No man can truly feel the lightness of happiness until it is gone. In a happy world, every ebb and flow of circumstance creates its own drama, a nuance of misery or fury. But when the weight of difficulty presses down, perhaps the greatest loss is the recognition of how blessed those moments were. When once there was happiness, even sorrows were levity. – Notes in Felicity’s secondhand copy of Dicken’s David Copperfield. Undated.
Because I believe in right and wrong, I believe that someone who goes back on his word - without compelling reason - is basically a criminal. He’s a thief, and there are no two ways about that. People try to justify it, try to pretend that it’s inescapable – as if they were not in control of themselves – but they are not mindless, moved by forces outside themselves to an inevitable conclusion. There is a choice they make, and every choice cascades from that first one. It is and will be the catalyst for all the rapids that follow until the moment the person goes back to the first decision and repudiates it. – Felicity’s journal, March 27
March 15
Felicity's first real suspicion that Brendon had lied to her came the next morning.
Brendon had risen early, leaving her mostly asleep and claiming that he would fix her breakfast in bed. Thirty minutes later, Felicity had finally awakened fully and, tired of waiting, she decided to wander out to see if Brendon needed help – he had never proved particularly handy in the kitchen. Probably painted the kitchen with pancake batter, she joked to herself, trying not to feel irritated that he had taken so long. Climbing out of bed, she slipped on the plush slippers that came with the cabin, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and wandered into the living room.
“Brendon?”
No answer.
“Brendon, where are you?”
Still no answer.
Felicity ambled into the beautiful window room and gazed sleepily at the hamlet village that spread out below. Yawning, she contemplated whether or not to succumb to the inviting warmth of an early morning swim but rejected the thought as the cobwebs swept from her brain to reveal an uneasiness. With all that had happened before she left, she did not like being alone in the cabin. Once she awoke fully, she realized that she should possibly be concerned at Brendon’s absence. Turning from the picturesque scenery, Felicity crossed purposefully out into the kitchen, determined to find her husband.
Unfortunately, the kitchen held no more hint of his presence than the other rooms she had explored, no sign that he had opened a cupboard. She continued through the dining room, the garage, and the guest room - nothing. After that search proved fruitless, Felicity retraced her path through the house, taking the time to glance into the closets and bathrooms. Finally, on the mirror of the master bathroom she found a sticky note. It read: Ran into town for some supplies. Be back in about an hour.
An hour. She breathed a sigh of relief, laughing at her increasing paranoia. Well, besides the heart attack he gave me, I guess that makes sense.
Breakfast in bed obviously couldn't happen anymore, so Felicity decided to indulge in a different luxury – one not dependent on her husband. Gliding to the bathroom, she turned on the water and began to fill the giant tub which housekeeping had stocked with all the amenities: bubble bath, scented soaps, bath salts, and salon quality shampoo and conditioners. One thing Felicity had learned to appreciate as a mom was the power of a long bath for the purpose of rejuvenation.
Though she had no real reason for stress after her good night's sleep, Brendon's disappearance had tensed her more than she would have expected. Maybe lingering doubts from the past few days. Hot water and aromatherapy, she counseled, still a little miffed at Brendon, though she guessed that he had left her sleeping. He'll be back in 30 minutes, she figured, assuming he had departed a while before she woke. She settled in the hot water and bubbles that began to fill the tub. While the tub filled, she tugged the little tray with her laptop over so she could email her parents about the kids. They hadn’t quite managed text messages, and if Felicity wanted to allay her concerns about the kids, it would be email or a phone call. Not prepared to talk to them while I’m upset with Brendon.
When she opened the laptop, the name hit her again. “Coping Mechanism.”
She had suppressed her resentment when she had seen the words. A couple of weeks before, Brendon had taken the laptop to his best friend for repair. Not that she had noticed anything off about the computer, but Brendon had insisted it needed an update, and his friend was an expert. When she had gotten her laptop back, he had changed the name. He claimed it was a joke, but it was a complaint. His favorite and only complaint against her was that she used the laptop as a replacement for a life. Maybe, she realized, though she hadn’t known how to connect with people when it was so hard for her to leave the house. She quickly clicked past the offending words, responded to the email from her mom, and shut the device, realizing that for once, it wasn’t helping.
Breathing deeply, Felicity settled into the water, and she practiced relaxing so effectively that she soon realized she had dozed off. The bath pillow under her head had kept her in place, and she now sat up abruptly, sensing something alien that she couldn't pinpoint.
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“Brendon?” she called, hoping to chase her heart down from her throat to its proper place. Probably a dream, she realized.
Felicity glanced at the clock. 9:15 a.m. Brendon had left at least an hour and a half before, and that assumed that she had found the note only a few minutes after he left. Reaching over her head, she grabbed the plush, hotel-quality towel from the bar and carefully stood while she wrapped herself with it. As soon as she stepped out of the bath, she pulled a robe from its hook and traded the vulnerability of the towel for the security of the robe's extra wrap and ties. Felicity dried her feet on the rug, then cautiously shuffled to look out into her room. No sign of anyone.
Really, she chastised herself. You're being ridiculous.
The demons of the misgivings she had felt in Phoenix had followed her to this cold, foreign place. Even with so many strange occurrences, she still couldn't justify her fear. Except...
Her thoughts trailed off as her skin began to crawled at the memory.
