An Unforgettable Goodbye

Better is a strong word. I was in the middle of brewing my second pot of coffee when my mother had decided to stop by – unannounced, I might add – to ask me if I was feeling better.

“Tremendous, actually.”

“I could have guessed as much. You should have listened to me all those years ago,” she said.

“You know what they say, live and learn.”

“They also say to listen to your elders, but it’s here nor there. What matters is that y’all are happy now.”

It had been three weeks since I last saw Sarah. We had gone to my favorite Tex-Mex locale that just so happened to be running half off lemon drops that night. We left our two-year-old daughter, Remi, with my mother, fully expecting to get sloshed and take a cab home. Although, this was the night that I planned to talk about our ever-increasing issues. Things hadn’t been great between us lately, but this dinner was (I assume) her way of mending what was broken between us.

Sarah despised talking about her feelings. So much so that every time I tried to initiate the therapy session it would end in a screaming match and one of us (usually me) taking the couch that evening. Recently, the yelling had gotten more frequent. She never threw punches, not in the literal sense, at least, but her fuse seemed to get shorter by the day. What once took a glass of merlot to quell was now taking a bottle and a half on top of the Ambien she was sneaking from her sister. I’m not sure that she’s aware that I know, but I’m not sure she would even care at this point.

I’d been preparing for this conversation for months now, rehearsing it in the shower every morning as well as the car ride to work. I’d had it all planned; we’d sit on the couch, have a glass of wine a piece, and it’d be over before the bottle was empty.

Now that the moment was here, I was a little tongue tied. I attempted to suggest we both sit down, but the words never came out. Instead, the thought was quieted by Sarah suggesting we talk over dinner and drinks. Her voice indicated a rare, good mood and I wasn’t about to spoil it. Given her recent outbursts I figured a public place might be better anyway. “How about that Tex-Mex place downtown? They’re having some drink special tonight,” she says. “Yeah, that sounds great.” I look over at our daughter, who is half asleep on the couch clutching a bag of chips and an iPad, cartoons still rolling, “just have to drop Rem off at mom’s.” “Plan on drinking with me tonight? What’s the occasion?” “Eh, better to be safe than sorry,” but I knew what was going to happen when she got a few drinks in her and didn’t want Remi around if (more like when) shit hit the fan.

The drive from moms was oddly peaceful; no nagging, no mentioning of things that I should have done or said differently, no yelling, just music and that smile that I had fallen in love with that lit up with every streetlamp we passed. She looked so pretty I temporarily forgot everything that I had planned to say for a moment. The pothole she hit brought me back to reality. “I meant to tell you earlier, but I have to work late tomorrow. I’ve got a stack of paperwork on my desk that I need done like yesterday.” She was quiet for a moment, then smirked. “That’s okay. I planned on taking Rem to one of those painting and wine classes tomorrow night anyway.” Part of me wondered if she had made this up on the spot just to spite me in some way. I started to question her, but in an effort to prolong the peace I just nodded, “Okay, cool.”

The rest of the drive was eerily silent save for the voice of Otis Redding being played at a criminally low volume, but I’ll take silence over a shouting match any day. “Oooooohhhh, we can we sit at the bar, pleaseeee. We’ll get our drinks so much faster,” she says with an excitement I haven’t heard since our daughter was born. “Eh, I was thinking booth, those chairs are more like stools. Terrible for the back.” “Fine, we’ll do it your way.” Phew, crisis averted. The last thing I need is an audience for a conversation that I’m already dreading.

“We’ll take two lemon drops,” she says before we even sit down. “What if I wanted a beer?” “Oh, they aren’t for you. I figure you’ll go back to your moms after this and talk about how awful I am over a bottle of wine.” My heart began to thump against my ribs so hard that I was afraid they might break. “What makes you think that?” The waiter comes back with two lemon drops and as quickly as he can set them down Sarah has them drank. She pulls a 20 out of her purse and slides it towards the waiter. “Keep them coming.” He doesn’t even hesitate, just picks up the cash, nods, and turns to retrieve as many lemon drops as he can carry.

She picks up right where she left off. “Oh please, I’m not oblivious. You went from arguing with me about everything to rolling over like a lap dog on every issue. If I had to guess, I’d wager that you’ve given up.” “Sarah, we’re just too different.” “Too different, you say? I’ll admit, not the words I thought you’d start with.” The waiter returns with four lemon drops this time. I think he notices my shaky hands under the table and doesn’t say a word, just drops the drinks and carries on.

In the matter of a minute Sarah has all four drinks digesting. “Is this a game to you?” I ask. “Game? No. Entertaining? A bit.” “Sarah, you’re out till midnight almost every night, and when you’re actually home you’re three sheets to the wind! I have no idea where you go or what you do.” “More like two sheets, but I won’t argue over semantics. Have you ever even asked me where I’ve been? Do you even care?”

She’s beginning to slur her words and we haven’t been here ten minutes. “I ask you every night, you just can’t remember. Probably from all the Ambien you’re sneaking mixed with the alcohol.” This obviously bothers her. Her smirk fades and she shoots me a cold, empty stare. “You dunno what you’re talkin’ bout.” “Hell, you probably won’t even remember this conversation. I’m done, Sarah.” She doesn’t speak, just stares right through me. I get up without a word and leave a 50 as a courtesy.

I hadn’t expected this to be over so soon, so now I’m scrambling for a taxi. Luckily, a younger couple just got dropped off, so I dart for the cab and jump in. I give the older gentlemen my mother’s address.

I pace along the sidewalk contemplating all the possible outcomes of this situation, but all I can think of is our daughter…my daughter.

The walk up to mom’s front door was shaky. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel, but I had this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It didn’t help that I hadn’t gotten the chance to eat, but food was the last thing on my mind now.

I didn’t get a chance to knock when mom opened the door, a glass of wine in hand. “You coming in? I saw the taxi pull up ten minutes ago. Come on, don’t spare any details. Your face is only giving me half the story.” “That bottle isn’t empty, is it?” “Even if it is, there’s more where that came from. Come on, we were just working on a puzzle.”

“I guess it’s a good thing we weren’t ever married. I couldn’t imagine having to fight over Remi like that. I’m shocked she hasn’t reached out in any way…” “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, son. It’s only been a few weeks; she could knock on that door at any moment.”

As if on cue a police car pulls in front of the house. A large man with a grim look on his face steps out of the vehicle. I don’t give him a chance to take three steps towards the door and I already have it open. “Mr. Atkins?” He asks. “That’s me. Is everything alright?” “Do you mind if I come in, sir?” “My mom and daughter are in the middle of making lunch, right here is fine, if that’s okay.” “I really think you should sit down, sir.” “Try me.” “Well, okay, do you know a Sarah Thomas?” “Yes, is everything alright?” “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, sir. Her car was found in Johnson Lake. Drove right over the guardrail at the curve off route 22. We’ve fished out the vehicle, but Ms. Thomas’s body wasn’t in there. All we found was this photo of you two and your daughter wedged in the glove compartment.” I take the photo from the officer’s hand and turn it over. On the back in big, bold letters: “WE’RE JUST TOO DIFFERENT.”