I begin to drop, to sink.
I sink, and sink.
Just when I’m sure it’s over, when I know I’m about to pass out, my back hits something hard, and then what feels like sand and pebbles swirl around me, chafing me.
I’ve reached the bottom, and suddenly my ally propels me beyond the hydraulic.
With my pulse roaring in my ears, the river spits me out.
As I break the surface of the water, I gasp, cough, and wheeze, and gasp again. I fill my lungs, exhale, and fill them again. Sputtering, I inhale and exhale again and again. I roll to my back, letting the river carry me. I breathe deep, over and over.
“Adelia!”
Did someone call my name?
A light flashes, then it’s gone. The sloshing, churning water is in my ears, surrounding me in every direction, the tumult constant. I’m sure I’ve imagined it. I have nothing left. Nothing. The river begins tossing me to and fro, sloshing over me, pulling me down again.
It will take me where it will.
The light flashes again. They’re looking for me. Suddenly something jerks my shoulders from above, causing my dry suit to cut into my neck, and I’m lifted out of the water, pulled from the current. Hands wrap around my upper arms, and I’m flung over the side of the raft.
They’ve found me and pulled me in. I’m on my back, on the bottom of the raft, legs still draped over the side.
“Is she conscious?” A female voice yells above the din.
I open my eyes and see the faces above me, young faces, worried. And then I know what I must do regardless of the effort it takes.
I smile.
I open my mouth, take one more breath, and then force a laugh. “Whoa… Great ride.” I will myself to move, to roll myself over, every inch of my body screaming as I do. That done, one of the guys reaches for my elbow. And with him steadying me, I get myself in a sitting position.
One of the other guys is leaning over the side of the raft, the stick end of the paddle in the water. When he pulls the paddle in, my vest is hooked to the handle, its reflective tape shimmering in the moonlight.
Arms like noodles, I struggle into the vest, just as I’d struggled out of it. I get back into position and someone hands me a paddle, and although my arms are limp, I look at Daphne, seated at an angle across from me on the other side of the raft, and I lift the paddle and hope she can’t see my arms trembling from the exertion. “Like I said, it’s not my first rodeo,” I yell.
The bravado I work to convey is false.
I am alive by no feat of my own.
I am alive only because God has spared me.
Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Denilyn
January 2010
After Keith left, I spent the next two days alone. I didn’t leave the house. I didn’t speak with anyone. I couldn’t bear the thought of telling anyone what had happened. It was more than wounded pride. Maybe it was hope—the hope that Keith would change his mind or come to his senses. Hope that he’d miss me. That he’d realize he’d made a horrible mistake. But with each passing hour, hope waned like the warmth of the setting sun and was instead replaced with the icy realization that my husband had left me when I needed him most.
He hadn’t completely abandoned me. He’d sent one text letting me know he was staying with a friend from college and would be in touch. He asked me to let him know when would be a good time to come by and pick up more of his things.
But that was it. No remorse. No regret. Or so it seemed.
I’d canceled my clients and texted Jay, feigning illness. Which wasn’t much of a stretch. I felt ill. More than sick. I could barely function.
Finally, on the third day, after two sleepless nights, I called my mom.
Sobbing.
And asked if I could come home.
Someone had threatened my life, and my husband was gone. Staying at the house alone wasn’t only unwise; it wasn’t healthy. I needed help.
I’d stuffed a few clothing items and toiletries into an overnight bag and made the ten-minute drive to my mom’s. When I pulled up in front of her house, she was standing on the porch waiting for me. She came to the car, and when I got out she folded me into a hug and held me tight. I stood there on the street in my mother’s arms and cried like a wounded child.
She finally pulled back from me and brushed the hair off my face. Keeping one arm around my shoulders, she took my bag and walked me to the house, never letting go of me.
My mother’s home, my parents’ home until my dad died, was the house I’d grown up in—a rambling ranch on an acre-plus lot, with towering liquid ambers in the front yard and a heritage oak in the back, its branches stretching above the roofline. The trees had dropped their leaves like tears and now stood barren against the cloud-streaked sky.
Walking into the entry hall was like stepping into the past. I’d had that sense every time I returned since I left for college, which seemed so long ago now. My mom set my bag in the entry and led me into the kitchen, where she sat me at the old oak kitchen table.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She returned with a box of tissues and a warm washcloth. “Wipe your eyes, blow your nose, and wash your face. You’ll feel better.”
I followed her instructions. And she was right, of course. I got up from the table and went to the laundry room, where I tossed the used tissues into the trash and dropped the washcloth into the washing machine. My eyes were swollen and my nose stuffed, but just being here, rather than sitting at home alone, was restorative.
I went back into the kitchen and sat at the table again.
My mom stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “I pulled some homemade potato soup out of the freezer. I know it’s one of your favorites.”
My stomach rumbled. How long had it been since I’d eaten anything?
“You ready to talk about it? Tell me what happened?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. When this whole stalker thing started, Keith turned into someone else. He… couldn’t handle it.”
