Never Let You Go(110)

Sophie begins putting away the groceries. I want to help, but I make myself sit down at our old kitchen table that I gave her when I moved out of our temporary rental and into a small but cheerful two-bedroom house near the ocean. Angus and I walk on the beach every morning. In the beginning, when I was still working through the deep hurt of Marcus’s betrayal and lies, I’d walk for hours at a time.

Corporal Parker kept in touch daily during the investigation and told us what she knew. Marcus and Elizabeth had been married for five years. He was a psychiatrist—that part was true—and he worked at a hospital, where they met when she was a volunteer. They wanted children so badly they’d mortgaged their house for fertility treatments. She hadn’t even had a chance to tell her parents or her sister that she was finally pregnant. I grieved for a long time about that, imagined how excited she must have been, how happy.

After Elizabeth died, Marcus stopped communicating with his family and friends. When he was fired from the hospital for stealing painkillers, he sold off everything he owned except the lake house, took the accident insurance money, and drifted all over the world, moving from country to country, until he turned his rage into a plan for revenge.

The police think he always intended to kill us at the lake house—he’d invited me to stay there twice, suggested it as somewhere we’d be safe. They found a motorbike stored under the house, some other supplies, which is probably why he came outside and hit me with his flashlight instead of waiting for us all to fall asleep. He couldn’t let me find his escape plan.

When they searched his home, they found passports, thousands of dollars in cash, and detailed notes in his laptop on me and Sophie and Andrew. He’d been watching me for months before he started volunteering at my support group. It still horrifies me, thinking how I’d let him into our lives. How I really thought I was in love with him. Corporal Parker tried to reassure me and told me that Marcus was very intelligent, but I still struggle with lingering anger and post-traumatic stress. At any point in all those months, he could have ended our lives.

I never told the police what triggered his attack that night. I wondered sometimes what would’ve happened if I hadn’t told Marcus about the pills. We could have been together for years without my knowing he was a murderer. But then I realized that something else would have sent him over the edge when I couldn’t fill the void, couldn’t erase his grief.

I’ve been seeing a therapist and Sophie has come to a few sessions with me. For weeks after the fire she slept in my bed, reaching out in her sleep for my hand. I did the same thing.

I watch her now as she neatly arranges the cupboards. She looks tired, but her face is relaxed, not as tense around her eyes and mouth. It’s been agonizing, seeing her struggle these last couple of months. On top of finding out that her father was killed by the man her mother was dating, she’s had to deal with all the media and public scrutiny that’s come with that. We were hounded for weeks, our entire lives ripped open for the world to see and judge and comment on.

She still drifts into quiet moods, but she seems a little happier. There’s a new sensitivity to her art, a maturity that wasn’t there before. I am hoping that a different environment, with school and friends, will pull her the rest of the way out of the dark.

“I found a car,” Sophie says, glancing over her shoulder at me. “One of Greg’s friends is selling his Acura. It’s ten years old, but doesn’t have much mileage on it. Greg said he’d check it over and teach me how to change the oil and tire pressure and stuff like that. Nice, eh?”

“Greg?” I’m startled at hearing his name. I’ve thought of him a few times over this summer, saw his truck once or twice around town. He doesn’t do my delivery route now.

“I bumped into him in line at the Muddy Bean. He was asking how you’re doing. Maybe you should give him a call. I think he’s still single.”

“How about you worry about school, and I’ll worry about my own life, okay?” I keep my voice teasing. I’ve spent months sure that I would never date again. But lately, with the help of my therapist, I’ve been feeling hopeful that one day I’ll be able to trust someone again.

Right now I’m focused on planning an upcoming vacation with Jenny—we’re going to Palm Springs for a meditation retreat—and turning my spare bedroom into an oasis for any women from my group who need a place to stay while they recover. I’ll be their safe house.

“I’m worried that you don’t have a life!” Sophie says.

I laugh. “I have Angus, remember? But he’s waiting at home, so I better get going.”

She nods and walks with me toward the door. We hug, and as I pull away, she meets my eyes. “You going to be okay?” I know what she’s really saying. Will you be okay without me? Is it okay that I’m spreading my wings and flying away? Will you always love me?

“I’m going to be just fine, honey. It’s a new beginning for both of us. I’m actually even a little excited. Hey, maybe I’ll go back to school and take some classes.”

“Whoa.” She holds up a hand. “This campus isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry. I was thinking about the local college. Women’s studies, or design. I don’t know.” I shrug. “The future is wide open.”