“He won’t leave you alone.”
I watch Angus chase a seagull into the water and give a whistle, calling him back to my side. He returns with a lopsided grin, his fur wet, then bounces down the trail in front of us. It’s stormy today, the waves hitting hard on the shore with a smack. The rocks are slippery and covered with kelp, and the occasional eagle circles above our heads, riding the wind up and down.
“I think all the time about how much I wish Andrew had died in the accident that night,” I say. “I hate feeling like that about the father of my child.”
“You’re human. I try to forgive my ex-husband, but when he messes with our kids’ heads, I wish he was dead too.” Both of Jenny’s kids are in university, old enough to understand their father’s mental games, but he still has a way of sucking them into his web of lies, getting them mad at their mother for some imagined slight, then spitting them back out when he’s finished.
“I used to have fantasies about buying a gun,” Jenny says. “I came close once.”
“Really?” I’m startled, can’t imagine my petite friend walking into a gun store, smacking her hand down on the counter, and asking for a weapon. Though, come to think of it, maybe I could see her at a shooting range, her steely eyes focused onto a target as she bangs off shots.
“I know. I’m supposed to be so Zen, but trust me, that man had me thinking some murderous thoughts many nights. It felt like the only way out sometimes.”
“Sophie was telling me about the butterfly effect, how one small decision changes everything. She asked me if I have any regrets.”
“Do you?” She glances sideways at me.
I wonder if I could confide in Jenny about how I drugged Andrew so I could escape with Sophie. I know she would understand and if anything would probably give me a high-five, but I’ve been holding on to my secret, and my guilt, for too long.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “We can’t go back in time.”
“That’s true. We can only move forward. Maybe you should run away to the States. Andrew has a police record. They wouldn’t let him into the country.”
“What about Sophie? I can’t leave her here.”
“Do you think Andrew would hurt her?”
I think for a moment. “When she was younger, I worried about him disappearing with her, or driving when he was drunk, but I didn’t think he would ever deliberately hurt her. Now I don’t know. If he sees he can’t control her, I don’t know what he might do, you know?”
“I know. It’s terrifying. It’s like there’s a ticking bomb sitting right next to our children, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” She looks frustrated, her face red from wind and anger. She picks up a rock and throws it into the water as hard as she can. Then another.
I watch for a moment. I understand what she’s doing, trying to find some small way to alleviate the stress, the trapped feeling. I pick up a rock too and throw it into the water. Angus bounds in after it. Jenny and I both stand still now, our hands tucked into our pockets.
“When I go back to Dogwood tomorrow for the girls’ paychecks, I could ask Andrew to meet me and have Parker waiting outside. Then I’ll provoke him. If he attacks me, they’ll have to arrest him.” I’d forgotten about payday until Rachelle called a couple of hours ago asking for hers.
Jenny turns. “Are you insane? He could kill you.”
“Not if Parker gets him first.”
“That’s too big of a gamble, Lindsey—she’ll never go for it.”
“You’re right. It was a stupid idea. I’m just desperate.”
We keep walking, both lost in thought, our feet slipping and sliding on the uneven beach trail. Angus’s collar jingles as he runs ahead, then comes back to check on us.
Jenny stops again, this time so suddenly I think she’s going to fall. I reach out to grab her arm, but she’s perfectly still, looking me straight in the eyes.
“Don’t go back. I have a bad feeling.”
“The girls need their checks and everything is saved on my home computer. I’ll ask Marcus to meet me at my house, okay?”
“Okay, but I still don’t like it.”
I step closer and grab her for a hug. She squeezes hard, her cheek cold against mine. I can smell her lavender lotion. She makes it herself, adds sage and avocado. I tell her that she shouldn’t put food on her face. She always laughs.
“Please don’t get yourself killed,” she says as we pull apart. “I don’t want to raise another daughter. Mine are trouble enough.” Her mouth turns up in a smile, but her eyes are scared.
“I won’t.” I try to sound confident, but my head is filled with the memory of Andrew’s hands tight around my throat, his face twisted into a grimace that almost looked like a smile.