Found Missing

I work in a coffee shop during the day. It's easy work for easy money and it helps to contribute to Martha's parent's household. In my spare time I'm a journalist for the town's magazine. I write about local music groups and I enjoy if far more than making coffee, but as of late I've found it hard to finish a single paragraph.

"As you are all aware, we found traces of Ecstasy and alcohol in Martha's blood. We also found two empty bottles of vodka in her car. We haven't come across anything that could make us believe that Martha was murdered."

Detective. Woodford believes that Martha had killed herself, either that or she drunk herself into oblivion before simply falling to her death. Both analysis sound ridiculous - Martha wasn't stupid.

"I know this is difficult to take in, but with no further evidence we have no real proof that Martha had wanted to kill herself either. However, we will not stop working until we are sure. I give you my word that we will not rest until we can give you all some closure."

I'm trying to write but Detective. Woodford's statement keeps spinning around in my head. I sit on the floor behind the coffee shop counter, staring at the words 'local' and 'new' as they stand alone in my paper pad. I can't seem to think of anything other than 'evidence' and 'closure'. The frustration is making me chew my pen lid to a plastic pulp.

"Elfie!"
I shoot up to my feet, straighten my apron and attempt to hide my pen and paper all at once. My boss glares at me, snatching my paper pad away from where I had failed to kick it under the counter.
"I'm paying you to serve coffee, not sit around on the floor staring at blank paper."
"Sorry." I mutter before pulling a smile over my tired expression. "Hello, how can I help-" My smile falters when I turn to face my customer. "Oh, it's you."
Gerard looks at me through his curtain of hair, I'm almost led to believe his eyes are narrowed with concern for how bloodshot mine must be. Almost.
"Who were you expecting? Courtney Love?"
"What? No, I just..." I shake my head and take a foam cup from the shelf. "Don't worry. Black coffee to go?"
"Please."

We stand in silence, I pass him his coffee and he hands me five dollars. As I give him his change I notice that his black polished nails are bitten right down to his skin. I guess his anxiety issues have flown sky high recently, I can relate to that. I give him a half smile and he pulls his mouth into a straight line. I presume this is his best shot of returning my attempts at being civil. He turns away after this, but not before he rolls his eyes and musters a "Thanks, Elfie."

I blink as I watch him leave the coffee shop. I think that was the first time he's ever called me by my actual name.

He knocks at the door three days later. I pull myself out of bed and stagger through the house in my dressing gown, expecting to answer it to Martha's parents. Maybe they've forgotten their keys in their distracted mind states, but instead I'm faced with snow skin and swollen eyes.

"Oh, Gerard, shit. Hi." I babble, pulling my dressing gown tighter around my chest.
"Have you been asleep?" He asks, brow furrowed, lip curled, undoubtedly judging my lack of makeup and knotted hair.
"Duh." I return his quizzical expression. "Isn't it obvious?"
"It's four in the afternoon..."
"I was tired, okay? Aren't you tired, Gerard?"
He sighs and as unexpected he doesn't retort, it's not until now I notice the shoebox he's holding tight to his stomach. "I've brought some of Martha's stuff." He explains, avoiding my eyes. "Mom doesn't think it's healthy to keep it lying around. I think maybe she's right, so I was just wondering if Anne wanted anything?"
I swallow, hard. Suddenly my throat feels like it's about to collapse. "They're out." I finally manage. "They've gone to see Anne's mum, I don't think she's coping, understandably."
"Oh."
Gerard looks exhausted, the rings under his eyes are darker than usual. I think it's taken him more effort to give up Martha's belongings than he cares to let on.
"You're welcome to come in, though." I say quickly. "I can make you spaghetti hoops and toast, the kitchen cupboard's bursting with the stuff, but only if you want."
I assume he's going to shrug my offer off, but he doesn't. Instead he steps past me, scuffing his Converse' off over the door mat on his way.
"Spaghetti hoops, how sophisticated."