Empty Chairs and Empty Promises

Chapter Eight

My eyes are closed and all I can envision is his smile. I feel an upward tug of the corners of my lips. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl, rubbing my hands over my body as my thoughts stray to my surfer. Damn.

I bolt up in bed and shake my head fighting against the flood of emotions I'm experiencing. I can't let myself get carried away by a single enjoyable afternoon with a handsome stranger. For all I know, he may be off flirting with another woman, someone younger. Why would anyone want a fifty-year-old woman with silver in her hair?

Carrie was right and I am losing touch with reality. I didn't come here to find a one-night stand or heartbreak. I came here to find myself and that isn't through the eyes of another person. Been there, done that!

I throw my feet over the side of the bed and can't help glancing into the mirror over the dresser. My cheeks are reddened and my nipples push against the thin layer of my cotton tank. I stand and walk over to stare at my image. Even my pupils are dilated with the passion in which I'd lost my bearings.

With impatient hands, I push my hair back from my face and secure it with a hair tie before plodding into the bathroom. My hand stretches past the shower curtain, and I crank the hot water on full blast. Methodically, I strip down and step under the steady stream of the shower head. With a roughness I blame on my frustration, I pass the loofah over my skin as if I can banish the signs of age which have left their mark.

I rest my hand on the tile wall supporting myself as I taste the salt of tears that mingle with the water splashing down from the shower head. It has been a long time since I last cried. I slide down with my back against the cool stone until I'm sitting on the wet floor while the shower cascades over me. My chest heaves with the sobs I'm powerless to stop. How much time passes I don't know, but I continue until the water chills.

Pushing my body off of the floor takes every bit of my energy, but after I struggle to my feet, I manage to turn off the spigot and grab a towel from the rack before exiting. My thoughts are less chaotic and more reflective about what just occurred. I'm frightened and right now it would be easier to retreat from everything and go back somewhere safe where the familiar reigns and life holds few surprises.

That isn't why I've come here.

Straightening my shoulders stiffens my spine and my resolve. I won't let fear dictate my future because I know life speeds by like a falling star — beautiful, sparkling with delight until it burns itself out. Perhaps there was still time for me to sparkle with light and life. Puerto Rico could be my ticket to a fuller existence.

My plans for today will involve exploring some of the towns near Isabela, and the first one on my list is the community of Aguadilla. I was told that there is a beautiful beach perfect for swimming. I pack a small bag with sunscreen and a beach towel before grabbing my purse and a ball cap. I skip down the stairs to the parking lot looking forward to what may lay ahead.

The drive from Isabela isn't far, but I'm too engrossed by everything around me whether it's a small store, a villa overlooking the Atlantic or an oddity I would only observe somewhere I'd never been. The daily lives of others are so interesting. I want to stop the car constantly to capture a moment in time with my lens, but I know I will never get to my destination if I do.

Once I reach Aguadilla and turn off the main highway, I find my GPS leads me on a zigzag route to Crash Boat Beach. I manage to arrive without too many redirects and park the car. The parking lot is surrounded by palm trees and some steps lead me down to the sandy beach below. On my left are the Atlantic Ocean and a bright green row of boat docks attached to a yellow pier jutting out into the brilliant blue sea. A yellow metal arch sits midway on the pier and I grin with delight to see a couple getting their photo taken next to the arch.