The Houseboat
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Light streamed on the white houseboat. A sad smile played on my lips as I gripped my keys tightly.
I remembered the old house well. I remembered pulling up the curtains to see the blue-green water sparkle between the other boats and houses. I remembered opening the doors to the balcony and serving breakfast in the morning sunlight. I remembered feeling the gentle up and down of the waves as my day played out in our houseboat by the port.
Matt touched my arm gently and I was quickly brought back to reality. I could see the sadness in his eyes, maybe even a little pity, as he beckoned me towards the door. “Come on, Lizzy. Let’s get this over with.”
I nodded slowly and slid the keys into the knob. Sunlight poured inside as soon as I opened the door, and I stared at the familiar yet unfamiliar room, still littered with the remnants of a previous life. The old furniture was as untouched as the day we left for the hospital, a day I vowed to never set foot in this empty space again.
There was a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my husband brush past me. I watched him move from room to room, carrying a suitcase here, a bundle of clothes there. He never said a word while doing so, although he did turn to look at me sadly more than a few times.
After a few minutes, I saw Matt head for the second floor and followed him. As he walked into the bedroom, I felt my feet slowly drag me to the balcony, the last place I wanted to visit in this house of memories. I wanted to shout as I moved closer to the glass doors, but I was tired from crying loudly all night so no screams came from my lips. I took one step outside and stopped.
From where I was, I could see her again, her legs teetering over the top of the fence one moment and falling out of view the next. I dropped my phone, leaving Matt’s muffled voice on the carpet as I ran to our little girl, whose joyous cries were quickly punctuated by a loud crack and a splash. Running to the edge, I could see how she laid unmoving in the water as blood quickly spread around her.
Everything was a blur after that. I vaguely remember picking up my phone and telling my husband to call for an ambulance. I also remember jumping into the water from the first floor veranda and of people fishing me out with our baby daughter in my arms. There were paramedics, the emergency room, the hushed voices of the nurses, and the bitter cold in my heart as I shivered next to her.
“LIZZY!” Matt’s voice rang across the water as I felt a hand on my forearm. “Stop! You cannot bring her back this way.”
I looked at him and suddenly noticed that I was on the other side of the balcony fence. Tears were streaming down my face as I wrapped my arms around him and sobbed violently. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I cried over and over again, while he held me tightly in his arms and stroked my hair gently. His voice cracked as he whispered, “It’s okay, love. We’ll get through this.”
He somehow managed to usher me back inside and led me to the dining table downstairs, where a cup of chamomile tea was ready for me. He beckoned me to stay there while he finished packing, and I simply nodded at him.
I don’t know how long I spent with my tea in that spot, but Matt soon gently shook me to wakefulness and took my hand. We got up and moved to the entrance, where we both turned and watched as he locked up.
With my hand still in his, we walked away from the houseboat and our previous life.
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Image source: bostonmagazine.com/property/2017/08/01/houseboat-quincy-otm/
First written November 18, 2017.
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