9
I returned to Gabe’s house mid-afternoon, pleased that no one was home, and poured myself a cup of iced tea from the fridge and a plate of Cormac’s dinner last night. I should also apologize to him since I missed his homemade dinner. From the outside, it may have seemed that I had an adult tantrum and sulked for 12 hours, but really, I was in an emotionally difficult place.
I take my dinner out onto the balcony overlooking the lake and breathe in the fresh air, watching birds wade in the shallows as a fishing boat rocks on the choppy waves.
Even though I’m relaxed on the balcony at the back of the house, my neck still twists toward the glass doors to see if anyone is creeping up on me. This is Gabe’s house. I’m alone in Gabe’s house, which feels wrong because he’s not here.
I’m alone in Gabe’s house.
Huh.
Throwing back the rest of the iced tea in my glass, place the half-eaten bowl of pasta in tomato sauce on the floor next to the beach chair and precariously step back inside. The main balcony leads into the living room, and I stalk to the front of the house, searching for human life. I can’t see or hear anyone, and it’s only my car parked up the drive, indicating that I’m still alone…in Gabe’s house.
I start with the kitchen, going through drawers and cupboards and hunting for…actually, I’m unsure what I’m looking for. Maybe evidence of his past life – pictures of his ex-wife, Cormac, when he was a little boy, their previous house. Perhaps even something as mundane as bills and insurances, pay slips, anything to indicate that Gabe Bernardi and his son are real people. Gosh, what am I thinking? Of course, they’re real people…but of all the girls Cormac approached and pursued, it was the girl that his father helped enormously two years ago. The case that ripped him to shreds because it was never resolved, and he admits that it haunts him to this day.
The cupboards, pantry, and drawers contain only regular kitchen items, food, utensils, and cutlery, all plain, but no personal items. I walk into the formal living room at the front of the house, and there’s a stack of four finance magazines on the coffee table that look as if they’ve never been opened. Again, there’s little personality in the downstairs, indicating who lives here.
The second living room, which has more relaxed furnishings and is probably where Gabe spends his evenings, leads to the main balcony. A couple of newspapers folded on a chair and a pair of large sneakers shoved under a couch likely belong to Cormac. At least this room looks like someone lives here.
Checking the driveway for cars again and finding it clear, I run upstairs to the bedrooms. There are four bedrooms, and Gabe's is the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Stopping at the first closed door, I come to assume it’s Cormac’s; I turn the handle and push it open to be graced with Cormac’s scent—another pair of oversized sneakers poking out from under a queen size bed. The bed looks like it was slept in last night as the dark blue duvet cover is lumpy, yet as I cross the boundary into his room, I’m struck by how empty and lacking in personality it is. I know that Cormac spends most of his nights in his frat house, but I thought a piece of him would be left behind. Yet, it feels more like a motel room.
I wonder if Gabe’s bedroom harbors the same emptiness lacking in personality. Pausing to look in the bathroom, I open the cabinet to find a single glass bottle of cologne, a four-pack of sandalwood soap, a half-squeezed tube of toothpaste, and a red toothbrush—no prescription bottle or medication of any kind, and no condoms.
The bottle of cologne is intriguing and expensive-looking, and it has an Italian name, so my nose is keen to experience Gabe’s taste in perfume. I open the lid and screw my nose up at the scent and immediately file it back on the shelf. No. That’s not the cologne Det. Gabe usually wears it, and obviously, he doesn’t like it either since it’s almost full to the brim.
The door at the end of the hallway is where my heart pulls me. As I move closer to my destination, my heart thuds solidly against my ribcage. This is wrong, and I shouldn’t be doing this, but he gave me a house key and wanted me to stay here, so…
A cold shiver coils down my back as if I had just walked across a ghost-inhabited grave as I approach his door. Placing my hand on his door handle, I turn it and push, and the door won’t budge. It’s locked. Damn.
A car door slams, and I back away from his door and run downstairs to greet whoever has returned home, hoping it’s Gabe. Instead, the driveway only has my silver car parked up it, but I notice movement on the driveway of the neighboring house, and my heart sinks.
I’m still in this house in this empty shell of a home without a female touch. Tomorrow, I’ll bring back potted plants from the glasshouse and fill these drab spaces with color and life. I take my place in the deck chair on the main balcony and nestle into the seat, placing my feet on the wooden balcony rail—blond hair bleaching from the sun's sharp rays as my bare legs bronze. I’m captivated by the lake water glistening and twinkling like stars from the sun as the tide slowly recedes.
I’m tempted to message Z to come over and bring liquor and pot so we can have some fun, but Gabe may not be happy about that. I check my phone for messages, and it remains blank. Not even Blake has replied. The silence makes me nervous, so I message Z to ask if she’d mind me coming to her place for a few hours.
Twenty minutes pass before she answers: I don’t finish my shift until 10 p.m. You can come round then.
I’ll be in bed by then. I decided to fall back into my usual routine of taking early morning swims in the Olympic pool so no one would grow suspicious of my behavior. I doubt I’m a suspect anyway since I haven’t been interrogated or questioned by police…yet. When Gabe gets home, I’ll speak to him about it confidentially.
Me: Never mind. I’ll catch up with u another time.
As the sun falls, casting a shadow over the balcony, I realize that I’ve been out here for two hours and retreat inside to watch Netflix or something else to distract myself from the missing men and the crime I committed. Wait. Does Gabe even have a television? I haven’t seen one.
I scoped the house and wondered if the only television was in his bedroom. So, I set my laptop up in my bedroom to watch a mind-altering show, but instead, I decided to work on an assignment until my eyes were so tired that I couldn’t keep them open anymore.
Sometime during the night, I wake to the sound of someone in the house and roll out of bed to lock my bedroom door. I can hear them running up the stairs and then walking along the hallway, pausing at my door, then continuing to the end of the hall, where the click of the lock follows. It must be Gabe.
When I hear his door shut, I open my door and peer down the darkened hallway, eager for his company, longing to be held by those strong arms and for him to assure me that everything will be okay. But instead, I retreat into my room and shut the door with my heart beating a thousand times per minute.