“That’s Aiden Finlay, buddy of mine. The three of us were hiking at Ebey’s Landing, on Whidbey Island. You took the picture.”
I took the picture. Aiden Finlay. The name echoes in a far recess of my mind. He looks vibrant, alive, with his ruddy cheeks, tousled dark hair, and a carefree expression. That expression. He’s offering his hand to help me down from a steep embankment. I see it now. I slipped in the mud. His hand felt warm, firm, steady. I fell into Aiden’s arms. He held me, and I could smell the damp wool of his sweater, the fresh soap on his skin. The fleeting image is so vivid it’s startling. I wanted him to hold on to me. A shot of adrenaline rushes through me, an interior tremor like the beginning of a tectonic shift.
Jacob inches closer to me, sending the memory skittering away. A headache claws at my temples. I get up and turn to the map on the wall, my back to Jacob. I’m afraid if he sees my face, he’ll know my secret. He’ll know I was attracted to Aiden. It’s as if my guilt is tattooed on my cheeks. But am I guilty of anything, really?
I focus on the map showing the archipelago of islands. San Juan Island lies at the southwest corner, Orcas Island to the northeast, surrounded by the other islands. Mystic Island is barely a dot just north of Patos and east of Saturna. It’s as if I’m looking at the constellations, and we live on a tiny star far removed from the others.
Jacob comes up next to me. “You’re not seeing all the islands on this map,” he says. “Not even all the named ones.”
“There are more?” I say.
“One hundred and seventy-two have been named, but there are four hundred and fifty islands in the San Juans.”
“Easy to get lost there.”
“People do. Especially when they’re looking for buried treasure.”
“You’re a fountain of information.”
“Mostly useless trivia.” He traces a line on the map between the islands, following a circuitous route. “That’s the ferry passage. The boat stops here and here.” He points to San Juan Island and Orcas Island. “A small ferry runs to Mystic. You have to take your own boat to the other islands.”
“And we wanted to have a family here in the middle of nowhere?”
“Nobody has to lock their doors here. We’re safe. Our children will be safe.”
Our children. What a peculiar thought. Did I want safety for them? Or did I want to step off the grid to escape reminders of Aiden? To arrest my own tendency to stray, the way an addict might enter a monastery? But that’s a stretch. Falling into Aiden’s arms does not mean I slept with him.
“How did you and Aiden meet?” I say.
“I knew him in college.”
“When did you introduce him to me?”
“I think it was about six months after you and I started dating—”
“You and I met at Pike Place Market. You bought me roses.”
“That was after I intercepted the fish. I told you.” His voice tightens.
“Sorry, right. You intercepted the fish. Then you bought me a bouquet of roses.”
“Your face lit up when you smelled those flowers. I fell in love with you instantly. At first sight.”
“There’s no such thing,” I say.
“All I had to do was look at you. Then I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
“Did I play hard to get?”
“You were cautious, yes. But I knew I wanted to marry you. The moment I met you, I planned to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“But you didn’t even know my personality.”
“Sure I did. I could see your personality in your intense gaze, your focus, your spontaneity. You burst into laughter when I bought you the flowers. But then you looked sad. You said you would rather see blooms on living plants. You hated seeing them wither and die. So I brought you a potted hydrangea on our first date.”
“I lucked out. You’re so romantic.”
“We had living plants at the wedding, too. Hydrangeas everywhere.”
“How lovely! Linny was my maid of honor, right? Aiden was your best man.”
He rubs the bridge of his nose. “I told you all of this already.”
“Thank you for being so patient. I’m trying to retain it all.” I want to scream at my faulty brain, but I sit on the couch again, feigning calmness. “I wish I could remember our wedding.” I know this weighs on him, my inability to recall the most important ritual in our history together.
“We could, you know . . . get married again,” he says.
“You mean go through the ceremony?”
“As best we can, here on the island, with our friends. A renewal of vows.”
“You would do that?”
“Absolutely. When you’re ready.”
“Tell me more about what we said to each other. We could repeat exactly the same things.”
“I recited a poem by E. E. Cummings.” He sits next to me and kisses my cheek with tenderness.
“?‘I carry your heart with me,’?” I say. The echo of a voice tickles my memory. i carry it in my heart . . .
“More like, ‘i like my body when it is with your body.’?”
The heat rises in my neck. “We didn’t recite erotic poems at our wedding, did we?”