Chapter 23
Shane
I'm determined to get a smile out of Nicole today. It's the first thought that crosses my mind as sunlight spills through the window, warming the bedspread beneath me. There's an essence of laziness in the air that feels perfectly like a Saturday. I decide to make the most of it, get up early, and creep downstairs.
I fumble through the kitchen, stacks of pots and colanders clattering as I search. "The pans," I mutter, juggling my phone between my shoulder and ear.
On the other end of the line, Gladys, our part-time nanny, sighs. She's only slightly irritated, likely because I'm bothering her during her favorite game show. "They're in the cabinet under the stove, Mr. Matthews. The nonstick pans are on the right, and the cast-iron ones are above the stove."
I stop in my tracks. "What's the difference?" I ask, even more lost.
"What are you trying to cook, Mr. Matthews? And why are you calling me for this? Don't tell me you've already scared off that pretty young girl."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "No, no, she's sleeping in, so I thought I'd cook breakfast today." Then I add quickly, "And, Gladys, please call me Shane."
"Well, that's nice. You and her, you're such a cute couple." Her tone is warm, amused.
"Gladys," I laugh nervously, "we're not a couple."
"Oh, come on now. I'm sixty-three years old, Shane. I've seen that look, and I'm happy for you."
I feel an unexpected sense of warmth spreading through me. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "I'm cooking eggs and bacon, by the way."
"Well, use the nonstick pan with the blue handle," she instructs. "It's the best one."
With a sigh of relief, I pull out the right pan. "You're a lifesaver, Gladys. I'll cook these eggs in your honor."
She laughs on the other end. "Just don't burn them. So, breakfast and then what? You got a whole day planned?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead," I admit, grabbing eggs from the fridge. "I figured we could see where the day takes us—maybe go for a drive."
Gladys sighs. "Come on now, take some initiative. You're already cooking breakfast; take it a step further. Any ideas on what she might want to do?"
I pause, then it hits me. "The ferry," I say, grabbing some bacon from the fridge. "She hasn't ridden the ferry into town yet. We could catch an early one, explore the city, and maybe walk around Market Street. Have lunch by the pier."
"Now that's a plan," Gladys says. "A nice walk, some shopping, lunch by the water—it sounds like the perfect day." I nod, feeling more confident.
"Yeah, I think she'd enjoy that," I say, relieved. "Gladys, you go enjoy your shows, and let me get breakfast going."
"Let me know how things go. Bye, Shane."
"Bye, Gladys."
I survey the counter loaded with ingredients, utensils, and the pan with the blue handle. "Where do I even start?" I mutter to myself, feeling a little overwhelmed. I set my tablet on the counter, shamelessly pulling up a recipe for scrambled eggs.
I want this breakfast to lift Nicole's spirits, but deep down, I know my cooking might not be enough to pull her out of the dark place she's been in lately. A small part of me worries it could even backfire—what if she's not in the mood? What if this feels forced? I push those thoughts aside, hoping, at the very least, she'll get a laugh out of my effort. But I hesitate before starting. Maybe it's better to have a watchful eye. I decide to wait until Nicole is awake before firing up the stove.
I sit at the kitchen counter with my tablet and watch sports highlights, glancing at the clock. Nicole usually wakes up around 8 on Saturdays, and I figure I can use the next hour as some rare "me" time. Jaime's upstairs, occupied with cartoons, and the house feels calm, just the quiet hum of the day beginning.
It's 8:30 when I realize Nicole's alarm hasn't gone off yet. Usually, by now, she's downstairs making coffee or reading in the nook by the window. Just as that thought crosses my mind, I hear Jaime coming downstairs and into the kitchen, Buddy trotting at his side.
"Good morning, Jaime," I say, pushing away my worry.
"Good morning, Uncle Shane," he replies, his eyes lighting up as he notices the food laid out. "Are you going to cook?" He sounds surprised, almost like he doesn't believe it.
"Yeah," I say with a grin. "I'm going to give it a shot. How hard can it be? You want to help, little chef?"
Jaime looks at me, then at the ingredients, and his small face scrunches with doubt. "I think we should wait for Nicole," he suggests.
I laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right."
"I'm gonna take Buddy out," he says, already heading for the door, the leash in his hand.
