I nod and whisper, “Thank you,” squeezing his hand.
A small tear runs down my cheek, but I quickly whisked away. For some reason, the toast makes me feel like something else is coming.
A proposal maybe?
It doesn't though.
This isn't a good place to propose, not when you're Tyler. This would be too public and it would draw too much attention to us. I know that and I'm glad that he didn’t do it.
Yet a part of me is… disappointed.
Of course, we've never talked about marriage. We had talked about making a life together but not getting married.
Was that implied?
I look up at him and try to think of something to say. It's not that we don't have anything to talk about, it's just that there's only one thing on my mind.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I'm good,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he presses.
I don't know how to respond. I just stare into his eyes and then break down.
“What's wrong?”
Somewhere in the distance, I see our waiter make his way down the tables toward us. I feel like such a fool.
I wipe my tears away as quickly as I can to try to hide the fact that I am crying. Finally, I give up and just pop on my shades.
I wore them earlier today when it was sunny for that brief thirty minute stretch, but other than that they have been pretty useless this whole trip.
Until now.
“I'm sorry,” I say after my heartbeat slows down and the tequila starts to course through my veins. “I didn't mean to get so emotional. You just said such wonderful things and I want you to know that I love you too. You mean so much to me and I never want to lose you again.”
“You won't,” he says, shaking his head.
I shrug.
“I know that we’re not supposed to talk about this–”
“I can't think of anything else,” I interrupt him.
The waiter comes over and we order food. He lights a small candle and leaves us alone again, surrounded by strangers.
“What's going to happen on Monday?” I ask. “I have to go back. I finally have some work again. I have my mortgage and my other bills. I can't get behind again.”
“I'm not asking you to stay,” Tyler says, intertwining his fingers with mine. “I want to be with you. I want us to be together, but I don't know how.”
“I don't know how either.”
“I can't leave. I have my court case with the Elliott family. I might have to testify. I need to find out what's going to happen.”
“I know,” I say, nodding.
“That doesn't mean that we can't be together,” he says.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just because you're in Pittsburgh and I'm in Seattle doesn't mean that we have to be apart. We can video chat, text, and call. We can arrange to meet up again in a few weeks, after things are more settled here.”
“Will you come visit me?” I ask.
“That's a bit complicated, but I'll try.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Flying is not a good idea for me,” his voice drops down a few octaves and becomes barely audible. “I have a new identity and all the legal identifications, but the TSA and all of the recordings of everyone coming, going, that's not exactly the place that I want to be in case anyone is watching.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, nodding. “I understand.”
“I can fly you out. You just tell me when and you’ll have the tickets. If you want to stay now, I can help you cover some of your bills.”
“No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head. “Not that that's not a great offer, but I just can't do that right now. I just started to build up my practice and my students need me.”
He nods like he understands, but the thing that I can’t tell him is that I have already rebuilt my life once because of him and I don't know if I can do it again.
Nor do I really want to.
If we're going to start something, we’re going to do this right. We're going to have a plan and work on knowing for sure that this decision will be forever.
After the food arrives, it smells so good that we both dive right in and push the conversation to the wayside.
With our bellies full and our minds a little bit tipsy, we talk about something else and instead of crying, I start to laugh.
3
Tyler
After lunch at the restaurant, we go to walk along the waterfront. The sun peeks out for only a moment and then hides behind massive clouds once again.
“I like it here,” Isabelle says. “It reminds me a lot of Pittsburgh, but in a good way. It’s newer.”
I hold her hand as we walk past an elderly couple sitting on the bench looking out at the water. They have a small yuppie dog that bounces around them and the man adjusts the dogs raincoat.
“What made you come here?” Isabelle asks.
“I don't know,” I say, thinking back to that scary time when I took off without her and just kept driving north. “I drove for a while and then I saw the sign for the Canadian border. I figured that I should either go back to Seattle or turn right and go back east.”
“What about Canada?”
“I thought about that, but I didn't have identification, not good enough for another country. Plus, I don't know anyone up there. Not that I know anyone down here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that's the thing about starting a new life. It just sort of begins and you have to say goodbye to everyone else that knew you.”
“So, you are not in touch with anyone?”
“Nope,” I say, leaning over the railing and looking at the gray water rolling softly below. “It's kind of the point of getting a new identity. No one is supposed to know who you are now.”
“I like reading about missing people,” Isabelle says.
I turn to face her, not sure exactly what she's getting at.
“I know that sounds a little odd, but they have these shows on television like this. There’re also a lot of true crime blogs and websites devoted to missing people. I like stories like that. Not that I am not sympathetic or anything like that, I just like thinking about where they might be.”
“I didn't know that,” I say.
“I know, that's why I'm telling you now,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.
Something changes about her. It's almost as if the cloud covers her and suddenly her mood is darker and more detached.
“A lot of the stories are similar,” Isabelle says. “This person is leading a normal life and then he or she disappears. One woman went on a run and left her keys in her car along with a to do list. One man said that he was going to be reporting to his National Guard duty, but instead he went on a long hike a thousand miles away in western Montana never to be heard from again.”
“What do you think happened to them?” I ask.
“The woman was never found, but there is some evidence that the Grand Basin serial killer might have killed her because he killed a few other people in the area around the same time.”