Chapter 38

Ethan

I PULLED INTO THE MARINA and realized how ridiculous I was being to think there was an actual coincidence between the letter and the boat I’d seen here a few months ago. I was truly grasping at straws, but at least I’d be able to see Jenna, so it wouldn’t be a total waste of a trip. I walked up and down the dock several times, only to find the boat was no longer docked there. Just as I thought, this was a total waste caused by my overactive imagination, but that still didn’t stop me from heading into the office to try and get some more information.

“Hi, can I help you?” an overenthusiastic blonde popped up from behind her desk and greeted me.

“Umm…yeah. I was here a few months ago, and I was talking to the owner of one of the boats that was docked here. He gave me his business card and I misplaced it, and I really need to get in touch with him. The only thing I remember was the name of his boat.”

“Oh.” She sighed, peeking into the office next to where she was standing. She leaned over the counter and whispered, “I can’t really give out that information.”

“Really?” I pleaded, boosting her ego a bit as I pretended to check her out, resting my eyes on her massive cleavage that was hard to avoid.

“I would, but—” She jerked her head toward the office next to her, stopping midsentence when the older, no nonsense-looking woman walked out.

“I’m going to grab some lunch,” the woman barked as she wrapped her scarf around her neck and gave me a curt nod. “Are you being helped, sir?”

“I am, thanks,” I responded.

She eyed up the blonde questioningly, no doubt assuming my visit was a social one before rolling her eyes and heading on her way.

Once the older woman was out the door and well on her way, the girl behind the counter spoke again. “You know I could get in big trouble for giving out personal information, but seeing how I’m a sucker for a handsome face…”

I smiled when she typed something in her computer.

“What’s the name of the boat?” she asked.

“Angel Eyes.”

“Oh…” She raised an eyebrow and sighed with reluctance. “Whatever you do, please don’t tell anyone who you got this information from, or I’ll get fired.”

“Cross my heart.”

She typed in some more information and stared at the computer screen, writing down the information on a slip of paper. “The information I have is his old address. From what I heard, he now lives in Washington State. That’s why he doesn’t dock his boat here anymore. Not sure if he has the same number or not, but at least it’s something to go by. Just remember, you didn’t get this from me.”

I took the slip of paper from her hand, leaned over the counter, and kissed her on the cheek.

“You’re the best.”

She was grinning from ear to ear, holding her hand where my lips were just seconds ago. “Well, that was a nice thank you.” She giggled.

“See ya!” I gave her one last smile, appreciating her naivety immensely. I waited until I got into my car and unfolded the slip of paper. Marcus Withers. That would be the M in the signature line of the letter, and when I looked at his former address and saw it was just a few towns over from where I lived, my mind really started to go at warp speed.

I wondered if once again my overactive imagination was getting the best of me. After all, this was reality, not the setting for one of my books. The easiest thing to do would be to call my brother-in-law and see what he could find out on this guy, but that would require me to explain to him why I wanted to know, and as much as I hated to admit it, this all seemed a little farfetched. I typed his name and previous address into the search engine on my phone and came up with a few results that required you to pay to supposedly get more information about him. As I scrolled down further, I found the link to an article from one of the high schools that was local to me entitled: CENTENNIAL HIGH SCHOOL’S FAVORITE ENGLISH TEACHER WILL BE MISSED AS HE BEGINS A NEW CHAPTER IN HIS LIFE.

My hunch didn’t seem so ludicrous at all anymore. In the letter he’d written, he’d said he was grading papers, which meant he was a teacher. I scrolled through the article, stopping when I got to the picture of him and a group of teenage kids who I’d assumed were his students. I tapped on the photo and zoomed in to get a closer look at him. If I had to guess, I’d say he was around my age, dirty-blond hair, glasses. Your average-looking guy. I scrolled back to the top and began to read that article.

Tenth grade English lit students will be missing a very important member to Centennial High family in the next month. Marcus Withers who has been an English teacher with the school for the past fifteen years…

How the hell could he afford a boat like that on a teaching salary? As I continued reading the article, the answer to that question became clearer, and I knew this was more than just some crazy figment of my imagination. My plans to visit Jenna would have to wait. I had some research to do, and in normal circumstances this would be great material for a new book, but this was by no means for a book—this was my sad, pathetic reality.