Leave of Absence

He was meant to stay for a week’s vacation. One year later, he hadn’t left. He arrived with his wife, and she left him behind.

He had watched her wave goodbye from the taxi as it unceremoniously ferried her away. He struggled to understand her ability to so casually discard their fifteen years of marriage, as if their years together had been a stop gap for something—he had no idea what.

He returned to his hotel room, seeking its solace. Instead, he found rebuke from this shared witness to her last words to him: “It’s too late. You gave up on us a long time ago, Simon.”

The accuracy of her words stung; he wasn’t proud of his benign neglect of their marriage. He had always known he too closely protected his emotions, when all she had asked for was the smallest glimpse into his inner world. He had been too cowardly to let her in, taking her patience for granted.

Needing escape from the scene of his dismissal, he checked out of his hotel and into a nearby Airbnb, departure date unknown. Several days later, he arranged to work remotely, craving its utility in this new world of unknown purpose. True to his temperament, he held himself steady, stoic. The days passed, blanketed in gloomy haze. The ocean became his constant companion, luring him with the anonymity of her deep waters. He admired her glorious capacity, all that lay beneath her roiling surface.

Days turned to months until the season changed, unnoticed. He found distractions to occupy his time: exploring the produce market, walking along the promenade, attempting to get to know his neighbors. He experimented with new recipes in his small kitchen but found them lacking in flavor. He was dismayed to discover he had no palate in the absence of his wife’s specific tastes. It all felt trivial, void of purpose.

The arrival of the next season brought tourists. His senses alerted to the honking cars, laughter, and music that echoed well into the night. He remained a bystander, sheltering behind the safety of his window. He had a sense of living between worlds, not yet home but no longer on holiday. Not wanting to cause alarm by his extended absence, he dutifully returned phone calls from concerned friends and family. He revealed little about his plans or how he spent his days. He hoped something resembling a life would coalesce.

He was uncomfortable in this new existence. He held trust in the universe, confident it would one day beckon him out of his exile. He tried to find joy in small pleasures: the smell of jasmine in the air, the feel of sand on his feet, the lack of responsibility to anyone but himself. That feeling of being untethered, though, was what scared him the most. These unchartered waters unnerved him as he struggled to find his sense of direction.

Weeks later, a stray dog followed him home from the market. He nearly missed her presence until he was met by her unrelenting gaze, the one that seemed to stare into his soul. He had never been fond of dogs, feeling they demanded too much of his attention. If he had been honest with himself, he might have admitted he had never felt worthy of such unconditional love. He was unable to understand the trust they placed in the most terrible of human beings, receiving nothing in return for their loyalty.

He regarded her matted fur and couldn’t imagine who had been able to discard this benign little creature. Her deep brown eyes reflected his pain. Thinking she must be hungry, he rummaged through his refrigerator and found a package of ground beef. He spooned some onto a plate and gently placed it on his front porch, unsettled by his desire to please her. She considered his offering yet didn’t give him the satisfaction of her acceptance. The plate sat untouched, an impasse between them.

Several minutes went by until she appeared to sigh before walking out the door, back to wherever she came from. He had no idea what she sought but knew in his heart he had let her down. He later fell asleep with profound sadness.

His spirits lifted when she found him the next day, and each day thereafter. She freely extended her companionable silence. He allowed himself to anticipate her presence, feeling a glimmer of emotion, one he couldn’t yet define. He vowed not to destroy this fragile friendship. He found himself mesmerized by her effortless ability to secure such a prominent place in his heart.

On the tenth day, he mustered the courage to beckon her into his rental, feeling, at last, that he deserved her friendship. He feared her rejection, unprepared for his reaction if she refused to come inside. She graciously crossed the threshold and all felt right with the world.

They peacefully coexisted, neither expecting too much from the other. He began to accept their tenuous bond as enduring. She hadn’t yet moved into his rental but dutifully accompanied him there each day. He didn’t know where she slept at night but was heartbreakingly grateful when she returned.

Until the day he went to the promenade and she wasn’t in their usual meeting spot. She had, without fail, awaited his arrival next to the loading dock for the better part of a month. He scanned the area and didn’t see her scruffy visage anywhere. He wouldn’t admit his disappointment; doing so would force him to acknowledge how lonely and isolated he had become.

He waited for the next hour, pretending to read something on his phone. She never arrived; he reluctantly walked home.

For the next several weeks, he made excuses each day to check the loading dock, even while suspecting their time together had ended. More than his melancholy at the loss of her company, he hoped she hadn’t met an unfortunate fate. He refused to imagine anything dire, instead consoling himself with the hope that she had found a new family.

He discovered new ways to distract himself, feeling pulled toward human connection. He accepted his neighbor’s invitation for dinner and found himself making small talk with one of the vendors at the farmer’s market. He was piecing together the semblance of a life as he doubted whether he would ever go back home.

Nearly six months later, he was walking along the promenade when he saw her. At first, he thought he was mistaken but it was impossible to ignore the filling of his heart when she looked his way.

She was at the end of a leash being held by a woman with soft, kind features. The woman laughed when the dog strained her leash to gain access to his outstretched hands.

“Well, someone sure likes you!” she said to him.

At a loss for words, he allowed the dog to lick his face. He pretended he didn’t notice she was lapping up his tears of relief. He eventually stood up, remembering his manners.

“Sorry about that. It seems that she and I have some unfinished business,” he explained.

The woman appeared confused. “Unfinished business?”

He wasn’t sure how to put into words the ambiguous yet essential nature of their previous interactions.

She waited patiently for him to speak before offering, “You know, she does have a healing effect on people.”

“That she does. What’s her name, anyway?”

“Angel. I know, not very original but doesn’t that perfectly describe her?”

A smile spread across his face. “Angel. What a fitting name. How long have you had her?”

“For two years now, give or take, if you factor in the days she disappears. Every now and then, it’s as if she starts a new job and I don’t see her until she comes home for dinner. I never know where she has gone. But now, I think I have an idea.” She eyed him expectantly.

He had the decency to feign an apologetic face. In truth, he felt no regret, as Angel had been proof that the world was still capable of providing unexpected gifts. He lowered his head and after several long minutes answered, “Thank you for letting her go to work.”

“It was my honor. I think it will come as no surprise to you that she’s a trained therapy dog.”

Of course she was. He marveled at the serendipity. Leave it to him to present such need that a dog would leave her comfortable home to heal him. He felt immense gratitude to the woman who had selflessly released Angel to fulfill some unknown purpose.

He felt both vulnerable and hopeful, unsure what to make of this unexpected juxtaposition. Whether he knew it or not, Angel had taught him not to believe in coincidences or to squander an opportunity.

He hazarded a look at the woman’s left hand and found it bare. Before he could talk himself out of it, he asked, “Would you let me buy you and Angel a drink?”

“How about I do you one better? I’ve got some stew in the crock pot at home. You can bring the wine.”

They walked toward her cottage, maintaining easy banter. Simon was quite pleased with himself as he gazed toward the calm horizon. It seemed the storm had passed.