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“Okay. Sure. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you.” I reach out, squeezing his hand. “Will you just call or text me as soon as you find anything? Especially if it’s anything suspicious?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” I say again. I press my lips to his cheek briefly, then hurry from the room.
CHAPTERTWENTY
BLAKE
Florence and I walk along the deck again after she brings her things to my room. Neither of us says it, but I’m fairly certain we’re both watching the shoreline—the people bustling about, soaking up the sun without a care in the world—and hoping to see Mae in the crowd.
As if she might just pop up and say sorry and that she’d been in the gift shop all this time.
As if, somehow, this might have all been a misunderstanding.
I find myself begging to wake up from this nightmare. To rewind time and never have gotten on the ship in the first place.
But would that have stopped this? What if she’d always meant to leave me on this vacation? What if the ship only provided an easier way to accomplish that? What have I done that’s so wrong?
I just can’t make sense of it, and then, when I try, I feel guilty for giving up on her. That’s what this feels like. I’m starting to accept that she left me, and I hate it.
Because if she didn’t, I’ll never forgive myself for these thoughts, and the truth is, I’ll likely never know.
When the sun reaches its peak in the sky, scorching my skin as the midday heat sets in, I add another tally to my mental count of days without Mae. We’re up to two, yet it feels like a lifetime. How am I supposed to carry on like this?
I’m going to lose my mind. The waiting, the questions, the not knowing.
I’m not strong enough to play this role.
“We should get lunch,” Florence says. “With everyone off the ship, there won’t be any lines.”
I think she’s suggesting it more out of boredom than anything. Or perhaps concern for me. She’s been much more concerned about my eating and drinking than her own, though I’m sure she’s not doing much better than I am.
I haven’t eaten a full meal since Tuesday night’s dinner, and yet I don’t feel hungry. I don’t feel much of anything other than sheer panic at the moment.
We each get a slice of pizza from the buffet and sit at a small bistro table near the window. We eat mostly in silence. I pick at my lukewarm crust, nibbling a bit here and there. I just can’t bring myself to do it.
How can I eat when I don’t know where Mae is or if she’s even okay?
“Oh, look!” Florence cries out, pointing at a seagull as it swoops down to grab a fish in the distance.
I don’t mention the way my heart leapt when she said it, how I thought she’d seen Mae. How, for two whole seconds, I’d thought this might all be over. I can’t say any of that, though. Not even to her.
I already feel the pressure to turn back to normal. To not make anyone uncomfortable with my grief.
When I don’t respond and merely stare out the window, not actually looking at anything at all, we return to our meal. The silence between us should be awkward. We’re not used to being alone without Mae as a buffer, but we’ve no time for awkwardness right now. We’re all each other has.
“Last real night here,” Florence says softly, more to herself than me. She’s right. Tomorrow night, we’ll be preparing to leave the ship early the next morning. We should be celebrating. Soaking up our last night in paradise.
I breathe a broken laugh through my nose, though it feels more like a sob. “Somehow, this hasn’t been the vacation I pictured when we booked it.”
“What are we going to do, Blake?” Her voice cracks as she asks.
“I have no idea,” I admit.
“How could we possibly go back to our normal lives the day after tomorrow? Nothing will ever feel normal without her.”
