Page 45 of His Loving Wife

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Noah asks, but I ignore him.

I push past the people crowding the restaurant entrance and follow the man onto the dock. Except, once I get out there, I no longer see him. There’s too many people walking up and down the pier and he’s disappeared among them, like a phantom.

I look back over my shoulder, to see Noah and Willow watching me in confused wonderment. I realize they have no idea what I’m dealing with, because I’ve shielded them from it. They have no reason to know why I’m so scared.

On the walk home, the sun comes out. I tell the kids to run ahead and get changed if they want to spend a few hours by the pool. I watch them, never letting them leave my sight. Occasionally, I look over my shoulder to see if Paul—or anyone else—might be following us.

As I approach the rental, I see Andrew. My stomach immediately drops at the idea of telling him I thought I saw Paul. I never mentioned seeing him at the store earlier in the week, but this is twice. Sure, I could still be paranoid, but I could also be right. As I get closer, my determination plummets when I see there’s a bottle of liquor beside him.

“I thought you had work to do,” I say, and it’s all I can do to keep my voice civil.

Already buzzed, he doesn’t seem to notice. “Done for the day.”

“And Vincent? I thought you were talking with him.”

“I was. And now I’m having a drink. On my vacation.” There’s a bitter defiance laced between his words. He’s challenging me to challenge him about the drinking. If only he knew that wasn’t my biggest concern at the moment.

“I was hoping we could talk—”

“I don’t want to talk about yesterday.” He cuts me off and slams his glass on the table. “I messed up, okay? I was scared.Thank goodnessyou were there to save the day.”

“Andrew!” I’m shocked at the way he’s acting. It’s only midday. His words are soaked with sarcasm and booze.

“I just don’t know what else you want me to say. I messed up. I’m a failure. I’ll say whatever I have to for you to walk into the house and stop bringing it up.”

I open my mouth, then stop. It’s impossible to reason with Andrew when he’s like this. I’d hoped a conversation with the Second Chances group would make him better, but it seems he preferred to turn to his second vice instead. I know trying to communicate with a drunken Andrew will produce more problems than solutions; I’ll have to wait to tell him I saw Paul.

Another time. Another day. I’m beginning to fear we don’t have many days left.

Chapter 22

Now

I’m running down the hallway. I feel the carpet beneath my feet, providing extra buoyancy but doing little in terms of speed. I reach Willow’s room, but the door is locked. I pound against it, jiggling the handle.

Nothing.

From the other side, I hear a scream. My daughter’s scream, and then Noah’s, too. They’re in there together. They’re calling for me, begging me to find them, but there’s nothing I can do.

When I wake, I’m covered in sweat. It’s the most vivid nightmare I’ve had in a while, and I believe all the buried tension is to blame. Above, the ceiling fan is still. The room is dark, random slivers of moonlight peeking in through the blinds. Andrew is beside me in bed, snoring. I remember where we are. We’re months away from that horrible night. This beach house is miles away from Paul.I hope. I can’t shake the possibility that Paul has followed us here, that he’s determined to finish what he started that night.

My throat is scratchy. I creep out of bed and wander into the kitchen, pouring a glass of water. I drink the entire thing in only a few gulps, and my senses return to normal. It was just a nightmare.No one can get us here, I tell myself. I want to believe it’s true.

Before returning to our bedroom, I peek into Noah’s room. He’s beneath his covers, his arms clinging to his pillow just like they did when he was a toddler. I kiss his forehead and crack his door on my way out.

Willow’s door is shut. I creep it open, trying not to wake her. After the nightmare I had, all I want is to see her face. I need to know that she’s here with me, that Paul won’t ever have the chance to take her again.

When I reach her bed, it’s empty, only her gray covers are rumpled together in a mound. It feels like my heart has leaped into my throat. I pat the mattress, thinking surely I must be wrong, but there’s nothing there.

I march to the bathroom. The door is open, and there is no one inside. I go to the kitchen. Maybe she heard me walking through the house and she went in there. We could have passed each other in the dark when I ducked in to check on Noah. Maybe she’s outside, going for a nighttime swim. I go through every ridiculous scenario possible, turning on the lights and calling her name.

“Willow!”

Only silence. Cruel, sickening silence.

At the restaurant, I thought I caught a glimpse of Paul, just as I thought I’d seen him at the grocery store. I told myself my fear was playing tricks with my mind. Just like last year, I should have taken Paul’s refusal to back down more seriously. I should have considered his escalating behavior. Our response to his release was to come here, but that only fooled us into letting our guards down.

I should have accepted that if Paul wants to find us, he will.

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