30. Harper
30
O n Thursday, the morning of my fifth full day at the retreat, I walked to the smoothie bar by the pool for my green goodness fresh start. The line was smaller, which meant I made a wise choice to sleep in this morning. There was no coffee anywhere on the resort—minor detail they left off on the brochure, but so far, I hadn’t died of deprivation.
Edna and Carl were already out tanning in their same chairs at ten o’clock. They were one of the few couples on the retreat. Over eighty percent of the guests checked in were fifty-five and older, mostly women. Most still-working women, who needed this getaway from the stress of their demanding jobs.
A handful were overworked lawyers, some doctors, writers, and couples suffering from empty nest syndrome after their kids went away to college.
I asked Rosemarie on my second day here if this was the typical age group, and was told there was something in the brochure that mentioned a focus on more elderly clientele, but didn’t think I’d mind since here, “age is only a number”.
But in the short time I’d been here, I’d come to love these women. Even some of the older couples made me smile, giving me hope that not all men are heartless creatures.
Beth and Jill were two of my favorite attorneys. Both from California but didn’t know each other before they met here. They work for large corporations running them to their bones and needed a mental break.
Vicky was divorced. In fact, a lot of women here were divorced or separated.
There was a lot you learned about people having breakfast with them daily, going for hikes, yoga or volleyball on the beach. And, of course, Friends at First Sight was held once a week—it was set up like speed dating, and you moved from one person to the next on a chair to get to know why they were here and their goals. Some stories were inspiring. Some sad.
Part of it was to get to know all the people you’ll be spending a lot of time with, another was to ensure you didn’t feel alone in your quest for peace and soul searching.
After my smoothie and whole grain toast, I went to the main office for any mail or messages and also to extend my stay for another week after my eight days were up. I still had three more days, but knew I needed more time. So far, the retreat had done its job, but I had years of built-up anger, regret, loss—and now heartbreak—to fully get past.
“You’re all set for your extension and here is your mail,” Katie at the front desk offered. She handed me a thick padded envelope, a letter—which was likely an invitation to purchase a timeshare here and coupons for stuff to do outside the resort.
“Thanks very much.” I grabbed them and moved aside to a small table, ripping open the thick package first.
My phone.
It was nice not having it for a few days. I’d come to hate this thing after the whole August disaster. I cringed when I thought about all the desperate messages I’d sent him through this device and he’d ignored.
There was no part of me that wanted to text or call him ever again. Neither was there a part of me that wanted to fight for us. The part that wanted to shake him and make him see he was the one I wanted.
I exhaled an easy breath which I’d learned to perfect during my yoga sessions, but a familiar hollowness crept up in my chest now that I’d allowed myself to think about him again.
Not now. I’ve been doing so well.
Seeing August last Saturday afternoon was painful but also settled me somehow. Even though the amends I’d made that day were with Troy, I felt like I’d said goodbye to August too.
I left them with a smile—a bitter smile maybe, but it felt real for me. And that was enough.
I was relieved to find my phone dead. “One more day without messages won’t hurt.”
Besides, phones technically weren’t allowed during activity or leisure hours, so I slipped it away.
Walking past poolside, I strolled to the beach, which was only a short ramp from the elevated pool deck.
Thursday was bike riding day and since I had never ridden, I passed on it and stayed on the beach with my two lawyer friends.
They insisted I do all the talking since I’d listened to their stories of failed marriages and overworked yet highly paid lives.
I think I’d rather go biking and keep falling on my ass for four miles.
“And we don’t want to hear the speed-dating version of it. We want to hear it all. We’ve got nothing but time, sweets.”
My mother used to call me sweets. I figured it was a sign I should start with her.
I talked to Beth and Jill about my mother. They were sad for me, but not in a pity way; it was more of a “ yeah, we’ve been there, but it gets better ” kind of way. The slight difference comparatively was refreshing.
I’d promised to bring down a sketch I made of her a few days ago while I was sitting poolside with my green concoction. It wasn’t like I remembered her, she was much more peaceful looking, laying in a hammock by the shore with guys that looked like Antonio Banderas bringing her flavored tea and reciting poetry.
All her favorite things surrounding her.
I imagined we had the same view as I looked out into the ocean. That she was with me only in her world.
“Man, I need a margarita,” Beth whined.
“I need a man,” Jill countered.
I laughed. “I can run inside and get you one, Beth.”
“Nah, it’s a trek, it’ll be warm by the time you make it back here. There used to be a tiki bar right here, but it’s temporarily closed…staffing issue or something.”
“That’s B.S.,” Jill argued. “They just don’t want us drinking.”
“Or having coffee for that matter,” I whined back.
“You said the C word…did you know coffee has mold in it and is supposedly what causes migraines and makes you sluggish later in the day,” Jill, who was the health nut between the three of us, informed.
We made fun of the things we all knew we secretly loved about the resort and rested under the trees until our early afternoon wellness activity.
Every day felt better than the last during my stay here so far, as I’d told my new friends when they asked. I felt stronger and energetic.
But what I kept to myself—and the reason I’d extended my stay—was that it would take a little longer to try and piece my heart back together.
After dinner, I hung out with some new friends at the lounge and when more than half of them called it a night by ten o’clock, I took a stroll along the boardwalk. The beach was closed, but I snuck down the ramp, took off my flip flops and strolled along the cool sand. Loving the salty ocean breeze at night against my skin.
“I think the beach is closed at this hour.”
I shrieked and jumped, turning to the male voice behind me.
The moonlight and a few distant boardwalk lights were all I had to make him out. But I’d know his voice anywhere.
“August?”
“Hello, Harper.”
He cautiously stood a few feet from me and I glanced around us as if he were someone I should be afraid of.
“Can I come closer?”
My body shivered. “Closer than what? Twelve hundred miles? What are you doing here?” I shouted and instantly covered my mouth. Half expecting the beach police to start flashing lights at us. “You know this is a private resort. You’re trespassing,” I hissed.
He held his key card up and flashed me a grin. “I’ve got a room.”
I held up my hand and took a step back. “I don’t know what’s happening here…but whatever it is—I don’t need it.”
His shoulders fell tiredly and he took a step. “Harper.”
“Stop saying my name like that. Like it’s more important than your next breath. It’s deceiving.” My heart thundered out of my chest like I was scared for my life. But I wasn’t scared for my life. I was scared for the heart I’d been trying to mend.
“Can we talk?”
I looked at him like he was crazy. “No.”
He looked down and nodded as if he were thinking of another approach.
“There’s nothing you can say.” I closed my eyes and put a hand up, focusing on my inner peace and lowering my tone before opening my eyes again. “There’s nothing I need to hear. Not from you.”
“I’m so sorry.” He dared to take another step toward me, like if he didn’t touch me soon, he’d fall apart.
Those words, the desperate breath behind them, hammered into my barrier, and I panicked.
“I don’t know how you—it doesn’t matter. It’s not important. What’s important is that you get back on that plane and—” my voice broke but I finished my thought, “—as far away from me as possible.”
He didn’t follow me when I walked past him to head back to the hotel. He didn’t even attempt to get another word.
He just let me go.
And that was just fine.