Finally, we move up to the counter, ready to order. I didn’t even look at the menu long enough to know what to order so I tell the woman working behind the cart that I’ll have the same smoothie Natalie ordered.
We’re waiting for our orders when an inexplicable feeling waves down the back of my neck. The loud buzzing of the blender drowns out the crowds of people around us. I turn to look around, wondering why I’m suddenly feeling uneasy. A sea of tourists pass us by, most dressed in sandals and T-shirts printed with large letters on the front, spelling ‘Seattle’. I don’t recognize anyone, scanning their faces frantically as each person passes. We’re lucky to be here on a weekday. The usual shoulder to shoulder crowd isn’t as large as it is on the weekends, gaps spaced out between several groups.
Seagulls fly overhead, cawing and circling, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and snatch up anyone’s unfortunate dropping of food.
The clouds above the seagulls begin to thicken, bringing a promise of a thunderstorm with them. Mixed with the salty ocean air is the familiar scent of rain. A smell I’ve come to know over the year since we moved here. I can’t explain it but chills run down my spine and goose bumps prickle the back of my neck.
The lady behind the counter hands us our smoothies and I immediately spin around, ready to walk back to my car. It feels wrong to be here with Natalie, sharing smoothies with her. It’s perfectly normal and innocent. I’m not doing anything wrong by being here with her but I somehow feel as if I’m being watched.
The memories of Julian come to the forefront of my mind, clouding my vision as I walk back to my car. I don’t even look back to see if Natalie is still following. A person walking past, bumps shoulders with me. I stop, spinning around to catch a glimpse of the person. A man in a black hoodie looks over his shoulder at me, his deep brown eyes catching mine. He stops briefly to apologize before continuing with his day.
My chest stings as I gasp for a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
“Logan, are you okay?” Natalie’s hand rests on my arm. I follow her arm all the way up to her face.
“Um.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I just thought I recognized someone I knew. I was wrong.”
Natalie follows my gaze out to the crowd outside the market. We’re now standing out on the sidewalk, my car parked just a few spaces down.
I look at Natalie and take a step back, removing her hand from my arm. “We need to go to work. Max will be mad if we’re late.”
Thirteen
Lena
Logan didn’t get home until late last night.
He had closed the restaurant for Max dozens of times before and was usually pretty good about coming home just after midnight. In the past, he’d run through the entire routine with me. Not because I was curious, but because he thoroughly enjoyed it. He’d loved being a chef and I would lay in bed beside him, my hands tucked under the pillow, listening as he rambled on about recording that night’s sales and balancing the money drawers. Most of it was a part of the job that didn’t involve any actual cooking or preparation of food. The job was more along the lines of Abby’s line of work, configuring numbers and comparing it to sales of the same day the year prior.
I knew training Natalie would keep Logan longer, but I didn’t know it would keep him out two hours past when he would usually come home.
I’m digging through my closet, sifting through every outfit I own, trying to find the perfect one to meet with my client in Tacoma. The sun peeks through the windows as I quietly search my closet, not wanting to wake Logan. He’s still sleeping, the blankets pushed down to his waist, exposing his bare chest. The muscles of his torso contract with every slow, deep breath he takes before relaxing once again.
He still looks like the man I fell in love with and married. Even more so now that he’s allowed his hair to grow back again. He turns on his side, facing away from me and I continue going through my closet.
The curtains are drawn wide open. At first, I thought the morning sun’s rays would wake Logan, but he had been in such a deep sleep, he hadn’t stirred. After the emails I’d been receiving, I feel suffocated. I had hoped opening the curtains and allowing the day to fill the four walls of my bedroom, that it would somehow cancel out the darkness that seemed to swallow me whole.
I felt a bit better, but the pain of the emails and Natalie’s text still lingered, latching itself on to the deepest parts of me.
I’ve gone through nearly every shirt in my closet when I come across Abby’s sweater. The summer is coming to an end, the leaves on our trees already starting to yellow on the edges. I grab the sleeve and run my fingers across the fabric. I’ve worn it only two times since we’ve lived here, wearing it once during the winter. The brown buttons running down the center are still perfectly in place, except for one on the bottom. I run my thumb over the button. There’s only one thread still keeping it tied to the fabric.
I push it aside, remembering today was supposed to be in the high eighties. Seattle wasn’t quite ready to let go
