Chapter 50
Elsie
I wake with a clear plan to work things out with Declan, enough butterflies in my belly to fly me to the moon, and a slight hangover.
There’s no time to let it slow me down, though. I chug a big glass of water, take two Advil and make myself an iced coffee. I have a full schedule today and I can’t let my poor decision-making from the night before derail it.
By the time I make it to work, I’m almost feeling good.
I arrive a half hour earlier than usual so that I can make some phone calls.
My friends helped me research therapists last night and we came up with a list of options for me to call and see if they’re taking new patients.
Most of them are located in Portland, but one is only about ten minutes away.
I make my calls while I finish up my coffee. None of them are open at this hour, so I leave messages with requests for a call back.
When Noah arrives at his usual time, he looks surprised to find me sitting in my office.
We usually arrive around the same time and get right to work prepping the shop for the day – checking our orders, setting up displays, checking on the plants in the greenhouse.
We’ll snap some photos for social media if we have time, or if we remember.
Those get passed on to Grace for posting on our social media accounts.
She’s been trying to convince us to make videos, but we haven’t ventured into that yet.
“Hey, boss,” Noah says by way of greeting. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now, thanks to my good pal Advil and some coffee.”
“Hope you don’t mind that I brought you some more,” he says, and it’s only now that I notice the two iced drinks in his hands.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
Noah just laughs and hands me a cup across the desk. “Not nearly enough, but it’s okay. I know it’s not your strong suit,” he jokes.
“Jerk,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind the words.
“Come on,” Noah says, tilting his head toward the door. “Let’s do our chores and you can tell me what you’ve been doing in here.”
∞
When I notice movement in the shop next door a couple hours later, I can’t help myself; I stop what I’m doing and I watch, waiting for a glimpse of Declan.
I have no intention of talking things out in the middle of our workday, but I just need to lay eyes on him.
Aside from a quick, accidental glance, it’s been days since I’ve properly seen him.
It’s been even longer since I’ve glimpsed my favorite crooked smirk, or the muscled canvas of inked skin I miss running my hands across.
I’m disappointed when I realize it’s only Sean. He and Declan typically arrive around the same time, so I idly trim the stems of the bouquet I’m working on that don’t need trimming, keeping one eye on the shop next door.
A few minutes later, I’m still hacking away at the poor bouquet when Noah takes it from my hands.
“Put the shears down,” he scolds.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I got distracted.”
“I noticed.” Noah catches my eye and smiles. “This one is going on display in our break room, because we cannot in good conscience sell this to a paying customer.”
“Good call,” I agree.
When Noah disappears into the break room, I glance next door again. A heavy weight settles in my stomach when I see Maya and Eddie have arrived, but Declan still isn’t there.
Panic starts to crawl its way up my spine.
I tell myself he could just be running behind. Maybe he had a late night and overslept. I glance at the clock above our register that looks like a daisy – there are still twenty minutes to go until the tattoo studio opens.
But he still hasn’t shown up by the time Sean cranks the music, his last to-do item every morning before opening, and an old song by The Script filters through the wall.
I lose track of how many times I glance next door over the next hour, but it’s a concerning amount. Around noon, I finally work up the courage to text him.
Me: Hi.
Then, deciding that was too open-ended:
Me: I was hoping we could talk after work, but I noticed you’re not in today. Is everything okay?
The tiny Delivered beneath my texts mock me the longer they go unanswered. Something is off, and no amount of trying to convince myself otherwise can stop the churning in my gut as the afternoon drags on.
When the clock hits four in the afternoon, I can’t take it anymore.
“I’m going next door,” I announce.
Noah looks up from where he’s helping two customers decide on an arrangement for their mom’s birthday. I was trying to wait until they left so I could talk to Noah, but the brother and sister duo have been bickering about which colors their mom would prefer for the last fifteen minutes.
“Still no response?” Noah asks gently. He knows I’ve called Declan twice, left a voicemail and sent a few texts – all of which have gone unanswered.
I wring my hands together, needing to get some of my nervous energy out.
I foolishly thought that when Declan told me he was giving me some space, that meant he would be waiting for me to sort through my issues so we could pick back up where we left off.
I didn’t expect that when I was ready, he would be MIA.
