Hope had her window down, and the breeze blew in merrily. She relished the fresh, almost familiar air that ran along her face, tickling her eyes, nose, lips, and running itself through her dusty-blonde hair. The silver car rolled along at a steady 65, passing by the unchanging forest of redwoods, as tall and as vast as the eye could see. The road was marked with the occasional bump, it had not been paved in many years. With each bump the car went over, Hope saw her own reflection go “oh” and bounce up in the side view mirror.

Hope turned over to her husband, his hands gripped firmly on the wheel at nine and three o'clock. He was staring ahead with great concentration, almost as if he were not looking at all. He was a serious looking man, with a sharp jaw, deep-set eyes, and eyebrows slightly furrowed down. He had always kept his dark brown hair short but well-groomed, although as of lately, streaks of grey had begun to appear.

This did not go unnoticed by Hope, who had always thought that Robert had reminded her of one of those old-time movie stars when she had first met him, almost twenty years ago. She still remembered the way his teeth flashed whenever he smiled, in that charming manner that she had so adored. And to her most genuine surprise, he had adored her too. Hope reached out a hand to stroke his hair, to brush over the grey.

He flicked his right hand up as if a fly had landed there, momentarily taking it off the wheel and waving her away. “Please, Hope.” He said, with a note of strain. “I’m trying to concentrate.” There was no one else on the road. Without looking at her, he brought his hand back down.

Hope smiled faintly, knowing that he did not see it. “I’m sorry, Robert. I just was wondering how much longer. It would be nice to stretch my legs.”

Robert blew out some air. “Probably two more hours.”

“Alright.” She leaned back in her seat, daydreaming of the many years past. Two more hours. Two more hours until they reached the cottage by the sea. The cottage by the sea was no more than a lone beaten up shack that lay a short walk’s off from the beach shore, but to Hope, it could have been a mansion. They had bought the cottage as newlyweds, spending what little savings they had as recent college graduates. The old fisherman, with his missing teeth and windblown hair was just happy to get it sold, as he vigorously shook both Hope and Robert’s hands, chuckling to himself at the deal he had just made.

Despite its haggard and shoddy exterior, Hope and Robert were determined to turn it into the vacation house that they had always talked about owning. And so they did. Summer after summer they would return to their cottage by the sea, each time leaving a little more of themselves in it. They always found something to bring back, the first year with paint buckets, giving the house a fresh white coat, the next with blue floral curtains for the tiny window in the kitchen, then with logs for the fireplace. They grew together by the sea, spending the days frolicking in the cold and brackish water, and the nights curled together on the couch beneath a tattered and thinning blanket, taking turns by reading their favorite novels out loud together. Robert would always begin the first line, and Hope would end; that is how it always was. The cottage by the sea perhaps once had a proper name long ago, but to Hope, it remained their cottage by the sea.

After Hope became a kindergarten teacher, after Robert got promoted, after they had adopted a beautiful copper-colored Irish setter, and even after they had had their one and only child, a darling baby boy who so resembled his father, with bright, blue eyes and red, round cheeks, they continued to return to the cottage by the sea. And their family of three, plus a dog, continued to splash in the cold waters, read in the house, live in that house.

It wasn’t until they had to bury their one and only child, did they stop returning to the cottage by the sea. It was nobody’s fault. It was that year that the child had caught a particularly violent strain of the flu, which led to meningitis, that was caught too late. And so Robert’s excuses grew. Work is too busy. I’m too tired. We’re too old. Hope knew deep within her that Robert no longer wanted to return to the cottage by the sea because of the loss of their child. Ever since they had to watch that small coffin get lowered into the ground, a permanent shadow had crossed and remained upon Robert’s face. Hope knew, ever since that child was born, he became Robert’s world. And over the summers, Robert would take that little boy upon his shoulders, and under Hope’s watch, with her hand above her eyes, would walk carefully into the water to allow him to feel the cool mist upon his tiny feet, to hear the boy’s peals of gleeful laughter. Upon the sandy shores, Robert taught his son to walk, how to identify the different birds and floating kelp, and most importantly, how to love the cottage by the sea, imbuing in their son the joy that Hope and Robert had first experienced as together.

