by A. J. Banner
But what is his weakness? His obsession?
On a hunch, I type in “lemon thyme,” his mother’s favorite plant. Nothing.
What was the scientific term? If nothing else, my background in marine biology taught me to remember complicated words. I type in thymuscitriodorus, running the two words together, Thymus and citriodorus. I’m surprised I remembered them. The screen turns blue for a moment, and then the word plays across the screen, reading, Welcome, and I’m in. An icon on the task bar indicates the computer is connected to the Internet.
With trembling fingers, I enter “Kyra Winthrop” in the Google search box. The Internet does not crash. Instead, numerous links pop up. The first page shows a few other Kyras. I scroll through the hits, but I can’t find anything recent. Nothing about the accident, the dive. Nothing about me. The results don’t match the hits that popped up on my computer when I searched the Internet. The question is, why? An idea comes to me.
I peer behind his computer. A gray cable extends from the back of the chassis to the satellite Internet router on a shelf beneath the desk. Could he be routing the Internet through his computer first, before any information reaches my computer? The idea seems improbable, and yet. His words echo in my mind, from our dinner with Nancy and Van. I’m the boss. I can make anything possible.
I enter “Kyra Munin” next, and a photo album from a wedding photographer’s website pops up: Kyra’s Wedding. I’m in a familiar, shimmering dress. We’re sitting on a stone wall in a tight embrace, cheek to cheek. I blink, look at the photograph again, and rub my eyes. Aiden is wearing a dashing tuxedo. I click back to the main page, Aiden and Kyra, August 20. Friday Harbor. Our Wedding Day.
In the photographs, late-afternoon sunlight casts faint halos around Aiden and me. Of course we were married three years ago. I’ve always known. The truth waited patiently in the shadows, hoping to be found. Aiden and I fell deeply, fiercely in love. We planned to be together for the rest of our lives. Here we are, sitting on the stone wall holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes.
The wedding photographer left no setting unexplored. We’re running together at the beach, in the forest, hand in hand. Locked in a passionate embrace, kissing. Framed by the sunset. We’re standing close to each other, facing each other, with a blur of greenery in the background. Aiden lifts my hand to his lips. I’m smiling up at him. I’m a few pounds heavier, with thick lashes, pink cheeks.
In another artsy shot, a dried sea star rests on a tablecloth, holding a wedding ring on each of its arms. The rings are engraved with iconic Northwest Native depictions of the orca. I remember now. We chose the rings together. We wrote our own vows. We never wanted to be conventional. Aiden gazed down at me, the afternoon sunlight on his hair. His fingers trembled as he held my hands. I hoped nobody could see how nervous I was. The day was pleasantly warm. I could feel our friends watching from their seats, surprised by our hasty decision to marry, but delighted for us all the same. The officiant, a balding man in thick glasses, nodded gently to Aiden, urging him to begin. Aiden cleared his throat and said, I’m glad to be on this planet, hurtling through space with you, celebrating each moment of our love. I can’t wait to find out what tomorrow will bring. I get to spend the rest of my life with you . . .
The script of our ceremony appears on the screen, but the words blur through my tears. How could I have forgotten? I floated through the wedding on a cloud. I thought, I will never be happier than I am today.
Beneath my joy ran a current of melancholy. My parents would never share in my happiness. My father could not give me away. My mother could not help me choose my gown. But I felt their presence in the ocean air wafting over us, clean and salty, in the waves whispering our names. My heart was full of adoration, full of love.
The next dreamy photographs show Aiden and me exchanging rings. I said, I will always be kind to you, and faithful, and forgiving . . . Aiden said, These are only rings, two chunks of metal. What I give you is my complete devotion, my undying love.
I replied, Our love cannot be lost, exchanged, or stolen. Unlike these rings, we cannot remove our devotion to each other, now or ever.
