I smile to myself as the water heats. I barely recognize the man in the mirror. The grief that weighed me down has lifted somewhat. I look relaxed, almost happy.
As I soap myself down in the shower, the memory of Rose on her knees pops into my mind. I smile, remembering her clumsy movements and determination.
But it’s not just the sex that’s made me happy. Rose made me laugh; she opened herself to me; she trusted me with her pain. She showed me her strength and her vulnerability. She’s funny and beautiful and intriguing. We laughed together; we cried together; we watched dumb movies together.
I want to tell her my name. I want to tell her about my grief. I want to share with her that my mom died, too. That my father has fallen apart and that he drank for most of the six weeks I was home, consumed by his grief.
I want to share more than two days with Rose. I want to share myself with her, all of it.
As the water runs over me, I realize I don’t want it to end today.
I’ll give her my number, and we can chat while I’m deployed. Then when I’m back, I’ll meet her in whatever town she wants. We’ll get a hotel for a week, but this time, we’ll know each other’s names, no secrets, no hiding. We’ll share all about ourselves.
I’m humming as I turn off the shower and quickly towel myself down. I pull open the bathroom door, eager to make plans with her. “Hey, do you want…”
My words are met with silence. The room is empty.
I spin around once to make sure. But there’s no sign of Rose, and her suitcase is gone.
“Shit.”
I pull on my jeans and fumble with the belt. My t-shirt is inside out, but I don’t bother to turn it the right way. I tug it on as is.
My socks are balled up, and I shove them in my pocket and put my shoes on my bare feet. Not bothering to tie the laces, I race into the corridor.
She’s not there, and I race to the elevator and whack the button. It’s stopped on a lower floor, and I punch it impatiently.
After another few seconds, I burst through the doors that lead to the stairwell. I take them two at a time all the way down to the lobby.
I burst through the doors, causing an elderly couple to glare at me. But there’s no time to worry about causing a scene. I need to catch Rose.
She’s not in the lobby, and I jog over to the reception desk, carrying my socks in my hand. “Did Rose check out?”
The man behind reception peers at me down his nose. “Which room?”
“Room 707.”
He taps his keyboard, and he’s so damn slow I want to jump the desk and do the job for him.
“She checked out ten minutes ago.”
Ten minutes. She must have left as soon as I went into the bathroom. There I was, fantasizing about a future, while she was leaving. But why would she stay? I made sure to reiterate it was for this weekend only.
“What name is the room booked under?”
The man frowns at me. “I can’t give you that information.”
“Was it Rose?” I demand.
He peers at me and checks the computer. “Ms. Rose Red.”
I huff out a laugh, and the man gives me a stern look as if that’s a perfectly sensible name.
I race out of the lobby and push my way through the revolving doors to the parking lot. I have no idea what make of car Rose drives, so I jog between each car, peering into the widows, hoping for a sight of her.
It’s not until I get to the last car and spot the security guard walking briskly toward me that I let the truth sink in.
She’s gone.