On the plane, Felicity had dozed on one of the sofas. Brendon’s phone had sounded, and he had begun a conversation in Spanish. Felicity had not really been awake enough to process the words, but she remembered a fuzzy, sleepy thought that had passed through her mind. “...no tengo miedo de ti,” Brendon had said, “Es de mi mujer.” Felicity’s mind asked, “’De’? Does that mean of or from?” The thought had melted into dreams, but she felt certain she had actually heard them.
The words recalled themselves now that adrenaline had intensified the clarity of Felicity's thoughts. Was he afraid of her or afraid for her? Brendon had no reason to be afraid of her. But why would he be afraid for her? To be honest, Felicity had been afraid for herself, but she felt largely confident that she was imagining things, that all of the little occurrences over the past few days were incidental. If she kept up the paranoia, she would need to go to counseling – something wasn’t right. Absolutely nothing exciting or dangerous ever happened to Felicity, so why would she be so jumpy lately? Why did she suddenly not know how to read Brendon after so many years?
Of course, if Brendon fears for me, Felicity couldn't help but think, maybe I’m right to be afraid. Despite herself, her courage fled, and both her forward motion and her heart froze for a moment as indecision strangled her.
After a moment, though, the blood that had left her extremities rushed back into them as she decided she needed to move somewhere less exposed than the middle of the room. Though her feet felt heavy, she dragged them toward the closet where her jeans and sweater awaited her.
Bursting through the closet door, she threw her clothes on and searched frantically for her cell phone. She came to the realization that she didn't even know if she was in the city or the country, so she had no assurance of cell phone service. As futile as it seemed, she searched the closet for something she could use as a weapon. A wire hanger served better than anything else she could find. I'm just overreacting, she assured herself, though she felt no conviction in her words. How had someone so usually steady become as skittish as she now felt?
Glancing through the crack in the closet door, she peered as thoroughly as she could around her room to ensure that she remained alone, or to put down the coat hanger if she saw Brendon. No one visible, Felicity carefully opened the closet and crept cat-like toward the bedroom door, still peering around to make sure no one surprised her.
Had her imagination become overactive, or had she just seen a shadow by the front door? Glancing around the edge of the bedroom's threshold, she noticed that the trees that lined
the front drive cast their shadows into the entryway, and the wind had sent them dancing wildly. Finally, feeling completely exposed, Felicity sprinted toward the kitchen. All she needed...
A door slammed. Felicity dropped behind the kitchen counter trying to conceal herself from the sound's source. Her back against the wall, she slumped to the ground trying very hard not to breathe.
“Felicity?” came Brendon's voice.
Her breath returned with a rush almost making her head spin. Though she wanted to burst out laughing, embarrassment restrained her. How could she possibly explain to Brendon why she sat on the floor? There was something wrong with her. She fumbled for an excuse as she tried to calm herself, feeling both utterly ridiculous and infinitely relieved.
“Hey, Brendon,” Felicity finally responded, trying to infuse her voice with its usual casualness. She hoped he didn't notice the slight break in her tone. “You surprised me,” she continued, standing to her feet and covertly pulling her phone from her pocket, as if she had picked it up off the floor. “Made me drop my phone.”
She glanced his way with what she hoped was a sheepish look and placed the phone on the counter in front of her.
“I was worried you had – ” he admitted before breaking off the sentence. “You should really be more careful.” Had she heard him correctly? Never had Brendon betrayed any worry for her personal safety; only for her property or her image, usually in reference to his own. For him to show, once again, such solicitousness for her seemed out of character. It didn't help her peace of mind that, as Brendon spoke, he furtively averted his eyes from hers.
“So, where's my breakfast?” she complained in a light tone, not prepared to address her concerns. “I've been out of bed for about an hour,” and she glance at Brendon to see his reaction.
He leveled her a skeptical look. “You’ve been out of bed for any hour. I only left forty-five minutes ago.”
Felicity’s face fell in confusion. Had she misread the clock? Maybe she hadn’t actually fallen asleep in the bathtub, but had just started to, But, no. The clock had said 8:00. It was after 9:15, now, and she had actually minimized his time gone. Hadn’t she?
“I admit,” he offered, “that it took me longer than I expected. The store didn't have much selection, and I made the mistake of going north toward Banff, which it turns out is quite a bit farther than Canmore.” Then, in a lighter tone, “But if you give me five minutes, I'll deliver an outstanding omelet.”
“Is that five minutes real time or Brendon time?” she mumbled. All is forgiven, all better be forgotten, she mimicked Brendon’s expectations. Well, he had placed enough doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t confront him.
“Watch yourself...” he threatened, though he couched the comment in teasing. He seemed to think he had sufficiently distracted Felicity from their unspoken conversation.
Though Felicity tried to laugh, the sound was forced, unnatural. Brendon's continued lack of forthcoming had begun to rile her, and although she loathed arguments, she felt one brewing in her mind. After fifteen years learning passivity, Felicity found herself suddenly less than willing to let an argument go.
Had Brendon lied about where he had gone, or had he really spent two hours unsuccessfully shopping for waffles? Some internal sense in her kept peeling layers off of Brendon’s façade, but rather than reveal the source underneath, there were never-ending layers. If something didn’t change soon, she thought she would lose her mind. Maybe I already have.