The years past. The dog had lived a good life and was also buried. Hope was now a fifth-grade teacher, Robert got promoted again. And yet, they milled about their lives with a continual dragging sense of loss. Sure, Hope was frustrated, and however much she had desperately wanted to throw open the curtains, and quite literally let in some light, Robert remained enclosed and withdrawn, only the shell of the man he used to be.

When not at work, Robert would maintain his weekend ritual seated in his worn leather recliner, the occasional beer in his hand, whatever sports season’s highlights flashing quietly across the TV screen. Hope got used to making the grocery trips by herself, driving around the empty streets in town, walking down the long and cold aisles. There were too many instances to count of when she’d return home, heavy bags in hand, to find Robert still sitting in front of the TV, which by then was displaying the nightly news. He’d be asleep in the dark, the remote still in his hand. So she’d let him sleep, and put the groceries away herself.

Dinner was always a small affair. Hope would make the same meals as when they were when a family of three, just now enough for two. The tinkling of the silverware across the white porcelain plates, the occasional small talk. Robert would go on about his coworkers, about what was going on at work, how his favorite basketball team was doing. Hope would smile and nod at the appropriate times, chiming in. It all went smoothly as long as Hope did not mention anything about their son. The time when Robert had told a joke and ended up being sprayed with a smattering of green peas and accidentally exclaimed how much he had hated peas in front of their son. The laughter that ensued around the table, filling the house. She thought about those times often, almost always nearly breaking a smile. She tried to keep it to herself, looking down. There was a time, one out of so many, that Robert noticed.

“What?” He said.

“Oh, nothing.” Hope responded. She brought her napkin to her mouth to cover it.

Robert pointed his fork at her, a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, still thinking that she had been laughing at a half-hearted joke he had just cracked. “What?”

Hope twisted her napkin in her lap. “Remember how it was always so hard to get him to eat his veget-”

“Yes.” His response would cut into hers, never allowing her to finish, and the air around them felt as if it had been frozen.

“Robert… I’ve been thinking- we haven’t taken a vacation in a while, I was wondering if-”

“No.” came Robert’s response. His voice was chillingly quiet.

“What do you mean no? I didn’t even say anything.”

“Don’t act like that. I know what you’re talking about.”

“But why can’t we?”

Robert would get up, take his plate, and head over to the sink, hastily scraping the remainder of his food away into the trash. His back was turned to her. “No, Hope.”

“But Robert-” Hope pleaded, her voice raising.

“Hope, I said no!” He forcefully put his dishes in the sink. They clattered loudly, the fork and knife falling, metal screeching against metal.

She stood up, throwing her napkin to the floor. “If you would just talk to me!”

He quickly brushed past her. “I’m going to bed.”

Hope picked up her napkin from the floor, sat back down, and finished what was left of her dinner, now cold and hardening. She had placed her head in her hands. She didn’t know what scared her more- the fact that she was slowly forgetting about her son, or that her husband, who had been through it all with her, wouldn’t even acknowledge that she was trying.

Hope had sat in front of her mirror, staring at her own reflection. She took everything in, from the thing streaks of white in her hair, to the wrinkles around her eyes, which had so often been mistaken for laugh lines. If only they knew. She pulled out a small frame that she kept within the small drawer under the vanity table. Inside, underneath the dusted glass, was a yellowing picture of the three of them. They stood in front of the cottage by the sea, Robert and Hope beaming, with the small figure of their son between their legs. Robert’s hair had been brown and full, Hope’s face smooth and bright. They had propped the camera upon a chair and an assortment of boxes and chairs that they had found inside the house. Hope silently wept. She wept for the loss of their child, the loss of their cottage, and the all the wasted time of the years that had passed.

Robert had found her, clutching the small frame.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a tentative hand upon her back.

She looked up at him between her red eyes. “Robert, what has become of us?”

