The Warning

She had gone swimming that morning.

Somehow it had felt weird, as if I had a premonition that she was never coming back, but my sleep-slurred eyes couldn’t focus so I’d just turned over in bed. I had glimpsed that she was wearing a bathing suit but my muddled mind dismissed it as an error.

“I’m heading out,” was all she whispered. It was the same thing she normally whispered when she took her daily walk.

Chelsea had taken to long morning walks about two years ago and the effects provided me hours of exploration on the beautifully sculpted crevices of her body. My accusatory mind kept deriding me that I should have known she was leaving. A distance had begun visiting her hazel eyes and her voice had grown quieter.

Somehow, my heart always said she couldn’t leave. I felt caught off guard, slighted, I should have had at least an oral warning. Yet, I should have taken longer reading her eyes. Now I had nothing but the memory of them and a distant echo of long lost laughter.

Up until one o’clock that afternoon, my morning had been fairly normal. I’d rolled out of bed around ten and toasted myself a raisin bagel that I smothered with cream cheese. Chelsea’s work started at eight so her being absent didn’t raise any red flags. I just sat down at my laptop to pound out emails.

I wasn’t alarmed until my grumbling stomach caused me to look at the clock and I realized the time. Chelsea should have been home shortly after noon.

I fruitlessly called her cellphone. When I then called her work they said she’d called in sick. Vainly thinking maybe I’d find her still walking the beach, I closed my laptop and let my bare feet lead me across the sands. She was nowhere in sight and so I stopped and looked out at the ocean, hoping the blue rolling of the waves would strike an idea upon my tortured mind and that’s when I remembered the lavender bathing suit she’d been wearing that morning.

I gazed hopelessly at the ocean, my listless eyes no longer searching because I knew she was gone. The insatiable waves rolled up and lapped at my feet until it could grasp at my ankles. I watched them in disinterest as they also devoured the reminiscent marks of my bare feet upon the sand.

Chelsea hadn’t been swallowed up, she hadn’t been taken, but she had left. She had dived into the ocean that morning and forever left the beach I was standing on.

I let my gaze travel back to our tiny white house further up on the beach that was haphazardly circled by a quickly constructed wood panel fence. The area around the house was composed of sand but weeds and grass sprouts had managed to find a hold in several places and stretched hungrily toward the sun. The rays from the midday sun cast hot sparks of light upon my listless eyes.

 I trudged back toward the house, knowing I would already have several calls and voicemails from prospective investors, which just this morning meant so much to us. Well, to me, at least.. However, as I reached the small, dark metal gate that allowed entrance to the walkway leading to the front door, I couldn’t bring myself to go through it. I turned away and let my feet leave small patterns in the sand leading up to the end of the fence where my eyes landed on when it had gone wrong.

Tucked unto two wooden panels of the fence were her shoes. They were fairly new and bright pink. She had picked them out especially for strolling along the beach a week after I told her I was going to be working from home.

She’d thrown her arms around me and peppered my face with kisses. It meant I could spend more time with her.  A short two days later I started spending the majority of my time at the island in the kitchen, plugging away on my laptop and taking calls in the comfort of home and often her company. Then, three short days later, she went out for a few hours and came back with those shoes.

I couldn’t believe, after all this time, all she’d left me with was a broken heart and a pair of pink shoes.

THE END

~Grace Marshall