Fifty-One

The rest of the day passes incredibly slowly, and I keep watching the door more often than I care to admit even to myself. It’s not that I want him here, but at the same time it feels weird not having him around. Now that I’ve somewhat calmed down, I’m more confused than mad. I want to talk to him and tell him I’m almost one hundred percent sure Aaron is Max and get him to confirm.

I look over at Celine, who’s serving a customer. It makes me sad knowing I have to move out. I’d gotten used to having her around and I like our evenings—out movie nights and dinners. But I’ll have to leave once she finds out the truth. Plus, I can’t continue living in the same house with Ethan. It would be beyond awkward. Where would I move to though? The inn, to be close to Aaron?

It’s late afternoon now and still no sign of Ethan.

Evening.

“Where is Ethan anyway?” I ask as casually as I can.

“On his way to Lake Tahoe, if he’s not there already,” she says.

“I didn’t know he was going to be away.”

“He texted me earlier. Said he needed some air.”

“When is he coming back?”

“Not sure. Last time he went to Tahoe, he stayed a week or so.”

I nod dumbly, because I don’t know what else to say.

She tilts her head and looks at me. “I know. I’m sad too. I was hoping he’d stick around longer this time,” she says. “Especially since—”

I hear her talking, but I’m not listening anymore.

Sad? Is that what my face is showing? Sadness? Hah. I’m anything but sad. I’m pissed off he left without a word. Like a five year old. He stomped his feet, took his toys and left.

He can’t just leave. He owes me. I need answers. About Aaron, about the photos.

Back at the cottage at night, I almost expect Ethan to be here, although I know he can’t be.

“Hey,” says Celine, “Ethan left something for you.”

“What is this?” I ask, as she gives me a small package, wrapped in matte yellow paper.

“Open it. Let’s see.”

I rip the paper open and inside, there are two boxes. I open the first. It’s a beautiful, leather-wrapped notebook. The smaller second box holds a silver pen, just like the one I saw at the fancy writing store.

There’s also a card.

I wanted to give this to you on our return from San Francisco, but things didn’t work out the way I planned. So…

I stare at the notebook and pen and I have no idea how to react or feel about it. What is the point of all this? Does he think he can buy me with gifts? Wait, buy what? What am I talking about? Maybe he was trying to ease his conscience then? Knowing SF was about to happen. I don’t know.