As I said, now or ever, I spotted Jacob sitting in the front row of the audience, looking in my direction, his gaze focused, riveted on me. The other guests were smiling, and Linny wiped a tear from her cheek. But Jacob’s face was tight, his lips set in a line. He didn’t look happy for us, not even a bit. And when the guests threw lavender buds as a send-off, he stood motionless on the curb. Aiden drove us away in his convertible, and I looked back over my shoulder to wave at our friends. Jacob was the only one who didn’t wave back. He dropped his cone of lavender buds on the sidewalk, then he turned and walked away.
The sunshine of that August day disappears. The pounding rain intrudes on my memory. A raging wind rattles the windows. I push Jacob’s chair back from his desk, my mind spinning. A more complete picture begins to take shape. I’m falling into Aiden’s arms on the trail, showing him the chiton on the beach, buying a silk G-string. I did all these things . . . with my husband.
Look at this ring, I said to Aiden. I was excited by the intricate carving, lit from above in the display case. Cars rumbled by; voices drifted around us in Pike Place Market. The fish stands smelled dank, of the sea, the sour odors mixing with the sweet, heady floral scents, the lavender lotions. The crowds jostled past us. Aiden came up next to me. He had to bend down to see inside the case.
Nice, he said.
They’re hand-carved by a local artist, I said.
Let’s get them.
But you don’t even know the price.
You can’t put a price on love.
We could look at other options.
What other options? We could look forever. Let’s get these.
That’s another thing I love about you, I said.
My inability to manage money?
No, your decisiveness.
It never does any good to waffle, he says. Your first instinct was good. You love orca carvings. We buy the orca rings. While we’re on the subject, why wait? Let’s get married, right now. Right here.
I laugh. Now? But I’m in jeans. We don’t have anyone to perform the ceremony. It’s too fast! I want our friends to be there. I need to plan, send out invitations.
Okay, compromise. We’ll plan a little. Tell them it’s a special event . . . We’ll surprise them. They won’t know why they’re dressing up.
Let’s think about this, I say.
There’s nothing to think about. You think too much. Tell them you’re celebrating a special birthday in Friday Harbor . . . We’ll shock them with a wedding. Last minute. I don’t want to be without you . . .
You’re not without me.
I want to tie the knot with you. As soon as possible.
All right, I say, giggling. This is crazy, but okay.
A week or so later, or was it two? When the guests arrived in Friday Harbor, they knew they were attending a special event, but they didn’t know what to expect. Jacob didn’t know. When he found out, he burst into the powder room at the Victorian Valley Chapel, out of breath. What are you doing? You’re rushing into this. You’ve known Aiden only a few weeks.
A few months, I say.
Hardly any time at all. Almost as long as you’ve known me.
How much time do we need?
More time than this.
You shouldn’t be in here.
Yes I should. Kyra, are you sure this isn’t too fast, too soon? He was not the groom checking on the bride. He was the best man, trying to convince me to postpone the ceremony. To cancel the wedding altogether.
With each click of the mouse, more breath is knocked from my lungs. In another photo, Linny helps me to do my hair. Wow, you threw us all for a loop! Several black-and-white still shots show Aiden and me on the dock in Friday Harbor, against a backdrop of old buildings, at the wedding with a small group of friends, including Jacob. The best man. Smiling, like he didn’t care. But now
I detect the tightness in his lips, the way his smile did not reach his eyes.
What happened after my wedding to Aiden? Breathe, in and out, keep your cool. Don’t panic. Slow on the exhale. The moments swirl in eddies and currents. What is going on here? What happened on the dive?
I click back to Google and read through the news. We were rescued, Jacob and I, but there was a third person diving with us. The shadowy diver. Aiden. He was there all along. Jacob must’ve altered the news, controlling what I saw on my computer. It seems too fantastic, unreal. And yet entirely possible, especially for a former programmer and hacker.
The news articles, the real news, reveal the truth.
Aiden Finlay was swept away by the currents in Deception Pass, but he was picked up by a coast guard boat, unconscious. He fell into a coma.
He was on the dive with us.
He was picked up.
