The Twilight Wife

“What if I never figure it out? Without help? He’s the one who said I would never remember.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants.” He looks closely at me, taking in all my features, my skin flushed by the cold, my hair mussed from the wind and sand. It’s as though he can see my memory of Nancy catching Jacob and me in flagrante delicto in the driftwood fort. If Van had seen the jealousy in Nancy’s eyes, the complicated regret, what would he have done?

“You’re suggesting he doesn’t want me to remember,” I say. A cactus of prickles covers my skin. “That’s . . . silly.”

“He said you would get all riled up. But to tell you the truth, I was hoping to find you here alone.”

“Why?” Maybe I should not have invited him in. I’m aware now of his size, his imposing presence, the way he disturbs the air like an unstable weather system.

His voice tightens. “It’s been bugging me. I thought you should know. You came to me for help.”

For help? “What kind of help? To fix something?”

He laughs softly. “Hell no. This was not a solar panel situation.”

“Then what was it? When was this?”

He rubs his upper lip, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Last September. You came to the boat to ask for my help.”

“What was going on?”

He gulps his coffee, taps the mug. “I promised Jacob I wouldn’t mess things up for you two.”

“Wouldn’t mess what up?”

He makes a motion with his hand. “You two are trying to patch things up. I can’t stand in the way.”

“Are you saying you and I were involved? You were in the way?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then in how many words?”

“We weren’t involved, okay?” He goes to the window, looks out to sea. “Promise me you won’t tell Jacob I’m telling you this, since you two are back together.”

“We weren’t together last September?” I press my hand on the countertop, bracing myself. I might faint.

“You were, but you wanted to leave without him. Ferry broke down. You asked me to take you to the mainland, only I couldn’t. Nancy was having a meltdown.”

“Why would I ask you to take me away from the island?”

He gulps the rest of his coffee, comes back to the kitchen, and plunks the mug in the sink. “You didn’t tell me why, but you were upset. I hated that I couldn’t leave. Nancy was angry with me at the time. She says I go away too much. I’m only trying to give her what she wants. The life she wants.”

He’s heading off on a tangent, but I can’t follow right now. “Jacob knew about my plan to leave?”

“He knew you came to the boat, not because I told him. He followed you down there and picked you up.”

“So I came back here with him.”

“Yep, you did. The next day, the ferry was running again, and you left.”

“On my own, with luggage,” I say. I strolled past the library, rolling my suitcase . . .

“Obviously, you two worked out your differences. You’re here with him again.”

“Obviously,” I say, the room closing in on me.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. You were so ready to get the hell out of here.”

“Well,” I say, “I’m not now.”

“I can see that.” He taps his fingers on the counter.

“I have to tell him, you know. About this conversation.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he says. “I’ll take the heat.”

“You can’t take heat for something that’s not your fault. Jacob should have told me we fought. I didn’t say why I wanted to leave. Are you sure?”

“You were pretty cagey, about a lot of things. When you and Jacob met us the first time, I thought you were a woman with secrets. You brought them with you from the city.”

“What secrets? What would make you say that?”

“Whenever Jacob would start talking about you, how you first met or your wedding, you would get quiet. Sometimes you’d tell him not to bother us with the details. Or you’d get up and walk away. It seemed like it embarrassed you.” He looks out the kitchen window and frowns. “Speak of the devil. There he is. Look, forget I said anything. You guys seem to be fine now. Thanks for coffee.” He leaves the house, taking the porch steps down two at a time.

“Wait!” I call after him, but he’s already getting into his truck as Jacob pulls into the driveway.





I’m in Sylvia’s office, ripping a tissue into threads in my lap. I’ve just told her about Van’s visit to the house.

“What happened when Jacob came home and saw Van leaving?” she says. She’s in jeans, a long, loosely knit pullover, and black shoes.

“He asked what Van was doing there.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“The truth. Van’s story.”

“How did he react?”

“He was angry. He agreed that we fought last summer. But he said we were okay after that.”

“Did he say what you fought about?”

“He couldn’t remember. I don’t know whom to trust, Jacob or Van. Or myself. Except I can’t contribute anything to their stories.”

“Sounds like you’re still feeling confused.”

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