Chapter 8
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The New Year came and went, and life continued. Hank and I took our daily walks whenever possible. I went to work,
performed my duties, and attempted to make the city a safer place than it was when I started the day; most days it simply
stayed the same, but occasionally we saw small steps of progress. I watered the plants, tended to my experiments, and kept up
on the bills. Life went on.

It was obvious from her letter that Sara would be gone for a lot longer than I ever dared to imagine. She seemed to have found
some peace with her brother in Italy, and as much as I wanted her to find it with me, I would never stand in the way of her
happiness, in whatever form it takes. I love her more than that, and I always will.

Hank and I started out the year with a clean bill of health. I turned in my physical forms to the department and to my insurance
company. The agent, not knowing about the events of the past two months, asked if he needed to change the beneficiary’s
name, or if Sara was going to retain her maiden name. When we both went in to update our insurance policies last fall, he must
have concluded that adding one another to the policies meant we were getting married, and so the innocent question threw me
for a loop. It also reminded of something else; I should have started out the New Year as a married man.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, to know that my life had been altered so very much from my dreams. When Sara responded to my
ham-handed proposal, I thought that the universe had finally decided to stop the torture and aligned properly for the first time
in my life. I could never have known how wrong that conclusion would prove to be.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, my hope that Sara will return from her journey of self-
discovery so that we can proceed with our lives slowly began to dwindle away. I wanted to believe that she would someday
come home to us, but that belief had become very hard to hold onto as each day without contact passed by.

Work was still work, and I felt like the rest of my world was beginning to forget about the incredible woman that once roamed
the halls of our workplace. Everyone, that is, but Greg. He seemed to be holding a grudge as of late, and my interactions with
him were strained, at best. I suppose I should speak with him about his feelings, but the fact was I had come to need his
disdain for me, for my failings with Sara, and I often shared his feelings regarding my blame in Sara leaving town.

If only I had paid better attention to the difficulty she was having, perhaps I could have reached out to her and prevented such
a drastic action. It was a ridiculous belief, but it gave me an opportunity to shoulder some of the blame. No matter how many
times Sara might tell me that I wasn’t at fault, I still felt that there had to have been something else I could have done,
something else I could have said. It was easier to believe the blame was mine, because that meant there still might be
something I could do to bring her back. Something other than to wait and hope.

As Hank and I walked back to the house, we both took our time, since we knew that Henry was on vacation, and neither of us
cared for his temporary replacement. Hank had even growled at the cranky woman delivering the mail in the absence of our
trusted friend. It also helped that I was no longer waiting on the mail for any word from Sara. I had not received so much as a
post card following the Christmas dispatch.

When we arrived at the house I saw that the mailbox had already been stuffed. And stuffed it most definitely was, with two of
my journals jammed into the box and the other mail stuck in with a haphazard fashion. I really missed Henry.

Hank looked up at me with resignation in his expression. He missed Henry, too. But more than that, he no longer tugged at his
leash to go into the house. He had finally learned that Sara was not there waiting for him. We both had trouble finding the
excitement in returning to someplace that seemed so much less of a home, now that Sara was gone.

I dumped the mass of crumpled mail onto the entry table and released Hank from his leash. The dog merely walked over to his
bed to lie down and rest as he waited for me to prepare his food. Dutifully, I went about the rest of my morning routine. There
was comfort in the routine, and there was a small part of me that believed if I kept doing the same things I did when Sara was
here, that maybe it would be like it was before, and she would be there waiting for me.

Waiting for me…

Sara waited for me all those years. All those years with no sign of progress, and yet she had faith in us. She had faith in me.
The least I can do, after barely more than two months, is to hold on to the faith she had in us, and never betray the faith she
placed in me. No matter how much pain her absence leaves in my heart, I know that even if I have to wait for years, it will never
match the pain she endured for my years of ignorance. I will wait until the sun no longer shines, “until the poets run out of
rhyme. In other words, until the end of time.”