My mom set down the spoon she had been holding, turned and faced me, and put her hands on her hips. “He couldn’t handle it?” She started to say something more but seemed to think better of it. She turned back to the stove, lowered the flame on the burner, then turned back to me. “Darling, I am so sorry. I cannot imagine what you’re feeling. What you’re going through.”
“When it rains, it pours. Isn’t that what you always said?”
“Yes, but with all that’s happening, it’s more like you’re in the midst of a hurricane.” She reached into a cabinet and pulled out two bowls and then two plates. She set them on placemats on the table. “I’m going to feed you, and then I’ll let you tell me what you need after that.”
“I don’t know what I need.”
“That’s all right. We’ll figure it out together.” She took my face in her hands. “You’re not alone in this, Deni. You are not alone.”
Tears welled again. “Thank you,” I whispered.
When she ladled the steaming soup into my bowl and placed two pieces of homemade buttered bread on my plate, I wasn’t sure I could eat them. But after the first bite of the soup, my stomach rumbled again, and I ate all of what she’d given me plus a second bowl. The food not only nourished me but also offered comfort I hadn’t had the strength to afford myself while alone.
Sated by the meal, I wanted nothing more than to sleep. Though it was only midafternoon, I pulled on the flannel pajamas I’d stuffed into my overnight bag, crawled into the bed in my old bedroom, and slept straight through the afternoon and night.
When I woke the next morning, the room was already bright, and the scent of coffee wafted from the kitchen. I still woke with the dread of knowing something was wrong, and then I recalled what had happened. But at least I’d slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that my mother was nearby and that, hopefully, Bradley Mathison had no idea where I was.
W
hen I left home, I was watchful, making certain no one followed me. Or, at least as certain as possible.
I got out of bed and padded to the kitchen.
“Good morning, darling. Coffee?” My mom got up from the table, where her Bible lay open and her own cup of coffee stood by.
“Please, but I’ll get it.” I pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it with the strong coffee.
“Did the phone wake you?”
“I don’t know—I wasn’t aware of it if it did.”
“Ryan called. He said he’d called your cell phone several times over the last few days but hadn’t heard from you. He was worried.”
“What did you tell him?” I’d seen his messages but hadn’t had the energy either to listen to them or return his calls.
“I told him you were here and that I’d relay the message that he was trying to reach you.”
“I guess it’s time I told him. And Jay too. I don’t know when I can work again.” I sat down at the table with my mom. “Even after a full night of sleep, I’m exhausted. I’ve never felt so tired.”
“You have a lot on your plate, Denilyn. Give yourself some time. What can I make you for breakfast?”
“This is fine.” I lifted the mug.
“If you want to get your strength back, you need to take care of yourself, including eating. How about scrambled eggs? I’ll scramble in some vegetables.”
My stomach roiled at the thought. “No, no. I can’t. Maybe just a piece of toast?” I knew I needed to eat something to appease her, but nothing I could think of sounded good. “But I don’t need you to wait on me. I’ll make it when I’m ready.”
“I’ll let you do that.” She smiled. “Is there anything new on the case?”
I sighed. “No. I gave his name to the lead detective, but they haven’t tracked him down yet. The last address they’ve found for him is in Three Rivers. But hopefully they’ll have him soon.”
“Yes. Then we will all rest easier.”
“I thought about that—about how Keith will feel once they make an arrest. Will he come back then? It isn’t as simple as just walking back in the door. Surely he knows that.”
“No, you’ll have quite a bit of work to do, I’d imagine. How do you feel about that?”
I set my mug down and leaned back in the chair. “Honestly? I don’t know. I can’t predict what Keith will do, but after what he’s said, I have a hard time believing he’d do that kind of work. I’m committed to him, to our marriage, but I want a husband who can offer emotional support when something goes wrong. Daddy never would have walked away when you needed him.”
“No, he wouldn’t have. But you can’t compare the two—they’re different men. Though I don’t think your expectation, or desire, is unreasonable. Having a spouse who will stand by you when life throws you something unexpected and difficult, extremely difficult, is part of what marriage is about. ‘For better or worse…’”
I stared past my mom for a moment, remembering something Keith had said. Then I looked at her. “He told me he feels trapped. Maybe there’s more going on than he said. Maybe there’s… someone else.”
“Denilyn, speculation isn’t helpful. Deal in the facts as they’re presented to you.”
She was right, but I struggled to remain focused on the facts. It seemed too many were missing.
After making a piece of toast and forcing it down, I excused myself to make phone calls. I’d get them over with before I showered.
With the aid of a good night’s sleep, a dose of caffeine, and the conversation with my mother, a measure of clarity returned. I wouldn’t let Keith leave me hanging. It was time I stood up not only for myself but also for our marriage. I picked up my phone and called him, but when he didn’t answer and I heard his voice on voice mail, my resolve wavered.
“It’s me. Please call me when you can. We need to… work through some things.” That was an understatement.
Next I left messages for both Jay and Ryan and asked each of them if they could coordinate a time to get together and talk. I asked Jay to include Gabe. My reserves were low, so meeting them together seemed best, and I preferred time with them rather than a phone call.