With Jaime preoccupied, I decide to check on Nicole. I don't want to wake her, especially knowing how restless she's been lately, but something feels off. I knock on her bedroom door softly, calling her name once. Twice. No response.
As I push the door open, a wave of unease rolls through me. The sight that greets me hits me like a punch in the gut. Once filled with life and vibrancy, her room now appears empty and lifeless. It looks exactly as it did the day I showed it to her. The perfumes and lotions that used to clutter the dresser, the jackets that hung from the coat rack, her shoes, her clothes—everything is gone. It's as if she never existed.
My heart drops into my stomach. I start scanning the room, trying to understand what I'm seeing. It's all stripped clean of presence but for one thing—a white envelope placed neatly on her pillow, standing out like a ghost in the room. I ignore it at first, checking the closet and the bathroom. I'm hoping to find one sign of her, something she may have left, some sign she's coming back. But it's all gone; she's gone.
"There's nothing," I whisper, a numbness creeping over me as the realization hits. My hands shake as I finally walk over to the bed and pick up the letter, a sense of dread building in my chest. The envelope is addressed to Jaime, written in her familiar handwriting.
"Nicole?" Jaime's voice drifts up from downstairs. "Uncle Shane? I'm super duper hungry now!" he calls out, his tone light and joking, oblivious to the situation.
"Just a minute, bud," I call back, my voice tight. "Watch some cartoons on the couch, okay?"
There's a long, exaggerated sigh from Jaime. "Okay," he says, the sound of the TV clicking on faint in the background.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I tear open the envelope. Inside, there's a note. Her handwriting is shaky but legible, and as I read it, the room seems to spin around me. I read it once. Twice. Enough times to remember it by heart and for my body to go cold. The letter is simple, apologetic, but final.
I feel my emotions threatening to break through the surface for the first time in years. I can't believe this. After everything... she's gone. But before I can let the tears come, Jaime calls from downstairs again, pulling me back to reality. The note crumples slightly in my trembling hand as I sit there, frozen.
I head downstairs, feeling the weight of Nicole's absence in every nerve in my body. I feel heavy and lightheaded all at once. My mind is racing, trying to grasp the reality of her departure, but I push those thoughts away for Jaime's sake. He doesn't need to see me unraveling. Not now. I gather the ingredients for breakfast, but my hands feel clumsy.
"Finally," Jaime says with a sigh of relief as he plops down at the kitchen table. "Where's Nicole, Uncle Shane?"
The question stops me in my tracks. I feel a wave of emotion rise, but I still hold back. I clear my throat, forcing myself to speak calmly. "She had to go take care of some paperwork early this morning," I say, trying to sound casual as I keep my back turned to him. The lie tastes bitter as it comes out, but it's better than the truth. Better than telling him I don't know where she's gone or why she left us.
I move about the kitchen, making preparations. But I can't stop checking my phone, praying for a message from Nicole, and calling her nonstop. My desperation grows with every unanswered ring. As I crack an egg into the bowl, a sense of overwhelming difficulty washes over me. Cooking was already challenging, but now, with the weight of everything on my shoulders, it feels impossible. I turn to Jaime, mustering a forced smile.
"Hey, buddy, how about we grab breakfast from Frankie's and eat it on the ferry instead?"
Excitement radiates from Jaime as his eyes light up. "Yeah! That sounds awesome!" he says, practically bouncing in his seat. But then his face falls a little. "But what about Nicole?"
I hesitate. The emotions I've been pushing down threaten to spill out, but I hold them back. "Maybe she'll catch up with us later, bud. I can't promise, but... let's go have some fun in the meantime, okay?"
He nods, eager for the adventure. "Okay! I'll get dressed!" Jaime bolts upstairs. His excitement and energy move me, providing a brief respite from the turmoil in my head.
As I grab my phone again, I see nothing but unanswered calls. No texts. No signs of life from Nicole. I sigh, running my hand through my hair, and try to focus on Jaime. The least I can do is make this day good for him.
We leave Frankie's around 10, breakfast sandwiches in hand. I try to enjoy the simplicity of it—just me and Jaime, walking to the ferry, watching boats glide across the water. But my mind is elsewhere, always coming back to Nicole.
As we step onto the ferry, my phone buzzes. A text from Nicole. My heart skips as I open it, but her words crush me instantly:
I'm sorry, Shane. Take care of Jaime. You two are all that matter now.