He looked confused, his eyebrows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

She moved her hand, revealing what was in it. Their son peeked through her fingers.

Instinctively, he backed away from her. The small bedroom lamp illuminated little in the room, making the dark hollows beneath his widened eyes appear deeper. His voice was hollow when he spoke. “Goodnight.”

Hope knew within her, that she had to go back. And it was only after months of persistent pleading, nearing the eve of their fifteenth anniversary, did Hope, as if their very lives depended on it, finally convince Robert to “please, take us back to the cottage by the sea”.

Hope awoke with a bit of a start. Her neck was sore from having been kept in an uncomfortable position. She quickly straightened up, her heart beginning to beat a little faster. The car was no longer running and it was instead pulled to the shoulder of the road. The sun had begun to set and the pink sky above was fading into a dark blue. Robert wasn’t in the car.

Her voice rose. “Robert? Robert?” She called out. “Robert where are you?” Her fingers fumbled to unbutton her seatbelt. She threw herself out of the car. “Robert?” She called out again.

“I’m here, Hope,” came Robert’s voice. His voice was flat. He sounded tired, resigned.

She saw part of his darkening outline at the front of the car, covered by the car hood, which was propped up. Wrapping her shawl more tightly around her, she walked over to him, her sandals crunching the damp earth covered with pine needles below her. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

She jumped back as he slammed down the car hood. “I don’t know, something felt wrong so I pulled off to the side. Then I couldn’t start the car again.” His voice rang out clearly amongst the stillness of the trees around them.

“Did you try to wait a bit before you turned the keys again?” Hope rattled off all the possible options she knew about car mechanics.

“Yes, of course I tried that.” He said. He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. The screen illuminated his face, showing the deep, inset wrinkles on his forehead. “Damn! No signal.”

Hope put her hand to her own pocket, but then remembered she had left her phone in the cupholder. “What are we going to do then?”

Robert pointed his finger in the direction in front of him. “I saw a gas station probably two miles back. I’ll walk there in the morning, when there’s light. I guess we’ll just spend the night in the car.”

Despite the change of events, Hope felt strangely happy. She watched with nervous eyes as Robert adjusted the seats in the back of their SUV, reclining them. She took great care in laying a blanket over the seat cushions, and made sure that she saved the thick, patched quilt to cover them. And when he opened the left door and stepped inside, she felt closer to him than she had in a long time. He grunted a thanks as she handed him the quilt. He closed the door, and let her pull close to him. She tucked her head beneath his.

The car sunroof was open, exposing the wide sky above them. It was as if she had never seen such a sky, the window was a clear, dark blue rectangle. The night air outside was still and was quiet only in the way that nature allowed. The occasional cricket broke the silence with their bell-like chirps.

She rambled. “Lately at work they’ve had this new sub coming in more often. I think she’s set to replace Katherine Hodgkins, who was supposed to retire two years ago. And I’ve been thinking that she should retire, she’s been so crabby and always complains about the kids in the longue. But I love the children, they’re always so lovely when I’m around them, granted that Jimmy isn’t there, it’s always been difficult for him to listen to directions.”

He nodded lazily. “I thought Katherine was supposed to retire?”

“She was, two years ago.” She absentmindedly brushed away the thought that he was probably not listening to her, that her words were nothing but chatter that bubbled up and dissipated into the air. She would always try to forget about it quickly, if she didn’t it would start to pick at her, hurt her.

She continued. “But I’m glad that we were able to finish up all the schedule planning earlier this summer. I had told them all of the this trip and they knew how much I wanted to go, so they worked a little harder for us to give us more time! Isn’t that nice?”

He nodded again.

She smiled. “I’ve been thinking of all the things I want to do when we get there. I can’t decide what we should do first. Maybe we can take a long walk along the beach, you know how much we used to love that. Well actually, the cottage is probably covered in dust, given that we had left it for so long. I hope it’s alright. I’d probably want to clean first. Good thing I packed gloves!”

She looked at him for a reaction, in which he was still nodding. His eyes, however, appeared to be somewhere else.

