Yesterday, in the cafeteria of an Italian resort, I heard the laughter of my late wife before I saw her face. Sarah was alive, wearing sunglasses and going hand in hand with my worst enemy. She had been teaching our daughter for three years to say good night to a photo of her with a kiss. Then Sarah looked at the diaper bag and stopped smiling.
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Laughter came from the cafeteria before it reached the door.
I hadn’t heard it in three years, except in the least opportune places.
I hadn’t heard it in three years.
At 4 a.m., while rocking our daughter.
In the aisle of the supermarket, when a stranger crouched down to look at tomatoes.
In the cemetery, once, while a woman behind me answered the phone and laughed exactly like Sarah used to laugh.
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Yesterday, the sound came from a table under a striped awning in Portofino, Italy.
The sound came from a table under a striped awning.
I stopped by the cake case with a little box wrapped in my hand. Inside was a wooden musical toy for Lily’s third birthday.
Lily had stayed in the resort with her babysitter, allegedly teaching Italian to her stuffed rabbit.
I had been absent for about 15 minutes.
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That’s what took time to get my late wife back.
I had left for a while, about 15 minutes.
Sarah was sitting by the window, dressed in cream-colored linen clothes and dark sunglasses.
He wore the shortest hair.
He had a burn scar on the left side of the cheek. He had a hand leaning on the table, next to an untouched espresso.
The other hand was intertwined with Marcus’s.
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My worst enemy.
A burn scar on the left side of the cheek.
While I was still ordering flowers for an empty grave, he was engaged in destroying my company, and later told investors that I had become “emotionally unreliable” just two weeks after Sarah’s funeral.
In one fell swoop, Marcus took my clients, my trust and any fragile remnants of my pride that the pain still would not have shattered.
Marcus saw me first.
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His expression didn’t change as I expected.
Marcus saw me first.
No air of sufficiency.
No fear.
Just a quick and controlled stillness.
Sarah followed her gaze.
He lowered his sunglasses.
For a second, I saw her become a ghost when she saw me.
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Sarah followed her gaze.
Then he looked down.
Not to my face.
Not even the box in my hand.
Towards the diaper bag that was carrying the shoulder, from where Lily’s tiny yellow knitted ducking peeked through the side pocket.
Sarah’s fingers rose to him.
Just.
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Then they stopped.
Then he looked down.
“Sarah,” I whispered. “Is that you?”
His lips were broken.
Volvió a mirar al pato.
“Por favor”, susurró. “Aquí no”.
“Sarah, is that you?”
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Something colder than anger took over me.
“Pues dime dónde”.
Marcus raised the first.
I saw her hand separate from her.
“Don’t you dare say anything,” I roared.
He nodded once.
That made me hate him even more.
I watched her hand separate from her.
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Sarah tried to get up and grabbed the edge of the table. Marcus moved around to help her, but stopped when I looked at him.
She noticed.
The cafeteria had a terrace upstairs that was closed in the afternoon.
Marcus spoke to the owner for a moment. The money did not change anything with the naked eye, but the doors of the terrace opened.
She noticed.
***
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We went up the stairs in silence.
Sarah was slow.
I realized I was dragging my left foot when I was tired.
I didn’t want to realize it.
Upstairs, the sea stretched beyond the railing, so bright it looked cruel.
Sarah sat down.
Marcus stood.
I didn’t sit at all.
I didn’t want to realize it.
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“Where is he?” Sarah asked.
The question came before the apology.
“Where’s my daughter, Harry?”
He had been carrying the pain for three years for a woman who believed it no longer existed. That one question didn’t erase it.
I had been in that pain for three years.
“In the resort,” I said. “With your babysitter.”
Sarah pressed her fingers against the table.
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“Is it okay?”
