Page 51 of His Loving Wife

“What is it?”

As expected, Andrew doesn’t even know what it is. I wouldn’t, if it weren’t for that manuscript a few years back.

“It’s a jammer. It’s something that can block phone and internet connections. It might explain why we’ve fought to get any signal the entire time we’re here.”

“Wait.” He rubs his temples with his fingers. “You’re saying you think Paul planted this here?”

“It was in a grocery bag from a Hidden Oaks store. It has to belong to someone from back home, and clearly none of us brought it along. I know Willow’s disappearance last night was easily explained, but it doesn’t rule out that Paul is actually here. He could still be trying to mess with us.”

“It’s definitely odd,” Andrew says, inspecting the jammer with his hands. “But there has to be another explanation. If Paul followed us all the way here, surely he’d plan on doing more than cutting off our cell phone signal.”

“I don’t know what he’s capable of doing, but if he’s tracked us down here, it can’t be good.”

He drops the jammer on the comforter and looks away. “If you really believe Paul is here, why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

I pause, unable to ignore his cool tone. “I’m telling you about it now—”

“You said you saw him last weekend. You said you saw him yesterday.”

“IthoughtI did—”

“Then you should have told me right away! You saw what happened last time when you kept things to yourself.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I… I thought I might be wrong—”

“Mom!” I hear Noah shout from down the hallway. “It’s Willow. She’s sick.”

I pull my hands away from Andrew, rubbing two fingers against each temple. “We’re not done talking about this,” I say, turning.

Andrew is fast on my heels as I go down the hallway. Noah is standing outside the kids’ shared bathroom, his hands behind his back and his eyes wide. On the other side of the door, I can hear the unmistakable sound of retching. I push on the door.

“Willow, are you okay?”

She’s slumped over the toilet, still wearing an oversized sleep shirt, her bare legs sprawled across the floor like a wounded animal. Her hair falls in front of her sweaty face. “Can you get me some water?”

“Sure, honey,” I say. Considering my anger last night, I thought I’d feel a little vindicated at watching her nurse a hangover, but instead, all I see is my little girl. Smaller now that she realizes she isn’t quite so big.

Andrew comes walking up behind me. I turn to him. “Will you get her some water?”

He nods and leaves.

“How long have you been throwing up?”

“I just started.” She speaks, but her eyes remain closed. “My head feels like it’s about to burst.”

I pull a washrag out of the cabinet and wet it with cold water. I place it on the back of her neck as she leans over the commode, waiting for the next round of sickness.

“You really scared me last night. You should know better than to sneak off like that, especially after last year—”

“I know, Mom. Okay?” Her voice breaks and she covers her eyes with a hand. “I messed up. Especially after seeing how worried you were about Noah. I didn’t plan on drinking this much, I swear. I just got carried away.”

“What you did was so dangerous. You don’t even know those people. I know you think you do, but what if you’d found yourself in a position you couldn’t handle? You’re not familiar with this town. You might not have been able to find your way back to us.”

“I know. I messed up. I—” She freezes, her posture upright, then she leans over, vomiting into the toilet. I pat her back.

“Here’s some water,” Andrew says, handing over a plastic bottle.

“We’ll talk more about this when you feel better.”

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