Hopetown Road

We spend our first weekend together at the beach during the day and at the condo cooking dinner at night. We do not make love. In fact, we do not so much as touch one another. I try, he rebuffs. He even sleeps down the hall in the fourth bedroom. Oddly, Landon always seems to be on his phone texting. I see him resting on the sofa while the kids are climbing all over him, his phone in hand, his fingers madly typing away. He is ignoring his children. It is odd, but it must be work related, I convince myself. Landon explains to my utter dismay that he will have to return once more to wrap things up; his deadline has been pushed back. That explains why he hasn’t brought his bags. I am relieved.

Monday morning comes and I ask Landon to usher the kids to the Falcon International School, where they have been going since early September. They give me hugs and kisses and are out the door, excited to show off their daddy to their friends and teachers.

The morning is dreary and damp and the condo is beginning to have a certain odor that I can’t quite place. I make a note on the small pad in the kitchen to call the landlord. Later. Sipping my cold coffee, I make a face and pour the dregs down into the stained and dingy metal kitchen sink.

Staring out the small kitchen window out at the parking lot below, I have a sudden thought: Has Landon really been acting strangely, or is it just my imagination? We haven’t seen each other in so long, so maybe there will be a readjustment period. Sort of a “getting to know you again” learning curve.