With the rest of the song playing softly in my head, I set about to clear through the normal chaff of our everyday mail offerings.
Flipping through the energy bill, the phone bill, the notice that another package is waiting for me at the post office thanks to
our interim postal carrier, and the various periodicals delivered to this address on a monthly basis, I might have missed the
battered post card stuck between Sara’s The New Yorker and my latest catalogue from Bioquip.

Before I could get lost in the pages of the newest equipment for archiving and mounting my vast collection, the post card
slipped out from its hiding place. The photo on the front was a picture of a large rocky crevasse that I could only assume was
the Montagna Staccato in Gaeta. I took in a deep breath and prepared to see Sara’s words on the card. I hadn’t heard
anything from her since the package at Christmas, and while I knew this card was sent before that, it was still tangible evidence
that she was thinking about me. Even if it was in the past.

I adjusted my glasses and flipped the card over to read it.
I continued to stare at the card for quite a while, as though I expected there to be more. It was merely a post card, doing
exactly what Sara said she would do, just letting me know she arrived at a new destination safely. I wanted there to be more. I
wanted another letter. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to feel her in my arms. I wanted her home…with me.

Work was the way I took my mind off of Sara, and so I moved my agony to the office to review a few more case files until I was
exhausted enough to collapse again before the next shift. That was how I found myself hunched over the desk, snoring the
day away, dreaming of happier times, until something stirred my conscious mind back to the surface.

When I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes, I was able to vaguely register that there was another sound in the house. As the
answering machine finished off with the standard greeting I finally realized that the phone ringing was the source of my waking.
Clumsily, I tried to stand up from the desk, but my legs were numb. After I cursed my creaking knees, I stumbled my way out of
the office in time to hear Sara’s voice trailing off. I lunged for the machine, desperately hoping to catch her still on the line.

As I knocked the receiver off of the base and fumbled to bring it my ear I called out to her, only to hear the blaring sound of the
dial tone. The string of curses that fell from my lips would surely have made Catherine blush. I was devastated to have missed
the opportunity to speak to her.

I looked down at my watch and realized that there was no way she had called the house thinking she would miss me. Sara
called at a time when I would normally be home, and that meant she wanted to talk to me. Without missing another beat, my
fingers flew over the keypad to dial her new cell phone number. It had been committed to my memory the instant I read it.

Before it could ring a single time, her voicemail picked up; Sara’s phone was turned off.

“You’ve reached Sara Sidle. I am out of the country right now. You may leave a message, but any replies could be delayed for
weeks. Thank you.” I didn’t even consider waiting to leave a message, and so I hung up the phone.

Staring into the nothingness of the wall next to the phone, it took several minutes before I noticed the blinking light on the
answering machine. Sara had left a message, and I suddenly had a fanatical need to hear her voice. Pressing the play button
on the machine, I began a silent prayer that her message was good news.

"Damn…You must still be sleeping, or out on a case. I only have time for this one call. Just a quick fuel stop and a
couple passengers before we continue to Chicago. And I had to wait for the incredibly unhappy French businessman
in the seat next to me to finish with the damn phone. Anyway, I'm back in the States, New York at the moment, and I'm
on my way to Chicago. Jack put me in touch with some family we have living there, so I'm stopping over before
heading back to the coast. I can't explain it all in a message, and I guess I…I-I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm a little
scared about meeting these people, and maybe I was looking for a little moral support." Her message seemed to pause,
and I could hear the announcement that they were closing the doors to the aircraft. "Damnit! I've gotta shut this thing down.
Hug the drooler for me, and I'll try again when I get to Chicago. We have a lot to talk about, but just remember…I love
you, Gil. I always will."

The beep at the end of the message wasn’t enough to shake my attention. The only thought on my mind was that Sara was
now closer than she was before. My once fading hope began to pulse, to breathe again.

Just to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming, I pressed play once again. So taken with her voice, I failed to notice that the recording
had woken someone else from their dreams. Not until his sharp, excited bark rang through the house did I realize Hank had
joined me at the answering machine.

I crouched down and obediently wrapped my arms around Hank’s neck and whispered into his ear, “That’s right, boy. She’s
getting closer. It won’t be long now… I hope.”
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