“No answer,” I confirm. “If I sit around waiting any longer, I’m going to lose my mind. I need to see if they at least know where he is. Maybe he’s, like, camping and doesn’t have service.”
Even to my own ears, the suggestion sounds ridiculous. Declan doesn’t go camping.
Noah smirks and raises an eyebrow. He’s been far too casual about the whole thing. Too serene. He’s of the mindset that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Declan isn’t answering me, and he doesn’t think I should stress about it.
I’m not so sure.
“I’ll be right back.”
I open the door connecting our two shops and slip inside the tattoo studio.
It’s emptier than I’ve ever seen it – Declan and Sean are nowhere to be found, though Sean’s station is a bit of a mess, like he might have just recently finished up with a client.
Maya sits hunched over someone lying on their stomach and Eddie is at his piercing station in the back with what appears to be a mom and her two young daughters.
With an old Goo Goo Dolls song blaring over the speakers and the buzzing of Maya’s tattoo machine, nobody notices my arrival.
It must be one of Frankie’s days off. When she’s here, she’s usually seated at the front desk, scheduling appointments and handling inventory for the shop or working on her freelance stuff.
“Hi,” I call out when I get close enough to Maya’s chair that she can hear me over the noise.
She jerks her chin toward me in greeting, then looks back down at the intricate design of a lion that she’s inking behind a man’s shoulder. Her attention to detail is incredible; the big cat with its full mane and fierce eyes looks like a black-and-white photo staring back at me.
“What’s up? she asks.
“Is Sean here?” I don’t know Maya as well as I know Sean. If I’m going to hound someone about Declan’s whereabouts, I’d rather it be him.
“He had to go help Frankie with something at their place before his next client. She’s trying to rip wallpaper down on her own, or something.”
I wince. Declan told me a few weeks ago that Frankie is pregnant, and to say Sean has been overprotective would be putting it mildly. I can only imagine how he’d feel about his pregnant wife standing on a ladder and ripping down wallpaper.
“You need something?” Maya prompts.
“I just, um…” I shift my weight from one foot to the other and attempt nonchalance. “I was wondering if you know where Declan is?”
Maya pauses what she’s doing and the buzzing of her machine goes quiet. She looks up at me, scrutinizing whatever is written on my face. Finally, she shrugs. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” I repeat, dumbfounded. What does she mean he’s gone?
“Yep,” she confirms. “Left town yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” He was at work yesterday, I know he was. Even if I never looked his way, I could feel his eyes on me. “Where did he go?”
Maya shrugs again and continues working. “I was only half-listening,” she says, raising her voice to be heard over the buzzing again. “New York, maybe? I heard him mention something about needing to pack.”
“New York,” I repeat, my voice sounding hollow.
“I saw him leaving town on his bike just before dark,” the man lying on Maya’s chair says casually.
With the blood currently rushing in my ears, his voice sounds far away, like he’s speaking to me from the other end of a long tunnel.
“Looked like he was heading toward I-95, I think. I only noticed because of his bike. She’s a beauty. ”
I-95 – the highway that would take him straight to New York.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Thank you,” I whisper, though my words are inaudible. “Um, I’m just going to…” I let my voice trail off and hitch a thumb over my shoulder.
Before Maya or her client can say another word, I hurry back the way I came from.
“He’s gone,” I announce the second I’ve closed the door to the tattoo studio.
The two customers Noah had been helping are gone, but three others have taken their place. All four of them turn bewildered eyes on me.
“Declan is gone,” I reiterate. “As in, no longer here. As in, he took that job in New York. Gone.”
“What? No.” Noah sets down the vase he’d been showing to Macy Green, who graduated a year ahead of me in high school.
If it was any other day, I’d care that I’m about to have a full breakdown with an audience.
Macy stares at me wide-eyed, while the other customers, an elderly couple I recognize from the class I taught, pretend not to listen.
They study a display of potted geraniums like they’re the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen.
“There’s no way,” Noah argues. He starts to make his way over to me, but stops when I begin pacing along the length of our work table.
“Gone. To New York,” I mutter. The words feel all wrong coming out of my mouth.
Declan wouldn’t go to New York.
Except apparently, he would.
“I screwed this all up,” I groan.