Every Vow You Break(34)
Later, after the storm had passed, there was a light knock on the door. Bruce was sleeping, but Abigail, despite having slept for a solid hour, was now wide awake.
Even though she assumed the knock was Paul, coming by to find out if they wanted cocktails delivered to their bunk, Abigail instantly thought of Scott, barging in to tell Bruce everything and destroy her life. But she didn’t think it would be him, at least not yet. He would still be holding out hope that Abigail would have sex with him one more time. Maybe if she could just keep him believing that it was a possibility she could get through this nightmare of a honeymoon.
Abigail got out of the bed, slid her robe on, and went to the door, cracking it open. Paul stood outside, in rain gear, just as she expected, and Abigail ordered two Manhattans to be delivered.
After dinner that night—Abigail skipped the appetizer and dessert but did eat a pretty tasty saffron risotto topped with a lobster tail that had been poached in butter—she and Bruce went back into the hall, where a jazz trio had been playing all night.
There were more guests around—a small party of businessmen had arrived that afternoon—and despite looking for him, Abigail didn’t spot Scott. As her eyes scanned the room, she felt as though the men—Jesus, why were all the guests men?—were glancing back in her direction, surreptitiously almost. It was warm in the lodge, but she felt the skin of her arms break out in gooseflesh. She suppressed a shiver. At the bar, Carl, his mustache heavily waxed, poured a beer for Bruce and a Baileys on the rocks for Abigail. The band was playing something familiar, and it took a moment for Abigail to realize that it was a jazz version of “Creep” by Radiohead. More chairs had been added around the fireplace, and they brought their drinks over, Abigail taking the seat with a better view of the hall. She’d been the one to suggest lingering after dinner—she was hoping to sneak away at some point, go upstairs to the office and see if she could call Zoe back. She realized it was unlikely that there was someone still in the office who would let her use the phone, but she wanted to give it a chance. If she knew Zoe, her friend would have done everything possible to figure out who her stalker was, and she was anxious to hear the report.
“Mind if we join you?” It was the couple they’d met the night before, Alec and Jill were their names, Abigail thought, and both she and Bruce nodded and said, “No,” as the couple settled in across from them. Alec was wearing fancy-looking distressed jeans and a black T-shirt with leather stitched into the neckline.
The T-shirt hugged him at the waist. As had happened the previous night, they instantly broke into conversations along gender lines, Alec and Bruce starting to compare notes on what they’d had for dinner—“That Wagyu beef, I mean, fuck me”—and Abigail asked Jill how her day had been.
“We were going to go sailing on the pond, but, you know, the weather.” Jill, who was wearing a white cocktail dress that fell just above her knees, shivered and added, “Honestly, I didn’t know it would be so cold here, did you?”
“Have you been to the pool yet?”
“God, yes, it’s the best, but …”
“But what?”
Jill bit her lower lip, and Abigail noticed that beneath her very artful makeup she looked tired and pale. Jill leaned in while breathing out and Abigail could smell the alcohol on her breath.
“So, thing is,” she whispered. “There’s this guy, also here on the island, totally by random chance, who I was involved with a while ago, and twice now I’ve run into him at the pool.”
Abigail, stunned by the strange coincidence, managed to ask, “Does Alec know that he’s here?”
“God, no. Alec doesn’t even know about this guy. At all. And if he found out about him, I think it would totally wreck our honeymoon. So, I’m just letting it wreck my honeymoon and trying to keep it to myself.”
Abigail was about to tell Jill about her very similar situation, but instead she asked, “Are you sure it’s random that he’s here? You don’t think he …”
Jill’s jaw tensed, the tendons in her neck popping out, and Abigail had a sudden vision of what she would look like in about fifty years—rail-thin, still blond, and very tightly wound.
“I wondered about that, but, no. It’s just an accident, I think. I hope. The thing is, he and I, we were engaged two years ago, and then it ended really badly. I didn’t tell Alec about any of this because I didn’t want him to freak out—he’s the jealous type, and this guy—”
“Is he black?” Abigail asked, without really thinking.
Jill’s eyes widened, and she swiveled her head. “Why? Is he watching us?”
“No, no,” Abigail said. “I think I might have met him this morning, in the pool. Is he from Bermuda?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He’s in the pool every morning.”
“He seemed nice, actually,” Abigail said.
“He was nice. He is nice. I used to be in Bermuda all the time because I was in the chorus on a cruise ship that went back and forth from New York to Hamilton. Let me tell you, not as much fun as you’d think, and he rescued me from all that, at least I thought he had.”
“So, what happened?”
“Ugh. We got engaged and then I got a job in Vancouver for three months and he couldn’t get away from work, so we were apart from one another. And, you know, it turned bad.”