My heart gallops; I can’t catch my breath. Where is he now? What led to the three of us diving together? Why did Jacob lie to me? What am I doing here? I’m blinded by intense loathing for Jacob, a wild rage, and . . . an overwhelming sense of relief. Aiden was on the dive, and he’s still alive.
Aiden Finlay’s friend, Jacob Winthrop, who was also on the dive, and Aiden Finlay’s wife, Kyra Munin-Finlay, who suffered a traumatic head injury, made it to a secluded beach. Munin-Finlay was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle for treatment. I am Kyra Munin-Finlay. I’m still Aiden’s wife.
What life have I been living here? The office, Jacob’s computer—everything in here. It’s all unreal. What happened? How did I end up here?
I remember sleeping with Jacob before. I know I did. But when? Did I leave him to marry Aiden? Or was I never married to Jacob? None of this makes any sense. My breathing comes fast and shallow.
Jacob is not my husband. He is not my husband. My heart hammers. My hands are tingling. Breathe, in and out, focus. Keep yourself together.
I was married to Aiden. I am married to Aiden. He’s still alive. Jacob, Aiden’s friend—how did he manage to take me away, to bring me to the island? Who else knows I’m here? Does anyone know?
Why didn’t I notice? There is no picture of Jacob and me reciting our vows. No image of the exchange of rings. In the blue-tinted pictures in the living room, we’re posing with friends, or dancing, or eating wedding cake. The pictures were printed from his computer. He was at the wedding.
There is Jacob, standing to the left of the wedding cake, walking toward me, while I stood to the right. Aiden was out of the picture. Jacob kissing my cheek. Jacob swinging me on the dance floor . . . May I dance with the bride?
Was this Jacob’s plan all along, to take away my memory? But it couldn’t have been. He could not have known I would hit my head on the dive. Did he try to kill me? Or Aiden? Or both of us?
I’m shaking all over, my heart beating so fast I’m afraid I might pass out. Jacob will find me on the floor of his office, and what will he do? On his desktop, he has arranged several folders in alphabetical order. Many of them are work-related document folders, but a familiar name catches my eye. I click on the folder marked Linny. A series of message files pops up—containing her emails to me.
Kyra, did you get my message yesterday? Something is wrong with my email.
. . . I’m trying your old email address . . .
. . . I’ve been trying to email you for two weeks, no reply. I’m worried about you . . .
. . . called the hospital. The doctors won’t tell me what’s going on, only that you checked out of rehab last week . . .
Making plans to come back, can’t reach you. Aiden says you left him.
How could Jacob do this? How could he intercept her messages and keep them from me? Why? In another subfolder, he included my messages to her, the ones that never reached her. He read the messages and sent me fake replies. You’re in the perfect marriage to Jacob . . . Don’t mess this one up. No wonder I thought Linny had changed so much in four years. She wasn’t Linny at all.
A little further down on the desktop, I find a folder marked Aiden. I wipe tears from my eyes, take a deep breath. The first message reads,
Dear Kyra,
When I woke in the hospital, you weren’t here. Why didn’t you come to see me? The doctors told me you’d been rescued, but you had head injuries and for a while, memory gaps. Even after you recovered, it’s hard for me to believe that you remember everything, otherwise, how could you leave me—us—so abruptly?
Jacob tells me that you were never quite the same after your injuries. That the Kyra we both knew had become cold, distant—and that you kept saying that you’d made a mistake in coming back to me. I didn’t believe him—until he brought me your letter. Why didn’t you bring it yourself? Were you afraid if you faced me, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it? At first, seeing your familiar handwriting filled me with hope. Until I kept reading.
We need to meet. I have to talk to you in person. I love you.
Aiden
Did I meet him in person? What happened after he wrote this first message? I click on the next one.
Dear Kyra,
I can’t believe you stood me up. If you weren’t ready, as you say, you should have let me know. I waited and waited for you. If you really believe the things you wrote, I have to let you go. But we could have at least met to talk. I should never have walked out on you, I realize that now, but I deserve to hear that face to face.
