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“Thank you,” I force the words from my lips and end the call. Next, I dial Luci, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. No surprise there since she bartends at one of the nightclubs on Lansdowne Street on the weekend and probably fell asleep a couple of hours ago. I flip the phone closed and toss it onto the bed. Rage mixed with concern courses through my veins and I punch the wall in anger then pace back and forth and let myself fall onto our bed, tears burning in my eyes.
How did we get here? I don’t understand what’s happening. A few days ago, we sat on this trunk, and we didn’t just have sex or make love. We worshipped each other, and her body spoke to me as it always did. We were like two pieces of a puzzle, fit perfectly together. There is no way this is happening to me right now; it’s the fuckingTwilight Zone.
I abruptly stand and storm out of our bedroom and into the guest bedroom/office across the hall. Most items in this room are untouched: the computer, the pile of papers sitting to the left of the monitor, Lena’s LSAT study guides for the exam she was scheduled to take later this year, my guitar propped up against the amp. I hurry out of this room and sprint down the hall into the kitchen.
There in the middle of the empty kitchen counter is Lena’s phone, its cracked screen prominent. I extend my hand across the bar to grab it, and it’s powered off—no wonder it keeps going straight to voicemail. When I lift it, I see her engagement ring and a folded piece of paper underneath. I drop the phone back onto the counter, move her ring to the side, and greedily grab the note.
Massimo,
Writing this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I love you, and because of my love for you, I’m walking away. You deserve so much more than I can give you. By the time you read this, I will have left Boston. Don’t bother looking for me. I left so you can live out your dream. Thank you for loving me.
~ Lena
Reading the words knocks the wind out of me and causes me to stumble. I need the kitchen counter to hold me up. The only thing Lena’s handwritten note does is confuse me more. What the fuck does it mean? I reread it over and over again to see if I missed anything. No matter how many times I read the words, I am unable to comprehend them. There is nothing but heartache scribbled there.
Our wedding is in two months, and we planned on starting a family together, so this makes no sense to me. I drop the scrap of paper onto the counter, lean forward, resting my hands along the edge of the countertop. My head drops, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting out a long breath. “Fuck!” I scream out to the emptiness in the kitchen, in my home, and in my heart.
It’s early when I get to the restaurant. The kitchen staff won’t start arriving for another hour. After deactivating the alarm and locking the front door, I stride across the dining room to the back stairwell and take the flight of stairs down to the cellar and into the office.
Lena was supposed to work yesterday, and I need to know if she came in. I open the file cabinet where we keep the weekly reports and pull out Friday’s folder, but her name is nowhere within any of the documents. I toss the folder onto the table to my left, groaning in frustration.
I pull a chair out from the table and sit, resting my arms on my thighs and hanging my head. I’m at a loss and feel like I am suffocating right now—more questions than answers, confusion clouding my thoughts, pain constricting my heart.
How long has Lena been planning her escape? More importantly, why? How could I not see this coming? Am I that blind when it comes to her?
“Hey, what are you doing here?” my brother asks as he takes the last steps down into the basement stopping on the other side of the table from me.
Rocco is my younger brother by five years, the youngest of the three of us. He reminds me a lot of myself when I was twenty-seven. I always rag on him for being short, although he isn’t really short at five-foot-nine, but what kind of a big brother would I be if I didn’t bust his chops? There is no question we’re brothers though. Other than the height difference, we look like twins, right down to our thick eyebrows and big noses.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the car show?” he asks, confusion written across his face.
“I came back early because Lena’s phone kept going to voicemail, and I haven’t talked to her since Thursday night,” I respond.
“Did you talk to her?”
“No. When I got home, she was gone, took her stuff, and left.”
Rocco’s eyes widen. “What? How is that possible?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here drowning in my own misery,” I retort.
“That explains why she got Shannon to cover her shift yesterday,” he reasons. “When Shannon showed up, and I asked for Lena, Shannon told me that Lena had a doctor’s appointment and needed coverage.”
“That’s it? Nothing else was said or happened? You didn’t talk to Lena?” I ask, digging for more information in hopes that he has something that will help me.
“Nah, bro. Lena is solid, always responsible. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it yesterday,” he tells me while scratching his head.
I thread my hands through my hair as I lie back in the chair, tilting my head up and letting out a long, deep sigh. Now it makes sense why she was crying the morning I last saw her. She wasn’t fucking worried about my drive; she was saying goodbye.Motherfucker!
“All right,” I say as I stand, nudging the chair with my leg. Circling the table, I stop a few feet from my brother and say, “I won’t be back later today. You and Stella will need to deal without me until I figure this out, until I find Lena.”
“Whatever you need, bro,” he says. “I’ll get tonight’s shift covered since she won’t be here.”
“Thanks, Roc,” I respond, turning on my heel and taking the steps up, two at a time, out of the restaurant.
Jogging down the sidewalk to my car, I flip my phone open and dial Luci’s number.Voicemail again, dammit!She never answers her phone. So frustrating!I get in my car, slam the door, and start driving. I crank the volume and let Anathema’s “One Last Goodbye” drown out the noise in my head.
Luci lives in the apartment she shared with Lena before we moved in together. I’ve been banging on the door wicked hard, and Luci still doesn’t answer it. I need to ease up before the glass pane shatters. She must be passed out sleeping. I jog off the front porch, around to the side of the house, and find Luci’s bedroom window at the back. I look like a stalker doing this, but I don’t give a fuck. I need Luci to wake up so I can find out what she knows.
