The Hole You Left Behind

“The mobile you have called is unavailable. Please try again later or leave a message after the beep.”

 I let loose a long-suffering sigh. Why is her phone always off?

The high-pitched beep sounds in my ears and I school my voice. “Hey, babe. Tried calling you again today. Just wanted to check in on you. I know it’s still pretty early where you are but call me when you hear this. I’ll wait up for you. I miss you.”

I slip my phone back into my pocket and run a hand down my face, scratching my beard. The house groans, restless in her absence. The rooms lay still, devoid of the laughter that followed her through each one.

Why did she have to leave?

My feet echoed on the hardwood floor as I crossed the living room, passing the couch she used to occupy for hours at a time, yelling insults at the tv. Her mug sat at the coffee table where she left it the last morning she was here, a reminder of the soul that occupied the house other than my own. She sat with it in hand, plane ticket confirmation open on her laptop, telling me stories, about the course she would be taking, the one that would take her away from me.

 I shake my head and grab my keys and the Tupperware I left by the door earlier, taking a step out into the cool night. Stars flicker in the sky, patiently waiting for her return. My feet begin to move without my permission, taking me through the same streets I wonder through every night since she left. I couldn’t bare being alone in that house without her, so walking through the neighborhood was my only option.

A cool breeze sweeps through my hair, bringing the sweet scent of plums so rich I can taste them on my tongue. I weave through the house until I spot it. Massive branches hung low and heavy with the dark red fruit, ready for picking. She always loved snatching one and eating it on our walks. I reach out my hand but pause mid-air as front porch lights flash on, illuminating my surroundings.

“Adam? Is that you dear?”

I smile politely, walking over to the the front door. “Hello, Mrs. Malash.”

“Oh, stop,” she says, waving a leathery hand. “I told you to call me Lisa.”

The plums look like they’re ready for picking. I can do it for you in the morning if you’d like, Lisa.”

“Would you, dear? My knees can’t handle going up and down the stepladder like they used to.”

“Of course, I’ll pass by tomorrow after my shift.” I promise, before handing her the Tupperware in my hands. “For you.” I lean in, whispering. “It’s Hannah’s famous cookie recipe.” I wink before handing her the box.

A smile splits her face, the porch lights casting shadows against the wrinkles on her face.

“Oh, dearie, you really do spoil me.” She gestures for me to come in as she waddles over to the kitchen.

“My mother always said to treat your neighbors like family. And Hannah always loved making these for you.”

“Speaking of Hannah, any news on when she’ll be home? I really do miss having her over for tea.”

My face twitches and a catch myself before she sees. “Soon, I think. Her course should be over any day now.”

She beams at me, sorting each cookie into her own plate before handing the box back to me. “That’s wonderful, dear. Do bring her by when she’s here.”

I simply nod and turn back towards the door. “Have a good night, Mrs. Malash.”

“Lisa, dear. You too!”

Night swallows me once more as I maneuver my way back home.

“The mobile you have called is unavailable. Please try again later or leave a message after the beep.”

“The plums are ripe again. Mrs. Malash will need help with them tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to snag you a few, I know how much you love them.”

My steps echo in the empty street, the singular sound a reminder of the loneliness I live in without her.

“Adam! How are you?” A voice sounds from my left and I turn to find my neighbors walking towards me.

“Nina. Greg. Im doing good, how are you both?”

Nina flipped her long hair over her shoulders, the blond streaks catching the light. “We’re good. But I’m bored without Hannah, her phone is always off. When does she get back?”

“Actually, she arrives tonight.” I say, not missing the excitement that lights her eyes. Hannah always had that affect on people. “I’ll have her call you in the morning, but for now, I have a date night to set up.”

I wave goodbye before they can say anything and walk purposefully towards the house.

The door slams behind me and I can feel my pulse quickening in my throat. My hands move fast as I set the table, lighting candles and placing the good china on her favorite table cloth.

I search through my work bag, digging through the mess of hammers and screwdrivers I always toss in at the end of every shift, picking up the thick black one I used just this morning.

I stand before the wall that I built only a few months again, the fresh paint still shining brighter than the rest of the house, and swing.

Plaster and dust fill the room as one bang sounds after the other, creating a gaping wound in the room.

I sit back on the chair, hammer in hand, as I fish my phone out of my pocket.

“The mobile you have called is unavailable. Please try again later or leave a message after the beep.”

“Everyone keeps asking about you. About when you’ll be home. Why would you leave me? Why did you decide that the only art course you could take was 3000 miles away form me? Was I that hard to live with? To love?”

My breaths quicken as I slam the hammer down on the ground, adding another hole to the room in the ground. The splintering wood settles faster than my breathing.

“Well, as my mother always said. Don’t do what you’re told, you spend time in the whole. I hope this time has given you the chance to think of what you are throwing away. What you will lose.”

My phone lands on the table with a clank, shuffling the china in place as I stare back up at the gaping hole in my living room.

“If you hadn’t tried to leave me, we would be eating dinner together right now.” I whisper in the darkness, watching as the white sheet falls from her motionless body.

“Here.” I place a stolen plum inside with her, next to the rotted ones from before. “I may be angry, but I’m not a monster. I know how much you love these plums.”

I close the hole again.