Page 39 of His Loving Wife

“I’m upset about the conversation we had at dinner.”

“Upset?” He sits up in the bed. “I didn’t bring up what happened last year to bother you.”

“I know.” I look away, thumbing the seam of the comforter. “But it felt like you sprung the conversation on all of us. We were already on edge about what happened on the boat, then all of a sudden we’re back to talking about that night.”

“I wasn’t trying to ruin the dinner. I’m just trying to deal with our issues head-on, like we’ve talked about in therapy.”

“I think our relationship has improved in recent months.” I reach for his hand. “I do. But I think there needs to be a certain amount of discretion when it comes to the kids.”

“I think the kids could benefit from talking about what happened as much as we can.”

“You don’t even want to tell them Paul has been released!” My voice is louder than I intend. I take a deep breath and start again. “If we want the kids to be aware of the situation, they should at least know to be on the look out for Paul.”

“I don’t want to tell them about Paul because I don’t want them to be afraid. Paul won’t be able to get to them. I’ll make sure of it. Last night was about processing their feelings about what’s already happened.”

“All I’m asking for is a little heads-up. Maybe you’re right, and we should talk more openly with the kids about their feelings. I just don’t want to deal with something so heavy while we’re still on vacation, okay? What happened yesterday on the boat was hard enough.”

He stares at me, then leaves the room.

I get dressed and check on the children. They’re antsy to get out of the house, but understandably, none of us are keen about being on the water. The rental boat floats by the dock, a reminder of both the joys and dangers one can experience while at sea.

I find Andrew in the living room. He’s ferociously typing on his keyboard.

“Have you eaten breakfast?” I ask.

“Not yet.” The entire time he speaks, his eyes stay on the computer screen.

“The kids and I are going to take a walk down the beach. We might grab lunch at the pier. Feel like joining us?”

At last, he raises his head from the computer screen and looks at me. He appears irritated.

“Not now. I’m busy.”

“Work stuff?”

“No.” He stops and checks his tone, maneuvering his hand over his jaw. “I mean, I have some stuff to look into. Right now, I’m trying to talk with Vincent.”

One of his friends from Second Chances. He always turns to the group when he’s feeling overwhelmed, it seems. I’m happy he’s found an outlet; we all need one. Sometimes I wish he could be as open with me as he is with these strangers online.

“Want us to bring you anything back?”

“No.”

He returns to typing, and I exit the room, gently closing the door behind me.

Noah and Willow walk a few paces ahead of me on the sand. The weather is cooler than it has been. Even the sun seems to be ducking behind the clouds. After almost two weeks in the blazing heat, I’m happy for the change. My favorite part of the beach is the breeze, the way the wind steals away the humidity that would suffocate you in a landlocked setting.

There aren’t many homes along the shoreline. In fact, we’ve not seen any neighbors in the time we’ve been here. About four houses down from our rental, we pass a yellow house with green shutters. There’s a family sitting around the picnic table out back. I spot a mother and father, and three young children. As expected, they’re all on their devices while the parents are trying to work the grill. Other than each person being preoccupied, they seem happy. I wonder, is this what people see when they look at our family? Are they able to see the cracks?

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. We must be far enough away from the rental to have service. It’s Aster. I’m tempted not to answer, but my curiosity always wins out.

“How are things?” she says, and it’s hard to tell from her voice where this conversation might go.

“We’re leaving in the next couple of days. It’s time to start heading back to the real world,” I say. “How are things with you?”

“Honestly?” She pauses. “Pretty shitty. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about how everything unfolded the other night.”

That’s a surprising admission coming from my sister.

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