I bit my lip and nodded. It was time. Time to step back into the sea. I wanted to conquer this—make it go away. And maybe I could do this as long as there were no waves or strong currents. He was right. As long as he was there with me. And it would be a first step. It would be empowering if I managed it.
With Martin holding my hand, we entered the lagoon. The water was silky and warm. We went knee-deep, then waist-deep. We lolled and rolled about, and floated, him naked, me in my bikini. He kissed me, and I smiled, then laughed. He hugged me tight, undid my bikini top. Slid off my bikini bottom.
We made love in the water. In the shallows. In defiance of my bad memories.
We swam some more, never going out of my depth—I could stand anytime I wanted. My limbs eased. My heart and soul lightened. It was pure bliss.
We exited the water together and ran hand in hand back to our beach mats. We lay on our backs, drying in the sun, fingers laced.
“Thank you,” I whispered as I stared up at the impossibly blue and clear sky. “For being you. For hearing me.” I rolled onto my side and trailed my finger down his tummy toward his belly button. “I think I really do love you, Martin Cresswell-Smith.”
Later that evening, as I was seated in front of a mirror doing my makeup for dinner, Martin brought me a drink. He kissed me on the forehead.
“It must have been so awful when they found her little body all battered along the reef like that. The police questioning you on top of it all, as if they thought you could be guilty. As if you could have let her go on purpose. I am so sorry, El.”
I went cold.
I watched him go into the bathroom to have a shower. The palm fronds outside rustled and whispered against the roof of our hut as an evening wind stirred.
Later that evening over dinner, I said, “I didn’t tell you about any police questioning me, did I?” I didn’t think that part had made the papers. It had been kept pretty quiet, and the cops had dropped it.
“Yes, you did.” He looked puzzled.
I held his gaze. Unblinking, he continued to look directly at me.
“What’s troubling you, Ellie?”
“I . . . I guess . . . I . . .” My voice faded. “Memory lapse, that’s all.” I reached for my wineglass.
His expression changed from puzzlement to concern as I sipped. I felt a bolt of panic. Was it a mini blackout? That’s how they’d started. Followed by longer, more serious memory lapses. In the depths of my darkness, I had not even remembered stabbing Doug when I’d found him in the restaurant with that woman. I only knew for certain that I’d done it because it had been caught on a security camera and the establishment was full of witnesses, more than one of whom had filmed or snapped bits on a cell phone.
“You okay, El?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s nothing.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Can you pass the salt?”
That night I lay unable to sleep while a hot wind bent the palms outside and the muslin drapes sucked in and billowed out onto the balcony. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A memory filled my mind. The police station in Hawaii. The detective’s voice . . . “Did you purposefully let her arm go . . . Why did you take her into the water?”
I sat up sharply, heart thumping. I glanced at Martin. Bluish in the pale moonlight shining through the skylight, he lay sleeping. Big, steady breaths. Peaceful. Worry clamped a cold hand around my throat.
I never would have told Martin about the cops . . . surely?
THEN
ELLIE
Almost two years ago, April. Vancouver, BC.
Dana and I sat on the sofa in my apartment, our socked feet up on the coffee table.
“Like old times,” she said as we toasted each other. She’d brought snacks, we’d made popcorn, and I’d provided the wine. We were watching a tacky horror movie at my place because the view was stunning and Dana’s place by her own admission was a bit of a dive.
I’d been home over three weeks and had been feeling really out of sorts since our trip—couldn’t seem to get over the jet lag, having trouble sleeping and focusing on work, and remembering things. Perhaps I’d picked up a bug. Martin had stayed over a few times but was back in Toronto. He called every night, though—said he was worried about me. I told him I was suffering from Martin withdrawal, missing the adrenaline rush of being with him. Deep down it was more—I had a niggling fear it was over with him, that he’d had his fill, was tired of me, and would move on to a new fling. Like my father always did.
Near the end of our movie, when we were happily tipsy, my phone rang. I glanced at the display.
Martin.
My heart kicked. “I need to take this,” I said as I rose from the sofa and padded toward the bedroom.
Dana stopped just short of stuffing a fistful of popcorn into her mouth. “Who is it?”
“Martin.”
“Are you serious?” She stuffed the popcorn into her mouth, reached for the remote, and hit pause. She stared at me as I connected the call. “Tell him you’ll call back, Ellie,” she said around her mouthful. “We’re just at the good part. We’re almost at the end.”
I held up my palm as I said into the phone, “Hey, Martin, hi. Dana’s here and we’re in the middle of a movie—can I call you back later?”
He laughed, but I heard an edge. “You always forget the time difference, don’t you, Ellie? It’s already past midnight here.”
I checked my watch. “Oh, I—tomorrow morning, then?”
“I’ll be on a plane. Look, I need to know stat. I’m going to Nevada for a week—Reno, Vegas—got some people I need to see about a development down there. Do