I needed my closest friends to surround me.
Two nights later I stood at my mother’s kitchen sink, which faced the street, as I rinsed our dinner dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. We’d had a simple meal, an early dinner, before my mother would leave for her book club gathering and I would leave to meet Ryan at Jay and Gabe’s. When Jay offered to have us at their place, I welcomed the invitation. I didn’t want to share the news of Keith’s leaving in a coffee shop or restaurant.
As I rinsed the last pieces of silverware, headlights on the street outside drew my attention. The car seemed to make a slow pass by the house. I turned off the faucet and stood watching. Was it someone who was lost and looking for an address? Or was it him? Had he found me somehow?
I bent down and placed the silverware in the dishwasher, then reached up and flipped the switch to turn off the light over the kitchen sink. I also turned off the other overhead lights in the kitchen. I returned to the sink, where I could watch the street. Just as I’d decided I was making something out of nothing, what appeared to be the same car came again, this time from the opposite direction, as though the driver had turned around at the end of the street.
The car slowed and then came to a stop in front of my mother’s house. The driver didn’t pull over or park the car. Instead, he stopped in the middle of the street. Because it was dark, I couldn’t see the driver’s face. But I could see his silhouette. He was lit from behind by the neighbor’s porch light across the street.
It appeared his head was turned in my direction. Was he watching the house? Watching me? Had he seen me standing at the sink when he made his first pass?
“Mom.” When she didn’t respond, I called her again, louder this time. “Mom.”
“What is it, Deni?” She called from her bedroom.
Just as I was going to respond, the car rolled forward, then drove away. Was it him? I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell from the little I saw of him. It could have been anyone. “Never mind.”
My heartbeat pulsed in my ears. There was no way to know who was in the car. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was someone admiring the house or looking for someone or—anything. There were several possible explanations.
But just in case, I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my sweater and called Detective Neibuhr. When I’d let him know I was staying with my mother, he’d told me to report anything that seemed out of place or suspicious. At the time, I wondered if all I was reporting was my own paranoia.
But later I’d know otherwise.
We sat in Jay and Gabe’s family room, where a fire crackled in the fireplace and copper mugs filled with steaming cider sat on a tray on the coffee table.
“What do you mean he left?” Gabe sat with his elbows on his knees. “For the evening? Or what?”
“So, you haven’t heard from him?” I asked Gabe. “I hoped he’d talk to you.”
Gabe shook his head. “Not a word.”
Ryan sat nearest me on the L-shaped sectional in front of the fireplace. He reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. “He left? For good? Or…?”
“He said he couldn’t handle everything that was going on. He feels trapped.” I shrugged. “I can’t tell you more than that. I don’t know more than that. He packed some things and is staying with a friend. I guess we’re… separated.” It was the first time I’d said the word or even let myself really consider it. “I left him a message the day before yesterday, but he hasn’t called me. I tried again this afternoon, but… nothing. I’m hoping he just needs some time. I don’t know.”
“You’re not staying alone at the house are you?” Gabe asked.
“She’s staying at her mom’s.” Ryan looked from Gabe to me. “What do you need from us? What can we do?”
“You’re doing it right now. I just need yo
ur support. I’m not even sure what that means at this point. I’m confused. I’m scared. I’m spent.”
“You know you’ve got our support—whatever you need.” Jay had remained silent until that point. “But Keith?” She shook her head. “No. He best not be comin’ around here.”
“Jay, he’s…” I hesitated. I didn’t know what Keith was thinking or feeling. I didn’t know him at all, it seemed.
“I’m angry. I’m sorry if that’s hard on you right now. But just allow me my anger. If Gabe wants to talk with him, that’s up to him. But I’m supporting you. You got that?”
“Yes. And… thank you.”
“I’m not takin’ sides. I’m just angry right now. That’s mine to own and work through.”
I reached for a mug of the cider and warmed my hands around it. The scent of cinnamon and cloves swirled in the steam rising from the mug. But what normally offered comfort, instead annoyed. I set the mug back on the tray. “I should go. I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Ryan got up from the sofa.
Gabe and Jay followed and walked us to the door.
“Is your mother’s home secure?” Gabe asked as we stood at the door.
“I feel safe there. Although…” I told him about the car I’d seen earlier in the evening. “I reported it to Dan Neibuhr, but I’m sure it was nothing.”
“Deni, you need to flip your thinking right now. Everything is something until you know it isn’t. This is no time for denial. Keep your eyes open. Pay attention. Report anything that doesn’t look right or feel right.” Gabe pulled my coat off the rack in their entry hall and handed it to me. “Got it?”
The tide of fear rose, threatening to drown me. “Yes.”
“Your mama gonna be there when you get back?”
“She’s out, but she won’t be too late.”
“I’ll follow her home,” Ryan said to Jay and Gabe.
“That’s not—”
“It is necessary, Deni. We’re close to picking up Mathison, but we don’t have him yet. Let Ryan follow you and get you into the house.” Then Gabe gave me a hug. “This part is almost over. We’ll get him.”
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