Page 88 of His Loving Wife

Chapter 49

Now

All three of us are turned, peering out at the brown shore in the distance, the rental boat fading like a ghost behind us. The sand seems forever away, and yet it’s already closer than it was when we were on the boat.

“Mom, we have to start rowing,” Willow says, her tone tactical.

I place my oar into the water, trying to maneuver straight, but it seems pointless. With each motion, the water is heavy, and we don’t seem to move anywhere other than where the waves want us to go. I’m disoriented by the sensations around me. The chilly gale rocking us, the falling rain. I think of what monstrous beasts might be beneath us at this very moment, Vincent included.

I think of my father. His last moments were in tumultuous waters, a storm he didn’t see coming. It was only a matter of time until he was overcome, his lungs filling with the water I’m sure he fought like hell to withstand. Was it peaceful or painful? I don’t know. In this moment, I can’t imagine his death being anything other than terrifying.

“We’re not getting any closer,” Noah shouts. He’s sitting between us in the middle of the raft.

“We have to take turns rowing,” Willow shouts, sounding much more mature than I’ve ever given her credit for. “When I yell pull on the left, you row on the right, okay? If we do that long enough, the tide should carry us the rest of the way in, but we have to hurry.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding. I’m not sure where she got this sense of urgency; none of us have ever been in this type of situation before, and Andrew is the one with the most experience on the water.

Andrew. He’s still back there. Even though he’s the one that got us into this mess, a part of me mourns him. He’s my first love. The father of my children. My husband. And even if the trauma he’s been through in the past year made him forget those roles, I can’t. I still want him here, but he’s gone.

“Mom.” Her voice commands my attention, a literal calm in the middle of this storm. “We can do this.”

“Okay,” I repeat, and this time I’m focused. I can see the shore on the horizon, the marker at the end of the lane, the target in front of me.

“Pull,” Willow shouts. I do. When I stop, she moves. Then again, “Pull!”

I’m no longer at sea, I’m no longer in danger. Instead, my mind is treading back to happier memories. Lazy Sunday mornings with Andrew back in college. The tears in his eyes when I handed him Willow for the first time. His excitement when Noah caught his first fish some years back at the lake house. It wasn’t all bad, was it? Even if this is where we ended up, there were happy times before this. Before Paul. Before Vincent. Before we lost sight of each other.

“We’re getting closer,” Willow shouts, and I’m back to focusing on the waterline. Noah is hunched down, afraid to look.

The waves are vicious, splashing against the raft, spraying into my mouth and stinging my eyes. The clouds above grow darker as the storm blends into the early hours of evening, blurring one from the other. I continue the cyclical motion, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, focusing instead on the sound of Willow’s voice, rhythmically leading the way.

The children are safe with me—that’s what mattered the most on the night of the invasion, and that’s what matters most now.

We edge closer, and I can feel the push of the waves moving us forward until the shoreline grows in width and clarity. We’re so very close.

Chapter 50

4 Months Later

I snag a corner booth toward the back of the café and watch as students migrate across campus, clusters of snow clinging to their coats and hair. Some I know from class, but mostly I recognize them in a different sense. I remember a time when I used to be like them—carefree, curious, naïve. It seems like a lifetime ago.

I hear footsteps approach my table. I turn and see Detective Marsh. She’s wearing a light blue puffer coat and khaki pants. I stand and don’t shy away when she initiates a hug.

“Kate, it’s so good to see you.”

“How long are you in town?”

“I leave right after the holidays. It’s good to come back and see people.” She pauses. “How are the kids?”

“Adjusting. Willow thinks she’s an adult now that our apartment is so close to campus. And Noah is due to get his green belt next month.”

“Green belt already?” She beams with pride. “Impressive.”

After we returned home, we couldn’t bear to stay in the house. Living there used to bother me because of what happened the night Paul Gunter broke in, but now the house haunts us for different reasons. There are too many memories there, and the happy ones are worse.

“And you?” she asks. “How are you holding up?”

I’m still in counseling, with a different therapist. It didn’t seem productive to go back to Dr. Sutton, the same person who listened to conversations with Andrew by my side. I don’t blame her. After all, Andrew was my husband and I still didn’t recognize the warning signs, but I still needed a new set of ears.

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