The Beauty in a Belly leslie bacon

Everything was just the way she left it. Very neat, very methodical. The deep maroons of our comforter matched the floral print wrapped around the trim of our ceiling perfectly, which blended with the deep

mahogany furniture. My side of the bed was a little disheveled, so I pulled that together and then stood at the foot of it. I took a deep breath in. It was time to go to work.

I finished up my coffee in the kitchen and left the cup in the sink. I grabbed my cap off

the stand near the door and walked outside. We didn't lock our doors during the day. As I left the house, I glanced at the small white clock on the wall. I had time. Time to call David. I felt my legs continue to stride, a little slower, but still striding all the same. If someone had been watching, he probably would have seen my face flush. I was ashamed, embarrassed that I couldn't call my own son. I consciously decided not to and I strode on.

Stepping out onto our back porch, I was reminded of why we had moved to the coast. The sun was just finishing its morning routine, and its rays bounced off the water below me. The value of our house lay in this view. To the left, more tiny houses with ocean views. To the right, a tiny pier, and behind it, a cluster of large hills jutted out into the water. Straight ahead, blue ocean. And behind me was...well, not much anymore. Clarke watched me through the glass door. Just staring at me. I stared back. My mind was quickly becoming a battlefield for thoughts and emotions.

Some people say that you realize how much you loved or needed something only when it's gone, when you can't have it any more. That's not the case for me. I'm not sure I could have possibly loved Esther more than I had. I couldn't have been more aware of my need for her. No, that doesn't help at all.

I put on my cap, and walked around to the side of our house. Tipped my bike away from where it was leaning. Easing the kickstand up, I mounted the seat and began to slowly peddle down our walkway towards the drive.

Riding my bike always made me think of

David. We rode together when he was young. Now, I rode my bike everyday, whether it was to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, or to the pier every other morning. So that means I thought about David everyday. That doesn't mean I did anything about it.

I hadn't seen him in over eight years, and spoke to him once a year, on Christmas Day, when he called to see how Esther and I were doing. He and his wife, Samantha, had moved

to Maine, essentially the exact opposite side of the country. Had he planned that? There wasn't a huge fight, a blowout argument or anything. It seemed more like a loss of interest, too much effort to stay in touch, even though they'd lived in L.A. before the move.

I think, rather, I know, it made Esther sad, not to see or talk to her only child. But she respected his privacy, honored his choices, and loved him in silence.

I fought it at first, calling once a week. Then once a month. I left him messages on his birthday. I tried. Samantha would always

answer, when I used to call. A tall, beautiful young brunette, according to the last picture I have of her and David. They looked

good together, since he was a tall boy.

The point is, we don't really talk. It being

May, we hadn't talked in about five months. So he wouldn't be expecting the call. He probably wouldn't even answer.

I worked at the grocery store, about a mile away from our house, bagging groceries for four hours every Tuesday and Thursday. We didn't need the money.

Esther volunteered at the library two days a week, too. We both loved talking with people, and then telling each other the adventures from our mornings. Today after work, there would be no stories. As I rode, I tried to think of what would be after work today.

Life sometimes feels like a list. There are things we have to do every day, every week. We do them, and slash them off the list. Then

we prepare the list for the next day, the next week. There are long lists, and short lists, some lists are exciting, others feel obligatory. Today's list: feed Clarke, call David.

I pulled up to the bike racks outside the store and wrapped the metal chain twice around the bars, which were already warm from the sun. Walking into the store, I realized that no one knew Esther was gone. "Morning, Frank." I looked over and smiled at Mike, the butcher. Things were still normal here. This place didn't feel empty and abandoned. I removed my cap and placed it in the employee room near the pharmacy. Tying my apron around my waist, I waved at