Page 9 of His Loving Wife

Now

My heart pounds, like I’m running. My palms are sweating, my fingers stretching and recoiling, trying to grasp something that isn’t there. What? I don’t know. Everything is dark, and yet, in the distance, I can see something.

A shadow.

A person.

It’s Paul. He drifts into focus, slowly, like heat waves on a scorching summer day. He floats closer, frighteningly near, still shrouded in darkness.

Darkness? My eyes are closed.

I open them. Above me, the ceiling fan lazily circles around. I turn my head to the left, squinting at how bright the morning sun is as it streams into our bedroom. I hold my breath, taking in the quiet, then hear the gentle roar of a wave as it crashes outside.

We’re here. At the beach. At the rental house.

There is no Paul. There is no darkness.

“Bad dreams?” Andrew asks.

I turn quickly, unaware I wasn’t alone in the room. Andrew is already dressed, coming out of the bathroom. I get a whiff of his mouthwash as he walks past.

“I’m fine,” I say, flattening a palm against my chest.

He nods in understanding but doesn’t press further. In an attempt to keep the peace, we avoid talking about that night. I’m not the only one who has flashbacks. Andrew has them too, and the kids. It’s hard to say which of us has them the most or whose are the most severe. I know I’ve not had as many night terrors lately. In fact, this is the first since we’ve been on vacation. This realization comforts me, allows me to believe I’m slowly headed in the right direction.

“Heading off somewhere?” I ask.

Andrew looks as though he’s been awake for a while. Fully dressed, eyes no longer puffy. I must still look a mess.

“Noah’s been bugging me about checking out that boat rental place down the road. I told him I’d drive us down there. At least check the prices.”

“I’m sure they’re astronomical,” I say, turning again to look out the window, my eyes just now adjusting to the brightness.

“I already told him. If it’s too expensive, we won’t do it. But we have another week here now. I don’t think I can get away without visiting the place.” He pauses. “Are you okay with this?”

No, my mind screams. I’d thought we’d avoided this discussion about the boat. I know how much it means to Noah, but I’m not comfortable with my baby boy being at the ocean’s mercy. Andrew watches me, trying to gauge my expression.

“You know it worries me.”

“And I understand why.” He sits on the bed, placing his hand over my blanketed legs. “You know I’m experienced on the water. I wouldn’t suggest going out there if I didn’t think I could handle it.”

Experience can’t prepare you for everything, my conscience interrupts. Suddenly I feel like I’m struggling to breathe, like a swell has already overwhelmed me, is pulling me under. Then I see Andrew’s eyes, how desperately he wants to share this experience with our son.

“Check the prices. It’s your call,” I say. “Where’s Willow?”

“By the pool.” He stands, seeming pleased with my lack of interference about the boat. “She claims to get better reception out there, although she complained about her phone not working at breakfast.”

Breakfast. Usually, I’m the first one up and out of bed, preparing the first meal for the family. Eggs and bacon for everyone but Noah, who prefers waffles. I’m not used to the family carrying on without me.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten. You deserved to sleep in.” He leans over and kisses my forehead.

I’d already slept in later than usual, and yet I was tempted to lie back in bed. Why not? Everything I thought we’d be doing today—loading the car, filling up the tank, googling directions—is no longer relevant. We have an extra week here. It feels like more of a gift than the rest of the vacation up until this point, like when I was growing up in the mountains of North Carolina and we’d get hit with a snow day. No more worrying about studies and sports practices; we’d officially have the day off. A true free day. Kids don’t get enough days like that. Adults get even fewer.

I pull my cell phone off the dresser, surprised to see that I have full reception. It’s been patchy since we arrived. There were four bars our first day, then zero. There have been short periods of reception since then, but after an hour or so, it’s back to nothing. Andrew said the owners had warned about this in their listing. As I’m about to get out of bed, the phone rings.

It’s my sister, Aster. I wonder if she’s tried calling already, or if the fates would have it that the one time she calls reception is clear as glass. I debate whether to answer, then remind myself I’d regret it if something was happening back home and I ignored her. With the patchy reception, she might not be able to reach me again.

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