Submerged (6 page)

At night, it was difficult not to think of her life with Wesley. She
'd at least felt safe in her home.

Really, Rebecca? Safe?

One of the most difficult things she had to get used to after Wesley moved out was being alone. It wasn't easy. She'd depended on him to at least be there. Most nights.

S
ipping the wine, she flipped through the channels and paused on an episode of
Law & Order
. A wife was being grilled after the suspicious death of her husband. Rebecca wondered if the husband had driven the wife to do it.
Had he abused his wife the way Wesley abused me?

Abuse. A nasty subject. Even in today
's world it was one of those hidden secrets that no one wanted to talk about it. Before meeting Wesley, she had always thought women who didn't speak up were merely weak. Now she knew better. It wasn't weakness that kept them from telling; it was fear. Especially if there were children involved.

She
'd stayed with Wesley for the kids' sake—in the beginning. It was her father who had opened her eyes to the life she'd created. The make-believe one.

"
You're too smart to make stupid choices," he said, not long after he returned home after his heart surgery.

"
What stupid choices?" she asked.

"
Staying."

She
didn't ask him what he meant by that.

"
You never liked him, did you, Dad?"

"
No, I didn't."

"
Why not?"

"
Because I could see it in his eyes."

"
See what?"

Her father turned away.
"The same look I used to have in mine. An anger so consuming that it destroys everything in its path."

His admission had
stunned her. She'd never known the side of him he was describing. Her father had always been funny and proud. He'd seemed happy most of the time, though she knew he and her mother had argued at times. What couple didn't?

"
But you never hit Mom," she said.

"
No…but I came close a few times."

"
And that's why you divorced?"

Her father patted her hand.
"That was
one
reason we got a divorce. Honey, it's not easy going through life with a strong woman like your mom. She's got her own ideas of what she wants to do with her life. I had mine."

"
And they weren't the same," she guessed.

He nodded.
"I was busy following my path, and your mother was following hers. I guess, after a while, we started to veer away instead of cross. Some people's paths are on a collision course for disaster."

Two months later, her father
had suffered a fatal heart attack. But she'd never forgotten those words.
A collision course for disaster.

Well, that certainly summed up her marriage.

Tonight as she sipped her wine, Rebecca thought about her own life path. She had no idea where it would lead, and that scared her. She'd detoured so far from Wesley now that she hoped their paths would remain far apart. She feared if they crossed paths again, it would result in a collision that would submerge her once more in a life of fear. She couldn't go there again. Not when she was finally learning how to breathe on her own.

Somewhere in the house something clanged.

Setting down the wine glass, she walked around, listening as the house settled for the evening. She heard a soft scratching sound behind the door to the garage.
Damn mice!

She opened the door and flicked on the light. Nothing moved. No scurrying of little feet. She
'd have to remember to get some mouse traps in the morning. She dreaded finding their lifeless bodies, but it couldn't be helped. If she didn't eliminate them, they'd leave droppings and rip open garbage bags. Not to mention they'd propagate like Gremlins.

She closed the door and locked it. Then she went back to the recliner and her wine. She finished another glass and found one of her favorite movies
on Movie Central.
Sleeping with the Enemy.
It was about a woman, played by Julia Roberts, who ingeniously escapes her husband's abuse and starts a new life with a new name.

Rebecca could relate. She often wished she could start a new life.

I guess in a way I have.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wasn
't that different from Julia's character in the movie. She was starting over, and that meant anything was possible. Even another love.

She ran a finger over the rim of the wine glass. What would it feel like to be touched by another man? To be kissed with tenderness? To make love?
It had been so long, she was afraid she'd forgotten how to go about it.

She let out a laugh and muffled it with her hand. She could imagine Kelly telling her,
"It's like riding a bicycle. You never forget how."

Her sister had been her lifeline through all the turmoil of the past months. Kelly was always there for her, even when Rebecca had pushed her away at times when defending Wesley.

She let out a sigh and returned her attention to the movie. Julia was stealing apples from the tree in the yard next door—and she was about to get caught by her ruggedly handsome neighbor.

Rebecca pulled a blanket from the couch and snuggled into the chair. Though she
'd seen
Sleeping with the Enemy
a dozen times or more, it still filled her heart with a strong emotion. Hope.

Chapter
Five

Edson, AB – Friday, June 14, 2013 – 12:35 AM

Seated in rows of chairs before Marcus, his fellow addicts and Leo smiled and offered a greeting, welcoming him to the weekly midnight meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. He was the last person to speak because he was late as usual, but he'd make it short and sweet as usual.

"
My name's Marcus, and it's been a few weeks since I've been to an NA meeting. But I haven't used."

Clapping erupted.

He cleared his throat. "My friend Leo convinced me to come tonight, and even though I was doing okay, he was right. I needed to be reminded of why I'm here in the first place. Thanks for listening." He gave a nod, then sat down.

No one seemed surprised at the brevity of his statement or at the lack of details. They were used to it. To the group,
he knew he was a bit of a mystery. No one knew his whole story. Not even at the center. Shipley knew the bare bones, but only Leo knew about all the skeletons in Marcus's closet.

