Page 12 of His Loving Wife

It took Andrew and Noah longer to return from the boat rental place than expected, although they did secure a reservation for later in the week, much to Noah’s excitement. I try to focus on his elation and not the impending sense of doom I have at the thought of my beloved children being out on the water. Then, just as I was about to leave, Willow had a meltdown because she couldn’t find her phone charger. Her phone was almost out of battery, and she would justdieif it lost power. By the time I found my spare in the bottom of a suitcase, the shoddy reception was back, so Andrew and I had to listen to her stomp around the rental, huffing and puffing to no avail, like a little wolf confronted by a house of bricks.

Due to the tension and hours wasting away, I didn’t want to tell Andrew about Aster’s visit. I wasn’t sure how he’d take it and was afraid one more meltdown would nix my trip to the grocery store entirely.

When I clapped the car door shut, I might as well have been at the spa. The hot leather at my back could have passed for hot stones, and the scented tree hanging from our rearview mirror might as well have been essential oils. The immediate removal from all the chaos was that transformative. I sat in the driveway for a minute, half expecting someone to come running outside with another item they’d forgotten that I needed to pick up. Alas, when no one did, I put the car in drive and rode to the grocery store in silence.

I’ve always juggled responsibilities since I’ve had the children—I don’t know a mother who hasn’t—but I haven’t always felt so frazzled about it. Sometimes I wonder if the trauma we’ve endured this past year makes it harder to cope, or if these emotions have always been there, beckoning to break free.

At the store, I take my time wandering through the aisles, making sure everything on the list makes it into my cart. By the time I check out, I’m mourning the end of my hour alone. I take my time, lazily peering at the items on display between the register and the front door, when someone passing catches my eye. It’s a tall man with dark hair, a baseball cap pulled low over his face. The way he brushed past me—was he trying to get my attention?—makes me think of Paul.

He’s found us, I think. My whole body freezes up. I stand, motionless, watching as the man stops in front of a vending machine in the front lobby. I take a step forward, equal parts scared and curious. I dread seeing Paul, and yet, I have to know if it’s him. The man bends down, retrieves his drink from the machine dispenser, then takes off for the parking lot.

I follow him, but there are several shoppers with carts in my way, blocking my ability to go after him. Then we’re outside, and the tropical heat is suffocating, the bright sun bouncing off passing cars and blinding my eyes.

The man walks down a row of cars. I leave my cart on the sidewalk, jogging across the street to where the man—Paul—is headed. I see him duck into a white sedan. Could it be a rental? I have no idea what car Paul drives. I’ve still not had the chance to see his face. By the time I reach his vehicle, it’s too late. He’s pulled into a line of cars and is exiting the parking lot. Between his sunglasses and ball cap, I have no way of knowing if it’s him.

It can’t be, I tell myself.I’m being paranoid.

But every time I try to think logically about Paul, my mind runs off in a different territory.What if?Those are the only two words I need to send my confidence in a tailspin.

When I return to the rental house, everyone is swimming in the backyard pool, Andrew and Noah playing a game where one person throws a Nerf ball and the other cannonballs into the pool whilst trying to catch it. It makes me laugh, and I shudder at the selfish glee I felt only an hour ago to be away from them.

Andrew notices I’m back, and quickly dries off. He walks outside, looping grocery bags around his forearm as he helps me into the house.

“Was it busy in town?”

“I didn’t really notice.” I won’t tell him I thought I saw Paul. I don’t want him to think I’m as paranoid as I feel.

“The guys at the rental place said they’re calling for storms later in the week. I was afraid it might be a madhouse.” He waits. “You’re not upset I rented the boat, are you?”

“No,” I say, but my tone is unconvincing. I clear my throat. “When are you getting it?”

“Two days from now. The rental is just a couple of blocks from here. I’ll drive down and get it, then I can pull it up to the dock.”

Andrew is experienced on the water. I focus on this and not on the fear I have about my family being out at sea. He spent his summers visiting different church camps, usually the ones his father’s congregation was sponsoring. I’ve always thought it sounded like a choppy way to spend your time, never having a stable home for the summer. But of course, I spent my summers back and forth between my mom’s house and whatever apartment Dad had that year. All our childhoods are uneven if you examine them for too long. And at least Andrew’s experiences taught him a variety of skills: how to garden and play tennis and sail boats.

Since the children are still outside, I figure it’s a good time to tell him about Aster.

“I got a call from my sister today,” I begin, filling him in on the conversation and the fact she and David will be driving just past our rental tomorrow afternoon. “Anyway, I couldn’t really tell her no, so I guess we’ll have guests for dinner.”

Andrew, still putting away food into the cupboard, doesn’t look at me, and I can’t help wondering if it’s intentional.

“Is that okay?” I ask.

“Why couldn’t you tell her no?”

It’s a fair question, but I’m insulted he felt the need to ask. “Because she’s my sister. I put my foot in my mouth by bragging about this place, so it’s only natural she’d like to visit. Plus, she’s not seen the kids since Thanksgiving.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Both of ours, if we’re honest.”

He slams a cabinet shut, then leans against the counter, looking down at his feet. “I just don’t want this to turn into some mock therapy session. Like she’s trying to get to the bottom of things in our marriage.”

“That won’t happen,” I tell him, but sense he needs more reassurance. “Aster doesn’t know we’ve been seeing a counselor.”

“Thing is, she’d probably shut up faster if we just told her we were seeing one, after we divulged every gory detail of our sessions, of course.”

I laugh because it’s true, but part of me feels a bit stung.

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