I want more than anything for you to be happy. If this accident has taught me anything, it’s that we have to try for what we want in life.
Aiden
What happened? The moments, the days, come back to me now, a tidal wave of remembered hours with Aiden, flooding my mind. Aiden and I, when our marriage began to crack, before I ever came to the island with Jacob.
Before
I can’t wait to get home to Aiden. But it’s a long haul from Alki Beach. Traffic slows through downtown, then thins out toward North Seattle. When I finally walk in the front door, he kisses my cheek. “You taste like salt. How was your day at the beach?”
My lower back aches, and I feel as though I could sleep for a year. “We were studying marine invertebrates. I expected to see more shield limpets but I saw only one.”
“Shield limpet. Another fascinating species I’ve never heard of.”
“The shell is striped. They live on rocks, and they can actually create a depression in the stone. It allows them to hold on in rough weather.”
“Maybe we could learn from them,” he says, taking my coat. It is now that I notice the dabs of paint on his clothes.
“You ruined those sexy jeans,” I say.
“These? They’re old,” he says, taking my hand. “I want to show you what I did today, while you were out being a mermaid.” He leads me back down the hall, which feels like a long way. My legs are leaden, the dull ache in my back more insistent.
Just outside the nursery door, he stops and turns to face me. “Blindfold.”
I place my hands over my eyes, playing the game, knowing he needs me to be enthusiastic. But what I really want to do is lie down. He leads me into the room.
“Ta-da!” he says.
I open my eyes and draw in a sharp breath. “You did all of this yourself?”
“More or less.” Along one wall, he’s installed white shelves filled with picture books. He’s added a crib, chest of drawers, and a Winnie-the-Pooh lamp. He’s painted the walls in a soft shade of blue, but I’m drawn to the tree, its lush foliage taking up an entire wall, an owl peering out—and birds in the sky. A soft breeze ruffles feather-light curtains. “It’s perfect,” I say, tears in my eyes.
He wraps his arms around my waist, kisses the top of my head. “I had the weirdest dream last night,” he says. “Our daughter was already four.”
“Daughter,” I say. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
“I have a feeling.”
“We decided we don’t want to know,” I say.
; “I dreamed we were in the playground in the backyard, which means I have to build one. It was so damned clear. She wanted to ride the horsey . . .”
“What was she like?”
“She had long dark hair, wavy like yours, but she had my double-jointed thumb. She pouted the way you pout, very effective with the bottom lip.”
“She’s not even born yet.”
“I know, but the dream was so vivid.”
A sliver of uneasiness works its way under my skin. The backache, my deadening fatigue. I know, even now, I already know. It’s happening again. A sudden, sharp pain doubles me over, and he lets go of me. “What’s wrong?” I hear him say from a distance. I run to the bathroom. He’s at the door, asking questions, but I keep saying I’m okay, I’ll be out in a minute. But he can tell that I’m not okay. He knows the vision of his daughter is already a pipe dream.
* * *
At night in bed, Aiden pulls me into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, stroking my hair. “It wasn’t meant to be.” I don’t know if he means the little girl, this pregnancy, or our marriage.
“Maybe not,” I say.
“We’ll try again.” But his voice sounds deflated, hopeless.
“What if we can’t?”
“Didn’t Dr. Gateman say we could?”
“What if she missed something? This is the second time.”
A deep silence follows. “Maybe it’s stress,” he says finally. “We could move away from here. Go to San Juan Island. I’ll start my own company.” He sounds desperate, as if he’s casting around for a solution.
“If it’s what you want,” I say.
“It’s what we need. A change of pace.”
“Just like that. You want to move.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t make any hasty decisions this time.”
He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
In the morning, something has changed, as if the world of our marriage has tilted on its axis. Aiden seems pensive, distant. He kisses my forehead before he goes to work. No kiss on the lips, no smile of hope and promise. There is a wedge of loss between us. In the nursery, the leaves on the trees seem to be falling.