Sweet Water(3)

I’d explain this is exactly how we found her. She wasn’t even near our son when we discovered her body. Unless . . . we’ve messed with the scene of the crime so much that we’ve hurt Finn more than helped him. I look down at my bloody hands and cringe. As far as we know, Finn is the last one who saw Yazmin alive. This could be very bad for him. “Shit.”

Martin grabs me by the arm. “We have to go, Sarah. Get up.” I can’t see much of Martin’s face but the stringy blue vein in his forehead that only comes out when he’s upset.

It’s been only minutes, but we need to move—faster.

“We need to go to him,” I say.

“Yes.” Martin nods.

I’m in shock. That’s what’s wrong with me. I blindly follow Martin, adrenaline fueling my limbs. Finn is off the beaten path, and I feel as though I’ve already failed him for taking so long. He’s huddled over a pile of leaves, his knees tucked into his chest like he used to do when he was a little kid. He looks so small right now.

So young.

A little boy who fell off his scooter and skinned his knee. I wish this problem were as easy to fix.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and throw my arms around him.

“I’m here. Mom’s here.” Finn’s crying and I don’t know how to make it better for him. He obviously didn’t mean for the girl to get hurt, but this was no accident either. He’s made a terrible mistake, gotten himself into a horrible predicament. So Finn did what we always told him to do if he was ever in trouble—he called us.





CHAPTER 2

Before—2000

Martin is spinning me so fast, I think I might be sick. “Stop. You must!” I’m laughing and my bladder is full, not to mention I get motion sickness.

“We’re not quite ready,” Martin says.

He’s giggling in a way my gruff father refers to as “effeminate,” but I love everything about my new husband, including his laugh. However, the spinning could stop any moment and I’d be okay with that.

“Who is we?” I ask.

Martin hugs me this time and twirls us both around. “I can’t tell you that or it will ruin the surprise.”

“At least stop spinning me if you can’t take off the blindfold.” It’s not so much the spinning that’s got me in a tizzy as it is the combination of the circular motion with the darkness. If he lets me go, I will surely fall on my ass.

“Fine.” Martin stops and points me in one direction.

I wobble. “Whoa!” He steadies me at the waist. I’m wearing a spring dress even though it’s early March, because Martin told me we might be taking photos today and to wear something nice. Although I’ve come to understand that his idea of nice is not the same as mine. I laid out two options before him, a comfy Banana Republic knit dress that I preferred and a J.Crew, A-line dotted number with tiny blue flowers on it that I thought was kind of ugly, but it cinched my waist so nicely, I purchased it anyway. Martin chose the floral one, and I can barely breathe.

“Come on, I have to pee.”

“Of course you do,” he says. I laugh harder, which doesn’t help my situation any. “Does that mean you’re almost done?” I inhale Martin’s cologne, and he’s not wearing his everyday Polo but the Calvin Klein fragrance he reserves for special occasions.

“I’ll have a wonderful bathroom for you to use soon,” he says in a singsongy voice.

“What?” I giggle again and nearly grab myself so I don’t spring a leak, so unladylike. Dresses aren’t my thing. I was raised by a single father, and pants-less clothing still feels foreign to me.

“I can’t take this, Martin. I’m starting to sweat under here.” I’m blind, but my other senses are starting to take over—the feeling of the sun burning into my shoulders, the crinkling of the leaves whirling around me, the tickle of the wind pulling my hair from its headband, the babble of a nearby brook. So much unseen beauty. I try to tug on the handkerchief tied around my head, but he won’t let me. My college-sweetheart-turned-husband has always been a pleaser, but I wish someone would tell him he didn’t need to try so hard anymore. He already has me.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, subtly taking a piece of my earlobe in his mouth and drawing my offending hand behind my back.

I’m a little turned on by the ear nip coupled with the blindfold. I’m wondering if this is some sort of crazy sex-capade, because things in the bedroom have only gotten more interesting since the honeymoon, but I rule it out. I hear other people milling around, and as adventurous as Martin is, he’s not that adventurous.

The only endeavor Martin has invested in more than keeping our marriage interesting is the odd hours he’s been working at his side gig with the hopes of striking it rich. I’m wondering now if this surprise has anything to do with it.

I’d lucked out with a college internship in the public relations department at St. Jude Children’s Hospital, sure to score a full-time position upon graduation. Martin says he’ll support both of us so I can help save the world, because even though his job may be more lucrative, mine will always be more important.

It doesn’t matter to me if Martin hits it big, but I know he’s bound and determined, sure to be a family failure if he settles for middle class. He also has something else besides a big brain and an entrepreneurial spirit to keep him motivated—a trust fund that would make the Kennedys weep. Those with financial safety nets have more power to dream.