Page 12 of My Wife

Halo Island is fifteen miles out from Gullhaven. I don’t know how fast this clunker of a ferry is traveling, but we’re docking on the island about forty minutes after we left the mainland.

Cottonwood Harbor is at least a century old. The dock that Mulligan idles his boat in front of is brand spanking new. It looks a lot sturdier, too, wide and welcoming. Just beyond it, I see a wooden sign with gleaming white block letters painted in the center:

WELCOME TO

HALO ISLAND

My heart jolts as I read it. Halo Island. I swore I’d never go back—and here I am.

It’s not a very large island. About twenty-five square miles, total, what makes the island so unique is its shape. Almost a perfect circle when seen from above, there’s another circle of water about two and a half, three miles inland. Technically, it’s fed from the Pacific Ocean surrounding the island, but themainland locals all call it a lake since that’s what it looks like from the edge of the circle. It makes the whole island itself seem like the shape of a narrow donut—or a halo.

You’d think that its holy name would mean it was a good omen. For most of my life, it was. I came to summer camp on this island. We threw a couple of ragers whenever Clay’s parents wouldn’t notice the obscene rental charge on one of their cards. And, of course, Gullhaven High hosted its annual senior celebration here.

Now, as I face the haunting beauty of the dark sand, the angry autumn waves, and the looming leaves on the evergreen trees that cover nearly every inch of the island, all I feel is a sense of dread.

Tommy could tell. Instead of trying to psych me up, telling me how much fun this weekend is going to be, he just kissed my neck, squeezed my fingers, and told me he’d start unloading our luggage onto the end of the dock.

He knew I needed a few minutes alone to prepare myself to face the ghosts of my past.

One ghost in particular.

Caroline Preston.

Except for Tommy, my mom was my best friend. She was only twenty-three when she had me, and barely forty when she drowned. Grief is strange. It’s a terrible thing because, just when you think you can live without the person you lost, something tiny will remind you that you no longer have them. A song. A scent.

An island.

Moving away from California helped me deal with my mom being gone. After Clay disappeared, it was leaving New Jersey and the memories we made there behind that allowed me to bury some of that overwhelming pain. I thought it would get easier with time, and it has. I won’t say that it hasn’t. I can godays without thinking about my mom now, and though Clay is still constantly on mine—especially in October—I do my best to think of the good times we had.

If I didn’t, I think I’d go insane.

Sometimes, when I swear I catch a glimpse of someone watching me out of the corner of my eye, I’m pretty sure I already have.

You know what’s an excellent motivator?Spite.When the last thing I want to do is give Summer fucking Kaye more ammunition to lob against me, I’ll keep my head up high and walk down the dock as if it isn’t costing me with every step I take.

For Tommy, I tell myself, pushing away from the railing. I’m doing this for Tommy.

All of our luggage is gone. Summer and Madison’s, too. They must’ve unloaded the whole pile while I was staring at the island because all that’s left is Mulligan standing by the gangplank, worrying his frayed hat in his hands, waiting for me to disembark the ferry.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m coming.”

“No need to be, lass. It’s good for an old man to wait sometimes.”

Not when that old man looks like he’s about to keel over any second now. “Thanks for the ride over.” Shit. Am I supposed to tip him? Considering my wallet is in my backpack—same as my phone, just in case—I don’t have any money to give the old ferryman. I only hope Tommy already thought of that. “I’ll see you bright and early Monday.”

“Monday?” he echoes. “Beg your pardon, miss, but I’m not scheduled to ride back until next Friday. November 1st, that’s what it says on my calendar. Eight for Halloween. One Friday until the next.”

Right. That’s what Tommy initially scheduled. Then Aaron backed out, so we’re seven, and I only agreed to come at all if we left no later than the morning of the 28th.

“That’s true for most of the group,” I tell him. “But there are two of us who need to cut our trip a little short. I was told it would be okay if we got a ferry ride out on Monday instead.”

“Sure, sure. That’s fine with me. I’ll make a note of it before I start heading on back.”

“Thank you.”

As I start to descend onto the gangplank, Mulligan whistles. “Good thing you told me. I’m the only way on and off the island. You’d have been stuck until next Friday otherwise.”

Right. Because there’s no way to contact the mainland from Halo Island once the ferry’s gone.

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