Chapter 17
MIA
The house is abnormally quiet today, too quiet. All I can hear is the sound of Portland’s familiar light rain outside my window and the light tap-tapping of the coffee maker in the kitchen.
As I lay in bed and look up at the ceiling, I wonder how long it’ll be until I hear Dean purposely banging every pot against the countertop to rile me up. I wonder if he’s thought of new and improved ways to annoy the hell out of me.
Sighing, I grab my Kindle and start reading, but I still don’t hear any sounds. I get four chapters in and all that’s changed is the pace of the rain outside.
Confused, I get out of bed and head into the living room, then the kitchen. Then I realize he isn’t here.
His keys aren’t hanging on the rack by the door, remnants from breakfast are lying half-eaten on a plate, and his police jacket isn’t on the coatrack.
Hmmm. Perfect...
I tiptoe to his side of the house and walk past his bathroom, letting the familiar scent of his aftershave invade my senses. I walk down the hallway a little farther and notice that the door to his bedroom isn’t shut like usual. It’s wide open.
I hesitate a few seconds before walking in—knowing that snooping on him is totally fucked up, but I can’t help it.
Stepping inside, I close the door behind me and look around. His room literally looks like a replica of the one I spent so many nights in when we were in high school.
The few pictures on the wall are framed ones of guitars, his class with the police academy, and of him and Eric sitting at a bar holding up beers. He has five guitars now, and they’re all lined up by his huge bay window, in perfect view of the park below.
His bed in unmade, and there are way too many pillows for one person on it, so I take three of them and carry them quickly to my room, before coming back.
Picking up one of the guitars, I instantly remember how he once attempted to teach me to play.
“God, Mia...It’s a guitar, not a piano. You don’t have to be that delicate with the strings. No, you don’t need a bow for it either... Okay, you know what? Give that back. Just stick to art...”
I set it down and walk over to his dresser. I open the top drawer and roll my eyes at the numerous condoms inside.
I open the next one. Socks. Sweats. Nothing important.
Convinced the third one will be a disappointment as well, I walk over to his massive closet. It’s stuffed with a wardrobe that rivals Eric’s and there are more pictures hanging on the walls: Him and Eric at some type of festival, him and his co-workers leaning against a squad car, him and...a fiancée?
I take the picture of him and a woman in a red dress down and look a little closer. His arm is draped around her neck and she’s holding her hand up to show off a ring, but I don’t see one on his hand. I look around the walls for another picture of her so I can see if he was indeed engaged, but I don’t find one.
My eyes catch a picture of me instead.
Well, my artwork anyway.
Tucked into the corner behind his suit jackets, and hanging visible enough for someone who only steps so far in, is the small picture I painted for him years ago. The picture of us at the bonfire, kissing in colorful streams of silver and blue.
I run my fingers across the acrylic and smile, but then I let it fade. I’m sure he thought nothing of it when he put it up, and it is at the back of the closet...
I shut the closet doors and walk over to his desk. I don’t bother opening his laptop because I’m sure it’s password protected, but when I push it to the side, my jaw drops.
Beneath it is a calendar for Western Peak University. An alumni calendar.
What?
I open the desk’s top drawer and shake my head as I see more Western Peak paraphernalia: Pens, papers, and a yearbook.
I quickly flip it open and thumb to the student section. Straight to the C’s, and right there, still looking All-American as ever, is Dean Collins on the center of the page.
Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t go there after all...
I sit on his bed and read the bio underneath his picture: Dean Collins. Class of 2008. Political Science and Pre-Law. Suma Cum Laude. Best part of being a Western Peak graduate? “Being around people who actually ‘get’ me...Oh, and the parties here are ones I’ll remember for life.
Shutting the book, I place it back where it belongs and realign the laptop on his desk. I make sure everything I touched is back in place, but as I walk out, I spot a pair of shiny hoop earrings on his window sill.
I’m not sure why I feel a tinge of hurt at knowing that he had someone in his room, especially after all this time, but I do.
I leave the door wide open like it was before and head back to my room.
I take his pillows and re-cover them in my own pillowcases, and just as I fall on top of them, my phone rings. My mom.