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I have to believe I have.
I know my wife is complicated. I know her life is marred with tragedy, circumstances, and emotions I can’t begin to fathom, but I’ve done my best. I’ve tried my hardest to be what she needs. To keep her happy. Laughing. Safe.
To make her feel seen and understood and protected.
But was it enough?
Was I enough?
I feel like a chump pining over a woman—searching high and low for that woman—who may have left me like an abandoned puppy on the side of the road. Who, for all I know, could be sitting on a beach a few miles away sipping mai tais with a man she might love more than me. Who might not even care about the state she’s left me in.
If I give in to that frame of mind, I’m not sure I’ll recover from it.
Until there’s definitive proof that she’s left me, I have to trust my gut.
I refuse to believe Mae left me.I think something is wrong. I think she’s in danger. And I’m going to save her if it’s the last thing I do.
The top deck, which consists of just a pool, a small tiki bar, and a set of restrooms, is mostly abandoned. An old man is napping with a straw hat over his face while two women read the same book, occasionally looking up at me warily as I search under each lounge chair for any sign of Mae.
The next floor is the Diamond Club, for which I don’t have a pass, and then the small golf course. I search the next three decks more slowly. They’re more crowded, both with people and things to do. Pools, hot tubs, water slides. Busy-looking waiters offering me drinks at every turn. A track. An open-air movie theater for the movies they show each night. More food. More drinks.
I search for any sign that she may have been here, though I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Her purse, perhaps, but maybe something less obvious. A scrunchie. The tube of ChapStick she always carries.
But…nothing.
There are so many people moving about, even with most of the guests still on land, and I can’t help thinking that anything to prove she was here would likely have been moved by now.
This is a waste of time, but it’s all I have at this point.
The next several decks are filled with guest rooms, but I walk the hallways, listening for her voice, hoping with all hope that I’ll turn a corner and run into her. That she’ll give me that smile that warms every part of me and say, “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
The fifth floor is mostly shops and restaurants, but I check each one, getting odd stares from waiters and guests as I go. Most don’t notice me, but the ones who do seem certain I’m up to something.
I pass through the library and out onto the deck, checking over the railing. I hold my breath as I look, but to my relief and utter disappointment, there is nothing.
It’s as if she was never here. If I wasn’t looking, wasn’t asking questions, no one’s trip would be disrupted in the least.
I turn, looking through the glass behind me and down into the lounge below. From where I’m standing, I can see the bar on the fourth floor. The last place she was seen.
I scan the crowd through the hazy glass. Suddenly, my breathing hitches.
What the…
It’s not possible, but it’s right there.They areright there.
Sitting at the bar where Mae was only hours ago is the man from the photo Diego showed us. The man from dinner. The man who might know where my wife is.
Next to him…is Patton.
I search for Florence, but she’s nowhere to be found. How could Patton be inside at the bar when he’s supposed to be boarding the ship? Even if he already made it on board, why wouldn’t he be with Florence?
More importantly, why would Patton be with this man?
I pull out my phone, search for Florence’s contact, and place the call as I move toward the stairs. I have to get down to the fourth floor before I lose sight of them.
“Hello?”
“Hey, where are you?”