“So,” she edged on. “Was there anything you wanted to do?” It wasn’t so much that she wanted him to list anything specific, she just wanted to see if he was interested, if he shared the same excitement that she had.

He shrugged. “I didn’t really think about it too much. I’m kind of tired, Hope.” She knew usually when he said this that he was done talking. And normally she would have let him. But not tonight, she had been looking for this for too long for him to just slip into his slumber, assuming that the mere closing of his eyes would be enough for her to leave him alone, as he had believed it had worked for so long.

So she kept talking. “What time are you going to go to the gas station tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Whenever I wake up. Eight or nine maybe.”

“Can I come with you?”

“If you want.”

“It’s just like that time when we ran out of gas driving down to your parents. Remember that? It was so hot that day. I was afraid I was going to pass out from heatstroke. And the nearest gas station was only a fifteen minute walk away.” Hope laughed in her reminiscence.

“I think it’s more serious this time,” he said, immediately casting a dark shadow across their conversation. “We might have to get it towed.”

Hope fought. “That’s fine, maybe we can go the gas station, call for a rental car or something-”

“How can you live like that?” He asked abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

He was sputtering. “H-how can you live like that, so carefree, as if nothing is ever wrong, as if nothing ever phases you?”

“What do you mean Robert? There is nothing wrong.”

He pushed her away. “Of course there is! Everything is! Our car is broken, we have no reception, and here we are, stuck on the side of the road!” He paused and took in a breath, as if debating whether to say more. “And this! This whole trip! Your continual insistence that I take you to the cottage. You would have thought that the first time I said no you would have stopped! And now look at where we are! We should have never gone on this trip, it’s just going to end up as wasted vacation time.”

“You don’t mean that.” Hope said.

“Of course I do. What’s there for us? Nothing. Nothing but a beaten up old shack that should have been torn down years ago- we both know that.”

His words stung, cutting into the very core of her heart. Hope ripped off the quilt, feeling the chill of the cold air against her legs. “How can you say that? How can you possibly even bring up the idea of destroying something that we both, cherished, that we both loved loved- what Mikey loved-”

Robert went rigid. “Don’t- don’t mention Michael.”

Hope threw up her hands. “And why can’t I? Why shouldn’t I mention him? He loved the cottage by the sea, maybe ever more than us! It was where he was most happiest, where he would laugh he most, where he never wanted to leave-”

He winced as her words hit him, stripping him. He shook his head.

She pleaded with him. “He was our son for God’s sake! Our own son!” There was a long pause. Hope could feel her breath and heart quicken on their own accord. Her body was tense, droplets of sweat beginning to form, despite the chilly air outside.

This time Robert spoke very quietly. “I.... can’t. I can’t talk about him. I can’t think about him… Please, Hope.”

Her voice roared inside of her. She could hear a steadily growing wave that pounded against her eardrums as she continued on. “It’s about time that we did! For all these years we’ve been living in silence. And believe me, Robert, I tried, I tried so hard to not talk about him, because I knew that it would upset you. I put away all the photo albums, removed all the picture frames, kept his bedroom door closed. And I wanted nothing more than for you to be happy, for you to once again become the person I once knew. And I waited so long for you to smile and laugh again. But I realized, that trying to forget our son was the worst thing I could have ever done. Avoiding everything that we loved, that he loved only ended up hurting us more. Michael’s dead, Robert. He’s dead. He’s gone. He has been gone for almost ten years now. Don’t you think that he would at least want his very own parents to remember him, to talk about him, to miss him? Don’t you think he deserves that?” Hope’s voice was strained. The air between them remained still as scenes flashed quickly her head. She remembered how the day in the hospital when Michael was born, how every muscle in her body had felt as if it ripped to pieces. How just as soon as Robert cut the umbilical cord had he had their swaddled son in his arms and how all the pain in her body seemed to have subsided. She remembered the time when Robert and Michael had been playing outside of the cottage when he had fell and skinned his knee, and how the both of them had come running to her, Michael crying, Robert’s face a ghostly white. How she had gently and carefully picked out all the small rocks and sand from the wound, cleaned it, and placed a bandage on it, kissing it as a final seal. How it was then that Michael finally was able to stop crying. She remembered the time Michael had caught his first cold, and she had stayed up with him in his room, holding an ice pack to his head, and reading him his favorite story, over and over again. And how Robert had been asleep in their own bed the whole night. She remembered the last time she had kissed his small head, very shortly after he had flat-lined. She pounded her fists on the seat. “Damn it, Robert,” she cried, almost as if to herself. “He was my son too!”

