She awoke facing the wall. The street light left a rectangle above her as it sneaked between the blinds. Beside her, the bed was cold; the sheets thrown back in haste, and the door was left ajar. She sat up and turned to face the window. The mist hung low around the house and the sun created a glare as it tried to permeate the day with light.
She smelt the coffee before she saw him, and shifted in her seat to see him, sad to tear her eyes from the view.
"Sleep well?"
She smiled. "Like the dead." There was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. "Where have you been?"
He sat beside her, squinting at the light. "To the lake. Thought I would work on the boat before it got too hot."
"How's that going?"
"She's going to need a new motor at some point, but I've done a patch-up job on her for now."
"Your other girlfriend sounds high maintenance."
"Perhaps, but she doesn't make me lasagne." He handed her the mug and looked across the veranda at the lake. "Any plans for today?"
"I'd like to stay here and talk to you, but you look like someone who has a to-do list." When he laughed, she said, "I think I might work a little." She could tell from the way he creased his forehead that he was trying not to show his optimism.
Instead, he sipped his coffee. "Good. I'm glad." He draped an arm over the back of the seat and she leaned into the gap. She allowed herself to be lulled by the rise and fall of his breath.
"I like it here," she said. "It's peaceful."
He hummed in reply.
She was trying to find her way back across the chasm between them. The loss of a child leaves you empty in ways you cannot explain; your hopes turn to hurt and the future is a constant reminder of what might have been. Today, you might have been a year old. We might have been celebrating with a pirate ship cake and balloons. Your father might have woken you with kisses and I might have taken more photographs than I would ever look at again. We might have been happy. So, she let him hold her, neither of them speaking, as they watched the waves.
The easel occupied the corner of the veranda where she had the best view of the boardwalk, the tourists and the ice cream van. He'd gone off to work on the boat again and, she suspected, have a few beers at the Yacht Club. She held her brush in one hand, the palette in the other, and began to slide colours across the canvas. Verdi's Four Seasons reverberated off the walls, urging her to persevere. She lost all sense of time, and it was only when she noticed her back aching from leaning so close to the painting that she realised how the sun had shifted.
He came out with a tray of drinks and snacks, smelling like fresh grass and body wash.
"That's incredible," he said. "I haven't seen you paint since... Well, it's lovely. I think it deserves a place..."
"In the guest bathroom?" She laughed as she placed her accoutrements on her stool.
"I was going to say the foyer. It's something I would look forward to seeing every time I walk through the door."
She walked to him and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's a very sweet thing to say."
"I do my best."
As he kissed her, she felt the first fronds of a suspension bridge weaving across the chasm and she pulled him closer, inching her heart open to him.
He broke their kiss and stared into her eyes. "You've come back to me."
"I know. I'm sorry I was gone for so long." She saw the emotion pool in his eyes and had to look away.
"No," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how to help you. I didn't know what to say." He tilted her head towards his. "I never gave up hoping that we'd make it through. That right there," he nodded at the painting, "is proof that I was right." He held her for a long time, feeling her grow warm and heavy on his thighs. "Wait, don't sleep. There's something I want you to see."
The boardwalk was something she liked to avoid; she had visions of falling through the slats and plunging into murky water.
"It's all right," he said. "I've got you."
She gave him a nervous smile. "How far? Give it to me in metres."
"Ten. Just to the boat. I won't let go, I promise."
By avoiding looking down, she let him lead her to the where the boat was docked.
"What do you think?" he said.
Her eyes were drawn to the hull, which was emblazoned with the name she'd chosen for their baby: "Hope".
"Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful. Now our Hope floats." She hugged him tightly. "Thank you."
The sun set over the Traumsee and she felt certain that the breeze blowing across the water carried their collective hopes and dreams to eternity too.
"Tomorrow is a new day," she said. "I can't wait to live it with you."
He could not speak just then, but his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
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