Love's Last Goodbye

He had not been expecting a letter. A text message, or maybe an email, or possibly a telephone call, but never a letter. A clump of uneasiness fluttered and rolled over in his stomach and a small throbbing began in his forehead.

Even without a return address on the ivory envelope's upper left corner, Nathan knew, without a doubt, that the neat, compact letters forming his name and address had been written by Breanna. A letter was definitely not good. His analysis of the formal contact was that she didn't want to talk to him or invite a swift email or text reply. It was easier for her to avoid questions.

Nathan eased himself onto the end barstool and laid the letter and the bills on top the cluttered stack of mail he'd been ignoring. He roughly ran the fingers of his right hand over his bristly beard and watched as the stack of mail slid slightly and increased the area it occupied on the bar top. Frowning, Nathan reached for the coffee cup near his right hand, took a quick gulp and jerked upright as the bitter, cold, stale brew assaulted his taste buds.

When the urge to gag faded, Nathan reluctantly reached for the ivory envelope and turned it over. He slipped the end of his right index finger under the envelope flap at the corner and used his fingernail to slit the entire top of envelope.

There was only one sheet of paper inside the envelope. Nathan slowly withdrew the page and unfolded it and gently placed it on the bar. He inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled and then began to read.

Nate,

Please don't hate me for leaving. I really thought I would be able to make a go of it when I came back the last time. But you know that I have a hard time with boredom. No one understands me better than you. You know I love you, but you also know I can only stand the daily grind of a dull job for a limited time and then I have to escape.

Good news! I'm calmer now and ready to come home. If you will buy me an airline ticket from New York back to Houston, I will see you soon.

I lost my cell phone and didn't have another phone I could use to call you. But on Saturday, I will find a pay phone to call you for the flight number and time.

I can't wait to see you!

Your loving wife,

Brea

With curved shoulders, Nathan propped his elbows on the bar top and laid his face in his hands. His overdue for a trim, shaggy hair settled around his fingers. Familiar emotions began their trek though his heart and mind. First, came relief that Breanna was safe, then pain that he wasn't enough for her. Anger quickly followed. Brea had no consideration for his feelings and what she put him through roughly every three months. And then disgust for himself. Even his friends were talking... and not always where he couldn't hear their comments.

Nathan wished he could cry. But today, even though his throat and chest ached, tears eluded him. For the first time, Nathan forced himself to admit that Breanna was becoming more secretive about what she did when she left home. The first few times she had fled their home, she had left behind a goodbye note explaining why she felt she had to go. And during her absences, she had texted and emailed him regularly. Phone calls came when she was ready to come home. The goodbye notes had gotten shorter and shorter and all other communication was less frequent. This last absence had brought a new peak of stress for Nathan. The plain yellow sticky note stuck on the bar top had simply said "Goodbye." And he hadn't heard from her at all for almost four weeks. She hadn't returned his text messages, emails, or the phone calls to her cell. And now, as usual, she was only ready to come home when she had no money or no one to loan her money. Loans Breanna interpreted to be a "gifts."

After drawing a deep, ragged breath, Nathan moved his hands away from his face and slowly stood, shoving the barstool back as his body gradually unfolded. As he shuffled toward the bedroom, he scratched the beard on his face. His mom would be happy to see him and would welcome his presence for the weekend. But before he packed his bag, shaved, and showered, he needed to call his boss and tell him he wanted the job in Phoenix. A change of location would do him a world of good.