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Even the phrase, look, a turtle, was a clue. It’s what I said when we were kayaking. Look, a sea turtle.
If I’d paid the least bit of attention, I’d have realized it was him. I would’ve realized he cared.
For the next hour I keep up the conversation with Kate, Michael, Arya and Harriet. I laugh at the stories, I drink to more toasts, I wish Kate and Michael well, I give lots of hugs. The whole while my chest pinches tight and my mind keeps repeating, does he still care for me, does he, does he?
After Kate and Michael leave I tell Harriet I need a moment before we can get back to work, then I rush up the stairs to my bedroom.
I sit on the creaky bed and pull open my email.
There’s nothing. No response to the email I sent days ago.
I open a new message and type another email. This one says, “Declan. I saw Kate and Michael today. Thank you. I don’t know if you did it for me, but thank you. I don’t know what to think. I only know that I wish I could thank you in person. Would you please come see me tomorrow at Harriet’s? We’re leaving the next day for home. I want to see you before I go. Please write back. Writing back is like saying goodbye, it’s necessary, do I have to teach you how to do that too? Or don’t write back, just come so I can thank you. Isla.”
I hold my breath when I push send, then I hold it a bit longer for luck. I metaphorically hold my breath the rest of the day, and then the next. And I don’t stop until Harriet has waved goodbye, Arya and I have dropped our bags at the airline counter, and we’re boarding the airplane for Mariposa.
He didn’t write back.
He didn’t come to say goodbye or to get thanks.
The hope that he’ll come running into the airport and stop me with a kiss like a hero in some 1990s romcom fades.
He doesn’t come.
He doesn’t write.
This is real life, not a movie.
And in real life hearts get broken all the time.
