Chapter 12 #2
I frowned, unconvinced. The mystery gnawed at me, another problem to deal with on top of everything else.
It felt like I couldn’t escape the sense that something was always wrong, like I couldn’t even trust the one space where I thought I was safe.
I brushed it aside for now, trying to convince myself it was nothing, just another well-meaning volunteer who knew more about the plane than they should.
But deep down, the mystery clung to me like a shadow.
The more I tried to ignore it, the heavier it became, tugging at the edges of my thoughts.
Who was trying to get my attention by fixing things in secret? And more importantly, why now?
“Did they do good work?” Ellen asked, as if trying to distract me.
“Too good,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t like it, didn’t trust it.
I told myself to stay calm. The Trimotor was fine.
Maybe the work had even been helpful, though my pride bristled at the idea that I hadn’t finished it myself.
But who could I blame for trying to keep this project going when I was stretched thin between Holbrook Aviation and running the museum?
The truth stung: I needed help, and whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing.
I forced myself to let it go and return to my office.
I didn’t have time to play mechanic, not when I had staffing schedules to complete, and funding proposals to submit.
It didn’t take long for me to immerse myself in the tedious but necessary paperwork that kept this place afloat.
I told myself I was too busy to think about Patrick or the mystery volunteer.
For a while, it actually worked, and I let myself pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.
But even work had its limits. By early afternoon, my stomach growled, reminding me that I had forgotten to eat.
Again. The usual vending machine lunch wouldn’t do today; I needed something real, something that wouldn’t leave me feeling as hollow as I already felt.
I locked my computer, grabbed my wallet, and decided to take a walk to clear my head before grabbing a bite.
As I stepped outside the museum, the fresh air felt like a small relief from the stuffy office, and I was grateful for the moment of peace.
Seattle in the summer had its moments, the warmth tempered by a cool breeze coming off the water, making everything feel a little less suffocating, and I breathed it in deeply, letting my shoulders relax slightly.
I wandered through the streets for a while, passing the usual cafés and storefronts, until I saw the bright neon sign for Sizzles flickering ahead.
Patrick and I had discovered this tiny little food cart a couple of years ago, tucked away in an alley near the waterfront, run by an old guy named Stan.
He made the best burgers and fries I’d ever tasted, and while it was a bit out of my usual routine, the smell drew me in.
I could go for something greasy to soak up the mess inside my head.
“Sadie!” Stan’s voice boomed out the second I approached. He had sharp eyes, the kind that missed nothing, and a smile that seemed too wide for his weathered face. “Good to see you again, darlin’. The usual?”
“Yeah.” I smiled back despite myself. Stan had a way of making everyone feel like an old friend, and it was comforting. “Double bacon cheeseburger, extra crispy fries.”
He nodded, his movements practiced and economical as he flipped patties on the grill with a sizzle that made my mouth water.
The aroma of searing beef and bacon wafted through the alley, momentarily distracting me from the turmoil in my mind.
I paid, then leaned against the small counter, its worn metal cool against my palms. I stared out into the narrow alley, watching rain puddles shimmer in the afternoon light, my mind drifting inevitably back to Patrick, to the intricate web of betrayal and misunderstanding between us.
The familiar pattern of brick walls and overflowing dumpsters blurred as my focus narrowed on the ache in my chest. But just as I felt myself slipping into that dark spiral again, Stan’s voice broke through, pulling me back to the present with unexpected force.
“Haven’t seen your husband lately,” he said, wiping his hands on a greasy apron. “Everything okay?”
Stan’s question, though innocent enough, caught me completely off guard.
We hadn’t been regulars in months, but for years before this whole mess, Stan knew Patrick’s double cheeseburger with everything and my order by heart, sometimes having them ready before we even reached the counter.
His weathered face, usually a portrait of cheerful familiarity, now felt like an intrusion, a reminder of the life I’d lost. I couldn’t tell what he knew, if word had somehow traveled through the tight-knit Seattle food scene, or if this was simply a casual observation.
The grease-spattered counter suddenly felt confining, the sizzle of the grill too loud as my heart hammered against my ribs.
Today was already a fragile balance of keeping myself together, and the last thing I wanted was to dissect my broken marriage with Stan, however kind his intentions might be.
The words lodged in my throat, bitter as old coffee, refusing to form into the polite deflection I knew I should offer.
I tried for a casual smile, hoping it would end the conversation. “He’s been busy with work.”
Stan nodded but gave me a look that said he knew there was more to the story. “You be sure to tell him I said hello, will ya? Man like that shouldn’t be workin’ too hard. Not good for the heart. Or his marriage.”
My smile faded, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Stan wasn’t prying, just being Stan, but his words stung more than I expected. I forced myself to nod, the motion feeling wooden and unnatural. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.”
Stan turned to finish my food, and I stood there watching, the greasy aromas filling my lungs again, though they did little to mask the emptiness growing inside.
The food came quickly, the wax paper-wrapped burger hot in my hand as he handed it to me with a wink.
“You take care, now. And come back with that man of yours. I miss seein’ you both. ”
“Thanks, Stan,” I muttered, already stepping away from the cart, my heart feeling heavier than before. I managed a weak smile but didn’t trust myself to say more as I hurried away from the alley and back into the relative anonymity of the city streets.
The burger tasted amazing, but it didn’t help to fill the hole inside me, and by the time I got back to the museum, my appetite had all but vanished.
I left the uneaten half wrapped and sitting on my desk, staring at it like it was a problem I couldn’t solve.
It felt symbolic, this unfinished meal, just like my unfinished life.
I tried to shake it off, plunging back into my work for the rest of the afternoon.
But the silence of the office was deafening, and even with tasks to complete, the day seemed to drag.
When it was time to go, I packed up with a sigh of relief.
I was looking forward to one thing, and that was sleep, even if it was just on the museum’s cot.
At least in dreams, I could find some fleeting sense of peace.