I stare at her. “Aboutwhat?”
“The rape. Please, Jade.”
“It could be withholdingevidence. We’ve got to tell them.”
Her eyes burn right through me.“If you even so much as whisper about what I went through, I willnever trust you again.”
Two cop cars wind around theshoreline road and park above the beach, and three cops get out.They converse for a few quick minutes in front of their cars beforemaking their way toward the body, toward us. Two younger copsfollow behind a stodgy, older officer. As they approach, I stand upand walk over to Robbie’s corpse.
I introduce myself and Annie,who is still sitting on the log. They ask me how I came to find thebody, and I tell them. Then they ask if I was familiar withhim.
“No,” I say. My first lie.
“How about her?” The senior coppoints at Annie.
“No. She has no idea who he is,we just happened to be passing by when the lady screamed from thebeach.” My second lie.
Since we were just, apparently,at the wrong place at the wrong time, the cops don’t take anyfurther statements. They let us go.
As soon as we’ve pushed the boatout and climbed back in, the rain starts. We drive toward home,neither of us saying anything. Annie’s focus is on covering herjournal so it doesn’t get wet, whereas my mind is preoccupied withthe fact that I just lied to the police, that I just committed acrime.
* * *
Morning breaks the next day witha bright sun, hinting toward a perfect summer day. Annie is quiet,but more at ease than she was last night. More at ease, in fact,than she’s been this past week. She touches me when she walks by,and smiles when she sees me looking at her.
In the afternoon, we visit thelocal market and pick up groceries for dinner. On the way home, westop along the beach and watch eagles dive into the pristine watersand come up with fish. When we get back to the cottage, I head tothe kitchen to empty our bags and Annie goes to the bedroom.
As I’m almost finished puttingstuff away, I feel hands grasp my waist from behind. Turningaround, I see Annie, naked. She’s smiling at me in a way I haven’tseen for quite some time.
With an aggression I have neverbefore experienced with her, she presses her lips against mine. Thecounter bites into my back as she leans into me. I return her kiss,then grab her hand to lead her into the bedroom, but she wants mehere, on the cool tile floor.
I try to be gentle with her, totake my time kissing and caressing her, but that’s not what shewants. She consumes me, panting and gyrating with every touch,rough and void of emotion. This isn’t my thing, but I go along withit for her. It’s a big step, considering what she’s beenthrough.
Afterwards, we lie together, herhead on my arm, our chests rapidly expanding and contracting.
“That was different,” I say,giving her a squeeze.
“Unenjoyable different, or gooddifferent?”
“Unexpected different.”
“Well, life can be stagnantwithout some surprises, don’t you think?”
“I guess so.”
She gets up on her knees untilher face is over mine and then tenderly and slowly kisses me,offering the missing emotion from our carnal encounter.
* * *
The next morning, I wake to thesound of gulls squawking in the bay, and an empty bed. My heart ispounding and there’s a light sheen of sweat all over my body. I hadjust been on the lake .
I was standing on the dock. Itwas barely light out. There was a layer of fog over the water. Alight blue boat appeared through the mist with no engine and nobodydriving, silently floating towards me, as though I were pulling it.As soon as the craft was close enough, I saw a body lyingmotionless inside. The man had no shirt on, just shorts. The handwith the star tattoo was lying upon a red book with gold letteringon it. Annie’s journal.
I stagger to the bathroom, stillhalf-asleep, and splash my face with cold water. It’s then, lookingup at my reflection with my face dripping, that I see the wordswritten on the mirror in bright pink lipstick.
I love you, but I need to beaway for a while. Too much has happened and if I stay, I may saysomething I don’t mean.
This can’t be happening. In apanic I run from room to room, calling her name, as though I expecther to be hiding under the bed or behind a door. I don’t know why Ibother. I can tell she’s gone. The energy of her, the beautiful,bright, warm energy, has disappeared.
Why now? I think. Why did sheleave now? We were closer than we had been since the incident—atleast I thought we were.
My brain is clearing from thesleep and the panic. I run back to the bedroom and pick up my cellphone, punching in her number. I wait, holding my breath as itrings. Then, I hear music - her ringtone. I return to the livingroom and find her phone on the coffee table.
I pick up the cell and look atthe call display. My name isn’t there—just a number. Nounflattering picture of me that she’d insisted on using for mycontact. After I hang up, I open her phone and go to the contacts.The list is empty. She’d deleted everything.
Why would she leave her phone,and leave it on the coffee table for me to find? Why the hell wouldshe clear her contacts? I think this even when I know the answer.She wants to completely disappear. She wants to leave no way to geta hold of her.
Slumping down on the sofa, Ifeel like my heart has just been torn out. A lump grows in mythroat and my eyes start to water. If she’s gone, then I don’t givea shit about anything anymore.
There is a loud rap at the door.I am shaken from my stupor, and I get up to check through thewindow. I see a police officer and someone with him—judging by thesimilar set to his posture, a plain clothes cop.
“Wait, I’m not dressed,”