The rest of the meeting passed with the standard meet-and-greet over coffee and cookies, though Marcus didn
't feel much like socializing. He wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with Arizona, some pasta and his guilt.

On the drive home, Marcus did his best to breathe normally as Leo steered his rusty old VW down the empty main street. When Leo drove through a four-way stop without stopping, Marcus shook his head.

"What?" Leo barked. "There's no one else on the road this time of night."

It was morning actually. Almost one. Regardless, Leo was right about the lack of traffic. It still frustrated Marcus though. His friend was so nonchalant about disobeying traffic laws. Didn
't he know that people were killed every year because some idiot drove through a stop sign?

"Why didn't you tell them your story?" Leo asked.

"I'm not ready to share it."

"One day,
you're gonna talk."

"Maybe."

Leo stared at him with concern. "You can't keep it all locked up inside. It's not healthy. It won't help you recover."

"I don't think I'll ever recover, Leo."

"I know that's what you think, but I believe one day you will."

Marcus shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Look, man, just talk about it. Share. Admission is good for the soul."

"You want me to admit what I've done? Tell everyone I killed my son and wife?"

Leo released a heavy sigh, then crossed his massive arms over his chest. "You didn't kill them, Marcus. That accident wasn't your fault. One day you'll
get
that."

There was an awkward silence
before Leo changed the subject. "Wanna stop at my place for a coffee?"

"
Can't," Marcus replied. "I've got a date tonight."

"
With who?"

"
Not
who
. More of a what. I'm trying a new recipe tonight. Whole wheat linguine with shrimp, red peppers and a non-alcohol white wine cream sauce." Marcus saw the wishful look in his friend's eyes. "You want to join me for dinner?"

Leo shook his head.
"Can't. Val's waiting."

Five minutes later, they pulled up in front of
Marcus's house. The passenger door of the VW squealed in defiance as Marcus pushed it open. He stepped outside. "I'll bring some leftovers to work."

Leo grinned.
"I can always count on you, Chef Taylor. You should have your own TV show."

Marcus watched Leo drive away and pondered his friend
's comment. Maybe he
should
start looking into a new career. He wouldn't have a choice if he slipped up any more at the center. Shipley would keep pushing to get him ousted.

Maybe a change of career
was
in Marcus's future.

An hour later, he sank into the recliner, his fingertips balancing a plate heaped with his linguine creation on his fingertips. The dish smelled heavenly and his stomach rumbled. He'd even tossed in some finely chopped chilies to give it a kick, and he'd sautéed a handful of asparagus spears with a sprinkle of sesame seeds as a side dish.

For the past month he
'd been on an asparagus kick. Sautéed asparagus in sesame seeds and olive oil. Or with fresh lemon juice and dill. Or rolled in egg whites, cracker crumbs and parmesan. Blanched asparagus, chilled and seasoned with orange juice, tossed in green or pasta salads. Yeah, there wasn't anything he couldn't do to a spear of asparagus.

Arizona lumbered into the room, eyeing his half empty plate wistfully.

"Hey, girl. We'll go for a walk later. Okay?"

Arizona barked once and spun in a circle. She dutifully sat down in front of him, waiting.

"Okay, but I gotta warn you. It's got a bite."

He pulled a strand of linguine from his plate and fed it to the dog. She swallowed it in one gulp. He went through the ritual
"one for me and one for you" until his plate was empty.

After their meal, Arizona settled on the rug by Marcus
's feet and quickly went to sleep. Ignoring her soft snores, he flipped through the television stations. One channel was showing a marathon of
Flashpoint
reruns. Man, he missed that series. He'd gone through
Flashpoint
withdrawals for weeks after.

He
settled on a Clint Eastwood movie. One could never go wrong with Eastwood. It was one of the more recent films, produced by and starring the acclaimed film legend.

Halfway into the movie, he fell asleep.

And there was Jane and Ryan. They were laughing, playing on a coral pink beach with sand as soft as satin.

Marcus could feel the sand between his toes as he approached them, warm waves lapping at his feet as he strolled close to the surf.

Bermuda,
he realized.

He recalled the day Jane had pleaded with him to go.

"We haven't had a real holiday since Ryan was born," she'd said, "and you could use a break. We both could." She giggled and leaned close to his ear. "Besides, we could have vacation sex. Lots of it."

How could he say no to vacation sex?

That night Jane appeared in the bathroom doorway, wearing some black slinky thing. "Do you like? I bought it online at Victoria's Secret. For this trip."

"
Victoria's Secret, huh?" He could see her hardened nipples through the lace. "I'm not sure it's working."

Her smile wavered.
"What do you mean?"

Marcus tugged her against him.
"It's not keeping your secret. I know exactly what you're thinking. And what you want."

"
You do, do you?"

Jane turned her face and he captured her lips.

"I do," he said when he pulled away.

He
'd spent the rest of the night showing her. Twice.

