The Twilight Wife

“Then what are you saying? I told you we were good.”

“Okay, we were good, then.” On the rest of the loop trail, I fight the urge to ask more questions. I focus on watching the blackbirds, towhees, and the mallards in the pond. In this wetlands reserve, Jacob and I could be the only two people on the planet.

After the hike, he drives me out to Windy Reef Park, where we view the sea lions congregating on the rocky shore. We hear them barking before we spot them. “Amazing lookout point,” I say. “I had no idea.”

“You called this the Magical Nearshore. You taught me that term.”

“Nearshore, the volatile confluence of sky, land, and water. I love that you remember.”

“How could I forget? The nearshore was always your favorite place to go.”

My heart warms to this man who wants only to make me happy. “What about you? What’s your favorite place to go?”

He looks into my eyes. “Wherever you are. That’s the only place I want to be.”

“Perfect answer,” I say, as we climb the trail. I take off ahead of him, toward a high cliff bounded by a wooden railing. “That must be a spectacular viewpoint.”

Jacob catches up, grabs my wrist, and pulls me back. “Don’t go up there. You could fall.”

“I’m not going to stand at the edge.” His grip becomes tense and I look down, startled.

“You get dizzy,” he says. “You never liked going up there. You were afraid of heights.”

People have jumped off the cliffs around here, Nancy said. I’m not going up there.

We were here with Van and Nancy. The sun shone brightly on the water. Wild roses were in bloom, and tiny white flowers dotted the blackberry vines.

Half the people who jumped were probably pushed, Jacob said.

Drowning someone would work better, I said. No way to prove it was murder.

Did I really say that?

“Do you see the orcas?” Jacob says now, pointing out to sea. He doesn’t seem to notice the shock on my face. He doesn’t know I’m remembering. He must think I’ve been watching the fins gliding through the waves.

“Those are Dall’s porpoises,” I say faintly. “They’re much smaller than orcas.”

“You’re the expert.”

“I’m also cold. Let’s go.” I turn and rush back along the trail toward the parking lot, stumbling a little in my haste.

“You okay?” he says. “Dizzy again?”

“I remembered being on that trail with Van and Nancy,” I say as we get into the truck. “You said most people who jump off cliffs here were probably pushed.”

He frowns. “You’re right. I did.”

“I said drowning someone would be the perfect murder.”

He laughs as he slides the key into the ignition and starts the engine. “Wow, what a weird thing to come back to you.”

“Just that piece of the conversation.”

“We all got to talking about ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident. You mentioned drowning someone. Van said Nancy could get rid of him just by kissing him . . . after eating a clam. The conversation got morbid. Hey, don’t look so worried. It was all in fun.”

“I’m not worried,” I say, but on the drive home, I grip the door handle, my shoulders tense. Sylvia’s words echo through the passing shadows. Do you mean there could be a psychogenic component to your memory loss? . . . Things your brain chooses to forget. Something traumatic.

What if my brain is choosing to block out not trauma, but something else altogether? Impossible. I have to dismiss the thought. I have to believe what Jacob is saying. The conversation was all in fun. Just because someone talks about murder, doesn’t mean they intend to actually kill someone.





“Could you drop me at Nancy’s school?” I say on the way home.

“That memory worries you,” he says, glancing at me sidelong. “I told you the truth about it, about what we were all talking about.”

“I know you did,” I say, forcing a lighthearted tone. “I just want to see if the classroom environment brings anything back to me.”

“You’re not trying to ditch me?” He gives me a pleading look, half in fun, half serious.

“I’m ready to divorce you here and now. Let me out and don’t come back for me.”

For a split second, he looks shocked, then my face breaks into a wry smile. His shoulders relax when he realizes I’m joking. “Jesus. Don’t kid like that.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m not going to divorce you, okay?”

“Good. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He veers right, looping around back to town, pulls up in front of an old white church, the sign reading Mystic Island Day School. “I’ll pick you up in an hour?”

“Make it two,” I say as I get out of the truck. “Give me time to escape to the mainland.”

“You’ll need more than two hours to go that far.”

“After I talk to Nancy I want to take a walk.”

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