LJ Idol: topic 5
truly inconceivable
Sharon took her third deep breath (okay, maybe it was closer to her twelfth) since approaching the door to the café and smoothed her hand again first over her sage green linen dress and then over her honey blonde hair, newly cut into a modern shag. She figured she looked as nice and composed in the circumstances as she could given the news that had sent her reeling nearly a week ago.
When the highway patrol officer had stood on her front porch last Tuesday, she had hardly been able to take in, let alone comprehend the words she’d heard come out of his mouth, even though she’d asked him to repeat them at least three times. Hank was supposedly alive, he’d been telling her. Hank, who’d disappeared six years ago (it would have been seven come March) and declared dead nearly three years ago, had turned up in Arizona, less than a day’s drive from where she and their three children had been living since the day he vanished.
The photograph the officer showed her certainly could pass for Hank or his double, with the addition of a few more laugh lines (that was rich - what the hell had he found to laugh about since leaving his family bereft and abandoned all that time ago?) and the faint beginning of crinkles at the edges of his hazel eyes. She’d always loved his eyes and his smile - she hadn’t enjoyed his careless ways with money or his “someone else will surely take care of it” attitude, but she’d been a sucker for his warm gaze and easy laugh from the day they met at Bonaventure State Park.
They’d been married for almost twelve years when he’d left on a supposed business trip one Wednesday morning and said he’d be back by Friday evening or mid-Saturday at the latest. She’d received a voice message from him on Saturday morning while at Ben’s (their middle child) soccer game, saying he’d be home later that evening. When he didn’t show up, she called the police the next morning both because she was worried but also thinking it made sense to do so - they told her they had to wait until Monday to make it an “official” missing person case, whatever that meant. She’d gone in and dutifully filled out the paperwork and answered a long litany of questions, but after finding out on Monday morning that all their joint accounts had been emptied almost to zero, she knew somewhere in the pit of her stomach that Hank wasn’t planning a return any time soon, if ever. She had never shared that with the kids - how does one tell a daughter and two sons that their dad doesn’t want to parent them anymore? She never had quite figured that one out, so on some level, she thought it kinder for them to believe some accident had befallen him rather than that he’d actually up and left them so callously.
Then, several months later, his car had been found wrecked and burned in a ravine outside of Modesto - he’d never told her his exact itinerary, which wasn’t unusual, but Sharon had no solid idea what had taken him a good two day’s drive from their hometown, especially as he’d claimed he’d be gone a reasonably short time. They’d also found some of his clothes torn and a blood amount they described as not small in and around the car. After a cursory investigation turned up no body but also no leads that he might have survived the accident, the police asked her if she wanted to start proceedings to have him legally declared dead, and she’d rather numbly acquiesced.
Now she stood in this unbelievable spot of getting ready to walk into this café on the outskirts of Flagstaff to see Hank for the first time in nearly 80 months. Many of them had been agonizing, tumultuous months, and even though most days recently had been more good than bad, she knew she had to see Hank in person to figure out where in the hell her life was going to go from here. With one more quick, steadying breath, she made herself grip the door handle and pull it toward her so she could step into the restaurant.
After letting her eyes adjust to the dimness from the daylight outside, she noticed a man had stood up from a booth against the far back wall. She forced her right foot forward and then her left, smiling inwardly when she realized she would be able to complete the walk of about 15 steps to where he stood. Sharon found herself pausing at about the eleventh step so she could take a quick visual inventory and assure herself it was in fact Hank. He smiled, a bit hesitantly at first and then broadly as he seemed to conclude his own nonverbal assessment of her, and with that smile, the last niggling doubt was erased and she propelled herself cautiously but with purpose the rest of the way.
As she reached the table, he surprised her by holding out his hand, waiting to grasp hers. She wasn’t sure why it surprised her - or the reasons it did were too numerous and complicated to consider right then - but she reflexively held out her own hand to him in return. She was further taken aback when he pulled her gently toward him and brushed her right cheek with his lips. He smelled great, but at that moment she didn’t give a fuck about that. There was no hesitation whatsoever as she pulled back and quickly extracted her hand so that she could raise it to deliver a firm (but remarkably restrained, considering the depth of her instant, white-hot anger) slap to his own right cheek. Then she turned to the waitress who stood a few feet away and said, “Could I get some coffee?” and slid into the booth to finally rest her suddenly weak legs. She didn’t know for sure if the vague ache and flutters in her stomach were due more to relief or disappointment when Hank followed suit and sat back down as well…
this is my fifth entry for Season 8 of lj idol. stay tuned for a later update for where you can vote for this and other submissions after the due date for entries passes.