I stare at the message, the world blurring around me. "What the hell are you doing, Nicole?" I whisper to myself.
Jaime looks up at me as we sit down on the ferry, unwrapping his sandwich. "Is Nicole coming?"
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "She... she had to go take care of her family, bud. She might be gone for a while."
"How long?" Jaime asks, his brow furrowed.
"I don't know, buddy. Could be short, could be long," I say honestly. "But... she left you a letter." I pull the envelope from my pocket and hand it to him.
Jaime's eyes widen as he takes the letter, opening it carefully. He reads it in silence, then folds it neatly before slipping it into his pocket.
"Why didn't she just say goodbye?" he asks.
It's a question I anticipated. "She was in a hurry, bud."
"Oh," he says, half-heartedly.
"Check out the jet skis," I say quickly, trying to change the subject as I point out to them.
"Cool," Jaime says.
He doesn't ask any more questions, and I'm grateful for it.
We walk the market street in the city, stopping at little shops and stands. I calm down a bit, watching Jaime distract himself with the sights and sounds. I keep trying to convince myself that she left for the money, that she never really cared. And given her situation, I can't blame her. Maybe she saw Shane Matthews as an easy target—a man with a billion-dollar empire and a weakness for her. But even as I think it, I know it's not true. It's just anger talking, the thought that she's given up on us simmering beneath the surface.
We have lunch at an Italian restaurant on the pier, but I can barely taste the food. Jaime chatters about the boats, the market, and school—doing a good job filling the silence between us. I nod along, giving him half-hearted responses.
By the time we get home, I'm emotionally and physically exhausted. Jaime runs to the living room to play video games while I head to the bathroom. As soon as I close the door behind me, the weight of everything hits me like a wave. The anger, the sadness, the sense of betrayal. It all crashes down, and for the first time in years, I break. Tears spill down my face as I sink to the floor, my hands gripping the sides of the sink. I haven't cried like this since Claire's death. I thought I'd gotten past this—this feeling of loss, of abandonment. But Nicole broke something in me I didn't even know was fragile.
I don't know how long I sit there, letting the tears fall, letting the anger and sadness burn through me. It feels like a release, like I'm purging something. When it's over, when the tears dry up and the sobs die down, all that's left is a hollow ache, a cold, empty feeling of loss.
And then, something shifts. A revelation, sharp and clear, settles in my mind: No more. I can't do this again. I'm not built for it. Letting anyone get this close to me again was a mistake—only Jaime deserves that space. My focus needs to be on him, on what truly matters. He's the only one who deserves my attention now, the only one I can't afford to lose. Nicole? She was just like everyone else—someone I couldn't trust. The thoughts spill over me like affirmations, familiar and comforting, like the colder, more focused version of myself I'd left behind is rising to the surface again—the one who kept his walls high, who didn't let anyone in.
But even as I tell myself these things, I know deep down it's just my fury talking. A part of me clings to the warmth Nicole brought into my life, the healing and positivity she managed to stir in me. That part isn't gone—at least, not yet. I know Nicole is in trouble somewhere in the corners of my mind. I know she probably needs my help. But there's nothing more I can do. I've pleaded. I've begged for her to let me in, to let me help her, for months. This was her decision, and no matter how much I want to chase after her, I have to accept it.
I tell myself I need that bit of coldness now. I need to protect myself, to shield Jaime from the chaos that keeps creeping into our lives. It's time to let the walls come back up.
Days pass, and the impact of Nicole's disappearance fills our daily lives. Jaime keeps asking me to call her, but I'm forced to make excuses each time, like she's busy or has found a new job and is working nights. But I know he's not buying it anymore.
A few nights after, during dinner, Jaime fusses over his vegetables, refusing to eat them. His attitude has taken a turn since she's left, and though I've tried to maintain it, so has mine.
"Uncle Shane, I ate vegetables at lunch today. Why do I have to eat them again? Why don't you just give me all the vegetables for one day at one time?"
My patience snaps. "Just eat your damn vegetables, Jaime!" I yell, louder than I intended. His eyes fill with tears, and my heart sinks instantly.
"I miss Nicole!" Jaime cries, pushing his plate away. "She never yelled at me like this."
His words cut deep, and I realize I have to do something—for Jaime, if not for myself.
As I watch Jaime's tear-streaked face, a new revelation pops into my mind. I need to make a plan. I have to find her.