Never Let You Go(88)

He must have left these things so it looked homier when he was renting the house. Or maybe he had someone decorate. I’m not going to ask. I haven’t thought about Kathryn much at all since we’ve been dating—he rarely speaks about her, though I know he checks in with her sometimes to make sure she’s doing okay, especially around holidays. I’ve never felt jealous before, but something about this house makes me feel as though I’m intruding.

The lights flicker. I look up at the ceiling, hold my breath and wait for them to go out, but they stay on. We’ll probably lose power soon, though.

“Do you have any candles?”

Marcus glances up from the fire. “Good idea. Check the drawer by the phone.”

I rummage through the drawer, full of odds and ends, pens, a pack of cards, some twine, a bottle of glue, batteries, and pull out a couple of white candlesticks. I place them in the porcelain candelabra on the kitchen table, light the pillars on the coffee table. The flames weave and dance.

The warm wax smells strongly of vanilla and reminds me of the first time I had dinner over at Greg’s house—he burned the meal and sprayed vanilla everywhere to try to cover it up. I smile at the thought and wonder how he’s doing. I heard a rumor that his brother-in-law got into trouble with bad debts and Greg helped him get back on his feet. Maybe that’s why he was so distracted those last days of our relationship. He never did return my texts. I’m sure he knows I’m dating Marcus now. I wish I could explain everything to him, but what can I say?

It’s only been a couple of months, but it feels like a lifetime ago that my life was upside down and I was talking to the police almost every day. I saw Corporal Parker once at the Muddy Bean. I was picking up coffees for Marcus and me, when she came through the door. I was surprised to see her in a white Windbreaker and black running pants, her hair braided.

We chatted while we waited for our coffees. I told her about Marcus and the lake house. I felt that I was speaking too much, but something in me wanted to let her know that I was okay. When I asked if she had any plans for spring break, she said, “Just working,” and ordered two lattes. I watched as she left the shop and got into a car with a blond woman behind the wheel. I wondered if she was another cop. Then the woman smoothed a strand of hair off Parker’s face. The gesture was tender, affectionate. Parker glanced toward the coffee shop and I spun around, feeling awkward for staring. I guess Parker kept her life private for a reason.



Sophie and I are washing dishes after dinner when the power goes out. She screams and grabs at my arm, then laughs at her overreaction, but it sounds forced.

“You okay, sweetie?”

“Of course.” She turns away and says to Marcus, “Do you have a deck of cards?”

We play poker by candlelight, then Sophie says she’s tired and gives me a kiss on the cheek as she leaves the room. I hold her close to me for a moment, then let her go.

Marcus and I have another glass of wine by the fireplace. Finally we stumble to our room and he holds me in his arms while the wind blusters outside. His breath deepens, his warm chest rising and falling under my cheek. I match my breathing with his and fight sleep for a little longer, luxuriating in the delicious feeling of being drowsy. I let my eyelashes flutter closed, and slide my hand down the side of Marcus’s body until I reach his hand. I entwine his fingers with mine. He nuzzles my neck and pulls me tight against the length of his body.

Let the storm rage all it wants, my fight is over.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


SOPHIE



I can hear them speaking in low voices downstairs, but I can’t make out any words, just the muted sound of Marcus’s deep voice and Mom’s soft laughter. I know they must talk about me sometimes. It’s weird thinking about Marcus analyzing me, so I don’t tell Mom much about my feelings anymore. Especially not about the nightmares where I keep finding Andrew’s body and how sometimes he opens his eyes and smiles, or how I feel all relieved until I wake up and remember that he’s actually dead. I don’t need a shrink to tell me what that’s about.

It’s easier to just let Mom think I’m okay.

My room is dark and the lantern casts strange shadows on the wall. I told Mom I was going to bed because I wanted to listen to music on my phone and draw, but when I flip through my sketchbook, I see one of my sketches of the beach and remember sitting on the picnic table with Jared—he brushed off the top with his hand, fir needles flying through the air. We sat for a while, my hands tucked into his warm pocket. Then he photographed seagulls spiraling in the wind, white frothy waves, and dogs chasing sticks, his camera constantly in motion while I worked on my drawing, but I never finished it. It was more interesting to watch him.

I pick up my phone and check to see if he texted, even though I don’t have cell service. Even though he said he wasn’t going to message me. Even though I tell myself I don’t care.

I still don’t know how the fight started. Well, I guess I started it, but I don’t know why. It was just two days ago that Jared was messing around on his computer—trying to find a song to play for me while I lay on his bed. We’d been at his house for an hour and he hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t talking much. Maybe it was always like that. Maybe it was always him telling me stuff about his friends or photography while I listened. I don’t know anymore. The months are blurred, the days running into each other. After Andrew died I couldn’t sleep, so Jared gave me his dad’s leftover sleeping pills from when he had knee surgery. He told me not to take them every night, so I cut them in half and tried to make them last longer. They helped but gave me a constant hungover feeling. This week I stopped taking them and now I can’t sleep again.