Sharon took her third deep breath (okay, maybe it was closer to her twelfth) since approaching the door to the café and smoothed her hand again first over her sage green linen dress and then over her honey blonde hair, newly cut into a modern shag. She figured she looked as nice and composed in the circumstances as she could given the news that had sent her reeling nearly a week ago.
When the highway patrol officer had stood on her front porch last Tuesday, she had hardly been able to take in, let alone comprehend the words she’d heard come out of his mouth, even though she’d asked him to repeat them at least three times. Hank was supposedly alive, he’d been telling her. Hank, who’d disappeared six years ago (it would have been seven come March) and declared dead nearly three years ago, had turned up in Arizona, less than a day’s drive from where she and their three children had been living since the day he vanished.
The photograph the officer showed her certainly could pass for Hank or his double, with the addition of a few more laugh lines (that was rich - what the hell had he found to laugh about since leaving his family bereft and abandoned all that time ago?) and the faint beginning of crinkles at the edges of his hazel eyes. She’d always loved his eyes and his smile - she hadn’t enjoyed his careless ways with money or his “someone else will surely take care of it” attitude, but she’d been a sucker for his warm gaze and easy laugh from the day they met at Bonaventure State Park.
They’d been married for almost twelve years when he’d left on a supposed business trip one Wednesday morning and said he’d be back by Friday evening or mid-Saturday at the latest. She’d received a voice message from him on Saturday morning while at Ben’s (their middle child) soccer game, saying he’d be home later that evening. When he didn’t show up, she called the police the next morning both because she was worried but also thinking it made sense to do so - they told her they had to wait until Monday to make it an “official” missing person case, whatever that meant. She’d gone in and dutifully filled out the paperwork and answered a long litany of questions, but after finding out on Monday morning that all their joint accounts had been emptied almost to zero, she knew somewhere in the pit of her stomach that Hank wasn’t planning a return any time soon, if ever. She had never shared that with the kids - how does one tell a daughter and two sons that their dad doesn’t want to parent them anymore? She never had quite figured that one out, so on some level, she thought it kinder for them to believe some accident had befallen him rather than that he’d actually up and left them so callously.
Then, several months later, his car had been found wrecked and burned in a ravine outside of Modesto - he’d never told her his exact itinerary, which wasn’t unusual, but Sharon had no solid idea what had taken him a good two day’s drive from their hometown, especially as he’d claimed he’d be gone a reasonably short time. They’d also found some of his clothes torn and a blood amount they described as not small in and around the car. After a cursory investigation turned up no body but also no leads that he might have survived the accident, the police asked her if she wanted to start proceedings to have him legally declared dead, and she’d rather numbly acquiesced.
Now she stood in this unbelievable spot of getting ready to walk into this café on the outskirts of Flagstaff to see Hank for the first time in nearly 80 months. Many of them had been agonizing, tumultuous months, and even though most days recently had been more good than bad, she knew she had to see Hank in person to figure out where in the hell her life was going to go from here. With one more quick, steadying breath, she made herself grip the door handle and pull it toward her so she could step into the restaurant.
After letting her eyes adjust to the dimness from the daylight outside, she noticed a man had stood up from a booth against the far back wall. She forced her right foot forward and then her left, smiling inwardly when she realized she would be able to complete the walk of about 15 steps to where he stood. Sharon found herself pausing at about the eleventh step so she could take a quick visual inventory and assure herself it was in fact Hank. He smiled, a bit hesitantly at first and then broadly as he seemed to conclude his own nonverbal assessment of her, and with that smile, the last niggling doubt was erased and she propelled herself cautiously but with purpose the rest of the way.
As she reached the table, he surprised her by holding out his hand, waiting to grasp hers. She wasn’t sure why it surprised her - or the reasons it did were too numerous and complicated to consider right then - but she reflexively held out her own hand to him in return. She was further taken aback when he pulled her gently toward him and brushed her right cheek with his lips. He smelled great, but at that moment she didn’t give a fuck about that. There was no hesitation whatsoever as she pulled back and quickly extracted her hand so that she could raise it to deliver a firm (but remarkably restrained, considering the depth of her instant, white-hot anger) slap to his own right cheek. Then she turned to the waitress who stood a few feet away and said, “Could I get some coffee?” and slid into the booth to finally rest her suddenly weak legs. She didn’t know for sure if the vague ache and flutters in her stomach were due more to relief or disappointment when Hank followed suit and sat back down as well…
this is my fifth entry for Season 8 of lj idol. stay tuned for a later update for where you can vote for this and other submissions after the due date for entries passes.