The Return - Short Story

She squinted in the summer light, unaccustomed to its shimmer. Like when she would come out of a cinema and daylight would shock her. She imagined it was how a mole would feel should it ever pop its head out of its tunnel, a creature best suited to darkness, like her.

Through her half-opened eyes she saw him looking at her. He was waiting for an answer and she knew he would soon become impatient. It had been a long time since she had seen his face but she knew what it said without him saying a word. She lifted up her hand to shield the glare, not just from the sun but also his eyes. She needed a few moments to accustom herself to the situation. What had she done? Why had she done it? He wanted to know. He wanted to know why she had decided to run, to leave him.

Seeing him brought so many memories to the surface for her – those past images strangling any voice that tried to escape. She was accosted by words, emotions and thoughts of another time, when passion ruled and instinct prevailed. Her, when she was raw, real, untainted by the time honoured dance of deceit.

She cleared her throat, playing for time, and moved her hand to stroke her own hair, comforted by her own softness. Allowing the strands to separate and join, jostling to be highlighted by the sun. Her eyes closed and readjusted, the lines around her eyes deepened and they showed the ghost of laughter that had been; a spectre of another time.

He watched her movements carefully, not allowing her another single action a moment of anonymity. According to him, she had too much of it already. She had made sure of that. He wanted to take in everything about her – what had changed, and more crucially, what had stayed the same. He wanted to see the links that had brought them together. He could see the curve of the small scar near her ring finger nail, where she had once cut herself with a knife when they were cooking on the beach one evening, just as the sun set turned blood red. They washed her finger in the gentle waves just as the sun kissed the sea; he remembered when she, the sea and sun were in blessed union. He had looked up at her face, shimmering in their blessing and knew he loved her, more than he had ever loved anyone. He knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, to be the person who would see all the wrinkles form on her skin and grey strands in her hair. He wanted to count and name them. He wanted to know what they meant and represented in her life. Now, as he looked at her, he saw strangers on her skin – people, places and times he would never know intimately.

Unexpectedly he stammered, ‘Well?’
  ‘Well?’ she replied, as if he were to give the answers that had remained hidden for so long.
  ‘I guess we could start talking,’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s been a long time. A lot has happened.’
She smiled ruefully at his gesture of breaking the ice. She opened her eyes despite the brightness piercing her sight.
  ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ she replied. ‘A lot has happened and it would be good to talk. How are you?’ she asked.
  He laughed, briefly, and looked at her, ‘Well, in a way I am relieved. I mean, you are alive…’
  ‘I am,’ she assented and confirmed with a quick smile and her hands lightly brushed the length of her body to remind her that her body was indeed present at their very table, sitting at a café, sipping coffee outside on the terrace.

She looked down at her hands, and quietly said… ‘I know. I know I have a lot of explaining to do… All I can say is I wasn’t doing it to you, I was doing it for me.’ She paused, ‘Selfish I know.’

Silence.

  ‘I am sorry, I hadn’t planned it, it just happened,’ she replied hesitantly.  ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ her voice getting softer and softer.  ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me.’