It was as if all that had been shut inside of her, that curtain that had kept their lives dark and shadowed, was being slowly pulled apart. The light was breaking through, and it was coming out.

She breathed heavily, exhausted, almost overexerted. There was silence, silence that carried on for seconds, minutes. The waves in her ears were slowly subsiding, now replaced with the steady beat of her heart.

“I still miss him,” he finally said after a few long minutes. His voice was soft, as if he spoke any louder the sacred space between them would be broken, as if the darkness would not be enough to conceal their confessions. “But I was scared… because I didn’t know if you did anymore.”

“Oh Robert,” she murmured, trying to keep her own voice from breaking. Slowly but naturally, her head fell against his chest as she looked ahead into the blackness. “Why would you ever think something like that? I never stopped.”

Suddenly, she heard a small plink on the seat. Then another one. She felt something running down her cheek. Something hot and wet. A tear, but not her own. Robert was crying. Shaking, he heaved a cry, his face, what little she could see in the light from the moon above, contorted in a gruesome expression. He turned his head upwards and Hope could see the glistening teardrop tracks upon his cheeks. “Oh Lord, forgive me.”

Hope took his hand and squeezed it.

“Ever since we lost him… I couldn’t comprehend it. I felt that I had failed as a father. I was then just living for the sake of getting older. I had felt so alone, so defeated. I had given up. And I had forgotten that you were there. But you never gave up on me… I was just too blind to see that.” He hesitantly squeezed her hand in return. “All this time, I had been apologizing to Michael that I did not do more to try to save him… But I should have been apologizing to you... I am so sorry, Hope.” He hung his head.

A moment of silence passed between them. “I know how much you loved him…” She stopped for a moment. “But don’t be afraid of his memory, Robert. It only ends up hurting us more.”

He whispered. “I want to try...” He placed his arm awkwardly around Hope, pulling her closer to him. He patted her as if he was trying to comfort her, when really she knew that he was just doing it for himself. He then turned, his face only inches from hers as she felt his warm breath brush over her nose. “Everything that I had just said before…”

She interrupted him. “You didn’t mean it. I know.”

They spent the rest of the night speaking as if they were young lovers, bridging the very wide gap, the chasm that had appeared almost ten years ago. And within that dark night, in the small car, Robert laughed, first tentatively, then without restraint. His voice was warm again, and stayed that way. Although she could not see his face, she knew that his smile, the very first smile that had caused her to love him, was there.

The dark sky was now speckled with white, almost like a painter had splashed his paintbrush against a black canvas. Under the quilt, they basked in the pale moonlight, staring at the constellations that appeared. So far they had identified three, though Robert had forgotten the many that he had once knew back when at the cottage by the sea.

And then, among the vastness, among the sprinkles of white, yellow, and even faint pink and purple hues, a bright streak dashed through the sky.

“Robert! Did you just see that?” Hope’s voice was full of rapture, as her eyes tried to follow the star’s fleeting path.

There was no response.

“Robert? Robert, did you hear me?”

She had looked over to see Robert, his head tilted to one side, his eyes closed. His chest rose up and down in a rhythmic, slow manner. And for the first time in many years, she saw that he slept in peace.

Hope closed her eyes and pressed her hands together, pressing her them to her chin. She remained there for a few moments, the crickets outside chirping in a gentle orchestra. She then opened her eyes and moved to front seat of the car. She turned the key and the car sprang to life.

And it was Hope that drove the both of them back to the cottage by the sea.