no idea if they’re even alive anymore.

“We watched the news constantly, waiting for reports. For weeks they would show your picture on TV, asking for leads. The most recent picture they had of you was from right before your mother died, when you were only three. I remember that pissing me off, wondering how almost two years could have gone by without someone having taken a more recent picture. They would show pictures of your house and would sometimes show our house, too. Every now and then, they would mention the boy next door who saw it happen, but couldn’t remember any details. I remember one night…the last night my mother allowed us to watch the coverage on TV…one of the reporters showed a panned out image of both of our houses. They mentioned the only witness, but referred to me as ‘The boy who lost Hope.’ It infuriated my mother so bad; she ran outside and began screaming at the reporters, yelling at them to leave us alone. To leave me alone. My dad had to drag her back inside the house.

“My parents did their best to try and make our life as normal as possible. After a couple of months, the reporters stopped showing up. The endless trips to the police station for more questioning finally stopped. Things began to slowly return to normal for everyone in the neighborhood. Everyone but Les and me. It was like all of our hope was taken right along with our Hope.”

Hearing his words and the desolation in his voice causes me nothing but guilt. One would think what happened to me would have been so traumatic that it would have affected me more than the people around me. However, I can barely even remember it. It was such an uneventful occurrence in my life, yet it practically ruined him and Lesslie. Karen was so calm and pleasant and filled my head with lies about a life of adoption and foster care, that I never thought to even question it. Like Holder said, at such a young age you believe that adults are all so honest and truthful, you never even think to question them.

“I’ve spent so many years hating my father for giving up on me,” I say quietly. “I can’t believe she just took me from him. How could she do that? How could anyone do that?”

“I don’t know, babe.”

I sit up straight, then turn around to look him in the eyes. “I need to see the house,” I say. “I want more memories, but I don’t have any and right now it’s hard. I can barely remember anything, much less him. I just want to drive by. I need to see it.”

He rubs my arm and nods. “Right now?”

***

“Yes. I want to go before it gets dark.”

The entire drive, I’m absolutely silent. My throat is dry and my stomach is in knots. I’m scared. I’m scared to see the house. I’m scared he might be home and I’m scared I might see him. I don’t really want to see him yet; I just want to see the place that was my first home. I don’t know if it will help me remember but I know it’s something I have to do.

He slows the car down and pulls over to the curb. I’m looking at the row of houses across the street, scared to pull my gaze from my window because it’s so hard to turn and look.

“We’re here,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

I slowly turn my head and look out his window at the first home I ever lived in. It’s late and the day is being swallowed by night, but the sky is still bright enough that I can clearly make out the house. It looks familiar, but seeing it doesn’t immediately bring back any memories. The house is tan with a dark brown trim, but the colors don’t look familiar at all. As if Holder can read my mind, he says, “It used to be white.”

I turn in my seat and face the house, trying to remember something. I try to visualize walking through the front door and seeing the living room, but I can’t. It’s like everything about that house and that life has been erased from my mind somehow.

“How can I remember what your living room and kitchen look like, but I can’t remember my own?”

He doesn’t answer me, because he more than likely knows I’m not really looking for an answer. He just places his hand on top of mine and holds it there while we stare at the houses that changed the paths of our lives forever.