Now, in his dream, he watched them on the beach. Jane, all tanned and carefree, chased Ryan along the waterline. Ryan ran backward, taunting her.
"You can't catch me!"

Marcus started running after them, even though he knew it was a dream.

"You can't catch us, Dad," Ryan hollered.

Marcus ran faster, his heart pumping erratically. Gasping. Faster. Pulse racing. But no matter how hard he ran, the distance between them grew.

"Wait!" he cried out. "Wait for me!"

Still running, Jane grabbed Ryan
's hand. "You can't catch us, Marcus."

He watched in horror as their bodies faded in the sunlight and the waves washed away their feet. Then their legs and arms. When they disappeared completely, he let out a gut-wrenching howl of anguish.

He woke up, howling. "Don't leave me!"

But he was alone, with the exception of Arizona, who sat on the floor beside the recliner and rested her head on his lap.

"I'm okay," he said, stroking the dog's silky fur.

The
soulful look in her eyes suggested she disagreed.

"
Yeah, I know. I don't believe me either."

From the clock on the mantle
, he estimated he'd dozed off for nearly an hour. The Eastwood movie was still on, and good old Clint was loading up some deadly looking guns. The hero of the movie was out for revenge, and someone was about to pay.

"
I know how you feel, Clint," he muttered.

He
'd give anything to be able to hunt down the person responsible for making his life a living hell. Except he had no one to blame but himself.

The flickering red light of the answering machine caught his eye. He
'd forgotten to check it when he got home. Not that his phone was ringing off the hook these days.

"
Marcus, it's Wanda." His mother-in-law. "Are you coming to Edmonton next month? For the…you know, the get-together? Give me a call when you can, dear." There was a protracted pause. "Marcus, take care of yourself."

He knew exactly what get-together Wanda was referring to
—the annual memorial party for Jane and Ryan. Wanda had done the same thing every year since the death of her daughter and grandson's death. She always held it around June twenty-third, Jane's birthday. Once when he'd asked her why she didn't hold it in May, the month Ryan and Jane had died, Wanda had told him she couldn't function in May because of Mother's Day. She didn't consider that Jane's birthday was close to Father's Day.

He had attended the first two memorial parties.
Three generations of family had gathered at Jane's parents' house, half of them drinking from morning to night, while the other half walked around in a grief-stricken stupor. Marcus had joined both halves, and everything had gone fine until one of Jane's uncles shoved him up against a wall in the upstairs hallway.

"
I can't understand why you're here," the old man spat. "You killed 'em just as if you drowned 'em yourself. Where were you when they needed you? If you hadn't been so selfish going off to that damned cabin by yourself so you could get high, they never would have driven out there. They were going to see
you
, you worthless piece of shit!"

Tormented by
self-blame, Marcus had driven off into the night. He found himself in a downtown alley inhabited by dealers and hookers. Sex didn't interest him, but the drugs did. So he drowned his sorrow in a drug-induced fog that left him passed out on the floor in his bathroom. In his own vomit.

He hadn't gone to the last three memorials. He couldn't face the condemnation in their eyes. He'd told his mother-in-law he was working and couldn't get the time off. It was a lie, of course. Even Shipley wouldn't be so heartless as to deny such a request.

Marcus considered Wanda's invitation.
No, I can't do that again.

He deleted the message.

Behind him, Arizona barked twice. When he glanced in her direction, she had the leash in her mouth.

"
Okay, okay. I get the hint. I'll get off my lazy ass and take you for a walk."

Arizona wagged her auburn tail and dropped the leash by his feet.

The residential area Marcus lived in had few houses. Most were separated by decades-old trees and spacious yards. In the shadows, nothing moved. No cars, no people.

"
Looks like everyone's asleep," he said to Arizona. "So no barking."

The air was cool, no breeze.

As Marcus neared the end of the road where it opened into a wooded ravine, he glanced at the charming two-story Victorian on the corner. There was a
For Sale
sign on the front lawn.

Old Mrs. Landry
's house. She'd lived there, alone, up until a week ago when she died in her sleep. He'd seen the ambulance parked in front. The paramedic said she died from a heart attack. Poor woman. No family that anyone could find, but more friends than the mayor himself. Yeah, Mrs. Landry could charm the stinger off a wasp.

Prior to her death,
the ninety-seven-year-old woman had been a gem of a neighbor, always friendly to anyone who passed her house, and she'd talk up a storm to anyone who listened. She hired neighborhood teens and foreigners to keep her yard the envy of the neighbors, but mostly, Marcus guessed, so she had regular company. It wasn't uncommon to see her sitting on her front porch sipping lemonade with the unwitting prey of the day. Though, in her defense, her visitors seemed happy to oblige.

Marcus had obliged a few times and was regaled with stories from the Second World War and her late husband, Richard, a recipient of one of the highest honors for a Canadian
war veteran—the Victoria Cross.

He
inhaled deeply. The air was fragranced by the numerous pine and lilac trees that lined Mrs. Landry's property. Jane would have loved that house. And the yard. She probably would have adopted Mrs. Landry too.