Over the next couple days of our vacation I didn’t learn much from Maurice. No new developments. Or if there were, he didn’t tell me. I suspected there was nothing new to tell: Maurice seemed like a cool cat.
It was depressing packing up to leave that Sunday morning. Nobody wanted to put a cap on these wonderful four days. It was a quiet drive back to Fresno. Norrah drove, and began crying when we pulled up to Aaron’s apartment. We all took turns hugging him and Deborah, said we’d talk soon, and bade them farewell.
Norrah was out of her funk by the first hour driven south from Fresno. She occasionally glanced down at her ring finger and smiled at the diamond. I called her my fiancé with annoying frequency, and she did the same. A novelty title. Caleb and Brittney had disappeared somewhere along the way, and it became evident why they had relocated to the back of the RV: we heard pleasured moaning.
We dropped the new couple off at Caleb’s house. Then there were two. Us engaged folk. It was kind of nice being alone with her again. I was a little aroused watching her pilot the massive vehicle to her house. I unlatched my seatbelt and got closer to her, tried my hand and arousing her as she drove. She giggled and slapped my hand away. Upon parking on the street before her driveway, I took her to the back and had my way with her. It was something else, and not just the sex. We weren’t fans of condoms (who is?) so our method of birth control has here-to-now been pulling out. But tonight as I was escalating and preparing to do the old pull-out, she murmured “Nuh-uh.” So I planted my seed in her. Would we be starting a family in nine months? Time would well. But I hoped we would.
I kept in contact with Maurice. It was becoming pointless to check in with him. He wasn’t calling me, either. There were no developments in the case. Hostetler was still missing. If it was a news story, I didn’t hear about it. There were no connections made between him and us, or him and Paul Klein. That was likely kept under the rug. I figured he’d turn up dead eventually. Or who knows? Maybe he’d return not unlike the missing twenty-three. I seriously doubted that.
I didn’t spend much time thinking about Aaron and his woman in the ensuing days. My focus was on my fiancé. I couldn’t have been happier. We even set a wedding date: May ninth. We were making love at least once a day (at night) and usually in the mornings as well. No protection. As always happens when strange shit or seriously bizarre shit happens, things slowly begin to return to normal. What was it Jesus said?—This too will pass? Yeah. It was autumn and the weather was changing. Leaves were orange and red, pine cones were dropping like little bombs. There was a chilly breeze that reminded me of Thanksgiving.
Halloween was just around the corner. We bought candy for the trick or treaters. Big candy bars, none of those cheap ass mini’s. I was supposed to work on Halloween but I traded my shift with a single older dude I work with. I wanted to spend the evening with the fiancé. I thought it would be fun to answer the door to several cute little kids and imagine our own kids dressed in the same crazy costumes some not-so-distant year from now.
The day before Halloween, the thirtieth, Norrah and I were eating at The Boathouse. It was the place of our first date, and would always be, as obvious as that sounds. It was a historical landmark, if only to us. We ordered a pair of rib-eyes and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Love was in the air. You’d think it was Valentine’s Day, not Halloween’s Eve.
My phone dinged. Text message from Aaron. I hadn’t heard from him in a couple days. It read: Today’s the 30th. Her birthday.
“That’s right,” I said aloud, gazing down at my phone. “Brooke turns fifteen today.”
“Happy birthday, Brooke,” Norrah said to the air.
I texted Aaron back: Did you talk to her? All still well? No worries?
Aaron replied: All is well, yes. Yesterday I invited her to hang out with Deborah and I on Halloween, just to be sure. She said it sounded like fun, will get back to me. What are you kids up to?
“Kids,” I said and scoffed. “We’re older than he is and he thinks of us as kids. Funny, I think of him as older than us, don’t you?”
“Totally,” Norrah said and sipped her wine.
“Wise beyond his years,” I said inwardly.
I texted: Eating steaks. We should make plans to visit again within a couple weeks. What do you think?
Aaron replied: Name the time and place, sure. I’ll let you get back to dinner. Take care. I love you guys.
“He said he loves us,” I said to Norrah.
“Well we love him too,” she said, almost reproachfully.
“I know. I just don’t recall him saying that before. Dudes don’t tell dudes they love each other unless they’re the Brokeback Mountain type.”
“You are the Brokeback Mountain type. That time I told you I have a penis but don’t worry it’s small like yours, I felt you grow aroused. That was the best news you could have hoped for. The disappointment you must have felt when I got naked and you couldn’t spy a weenie.”