“I didn’t even know about your messages.” The authorities confirmed my suspicion: Jacob used an Ethernet cable to route the Internet through his computer in the cottage before any information reached my computer in the house. I was still in shock that such a deception was not difficult for a programmer to orchestrate.
The ferry slows as we approach the harbor, a density of buildings crowded along the shore. When the boat docks, Aiden drives us up the hill and along the winding roads of downtown Friday Harbor. Even though San Juan Island is similar to Mystic Island in its terrain, this house is closer to civilization, with reliable Internet and cell phone service, more frequent ferry runs, and a thriving community in Friday Harbor, including a network of writers and artists, two grocery stores, a few bookstores, a couple of theaters, and medical clinics.
Aiden drives along the east coast of the island, through balmy air and forest until we reach a narrow road leading down to the shoreline. There, facing the water, drinking in the light through a plethora of windows, is the house from my dream—an old yellow Victorian sitting on a bluff overlooking the strait.
I cherish mornings, when the day is still new. What I love now are the things I always loved. Morning tea, decaffeinated again, walks on the beach with Aiden before he leaves for the new software company he started here on the island. He stopped working for Jacob some time ago.
I’m starting up my research again. I found the Tompkins anemone where I never expected to find it, attached to the underside of a dock in Friday Harbor, in plain view. A rare, elongated, luminous sea creature right in front of my nose.
I’m volunteering at the Whale Museum, and occasionally I go out on a research vessel with two marine biologists studying a pod of resident orcas. I may consider teaching again at San Juan Island College. One step at a time. Like our marriage.
We love each other, that much is clear. But for all our faults—Aiden’s impulsiveness, my uncertainty—our decision to marry was sacred and I will never forgive myself for thinking otherwise. And I don’t think he will forgive himself, either.
A soft, salty breeze flows in, warmed by the sunlight of spring. Robins and chickadees flit between the trees. The rhododendrons blossom in splashes of bright pink, red, and purple. After the nighttime rain, the sparrows and nuthatches drink droplets of water off the softly rustling leaves.
A familiar truck appears through the trees, creeping down the winding driveway. When I open the door for Douglas Ingram, I’m taken aback. If it weren’t for his beaten-up truck, I wouldn’t recognize him. He’s cut his hair short, and he cleaned up, shaved off his beard and mustache. He looks ten years younger now, and he’s in a new plaid flannel coat, pressed jeans, new boots. “Morning, Kyra.”
I hug him, although I can’t pull him close. My growing belly is in the way. “I’m so glad you made it.” He even smells clean.
“Congratulations,” he says, looking down at my billowing maternity shirt.
“Thanks. We’re lucky.” I rest my hand on the curve of my abdomen.
“Nobody deserves it more.” He follows me out to sit in the cedar recliners on the deck.
“What brings you here?” I say.
“I’m on my way to Bellevue.”
“Bellevue! I thought you weren’t going to—”
“I’m not going into any old folks’ home. No way, no how, but I figured it’s time to do a little traveling. Before I can’t anymore.”
“You’re going to visit your daughter.”
He nods and smiles. I can see the excitement in his eyes, and trepidation, worry, fear. But mostly excitement. “Can’t let too much more time pass. My memory’s not so good.”
“Neither is mine,” I say, and we laugh.
I shield my eyes against the sun. I rest my hand on his arm. “I never got a chance to properly thank you. With everything that’s happened. I ended up leaving the island so quickly, and there were the interviews with the authorities, and then Aiden showed up—”
“Hey, no worries.”
We’re both silent for a minute, and then I say, “How are Van and Nancy?”
“They’re . . . Van and Nancy,” he says, chuckling softly. “They were shocked to learn about Jacob. Nancy, especially. She knew Jacob as a kid, and he was good to her. She said in hindsight, she should have seen the signs. His terrible father. How Jacob always wanted his way, created elaborate fantasy worlds for himself, never really cared if anyone else went along.”
“But how could anyone have predicted?” I say. “It’s not like, when you’re a kid, you point at a friend and say, He’s going to grow up weird and kidnap someone and make her believe she’s his wife.”
“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” Douglas says. “I know that myself.”
“We can’t change the past,” I say.
“But we can shape the future.”
“Touché,” I say. We smile at each other, an unbreakable connection between us now. We will always share those frightening moments at the top of the cliff on Mystic Island.
He follows my gaze toward the figure of a man walking along the beach, a broad-shouldered silhouette heading back this way from his long walk. Every time I see Aiden, my heart still leaps with anticipation. I wave to him, and he waves back.