“What kind of friend is he?” She repeated his words. “We were having sex in the pool five minutes before you arrived.”
He recoiled slightly, and she decided not to completely abandon her plan to win him over. “I’m kidding,” she said. “I just met him this morning. But we need to talk about us, about you coming here. It’s crazy, you know that, right?”
“I do,” he said. “I know it’s crazy, but I also know that what happened between us was special. It was the best night of my life, Abigail.”
“Before we go any further, I need to know your real name. It’s not fair that you know mine.”
“It’s Scott, or you can keep calling me Scottie if you’d like.” He blinked twice, and Abigail wondered if he was lying.
“But that was just your made-up name for that night. I made it up for you,” she said.
“I know, but you guessed my real name. I suppose it had something to do with me saying that I was going to call you Madeleine. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think I called you that name because of Vertigo, maybe I was subconsciously channeling Scottie from that film. And you picked up on it. That was when I first knew that we were meant to be together.”
“I think it was a random accident,” Abigail said.
“You don’t really believe that, do you? There are no random accidents.”
“I actually believe that everything is a random accident. I’m sorry. I really do.” He started to interrupt her, but she kept going. “Look, will you do me a favor and hear me out? Let me talk for a while, uninterrupted.”
“Okay.”
“What happened between us in California was a huge mistake. I drank far too much, and it should never have happened. That doesn’t mean that I don’t find you attractive, and that, if I was available, I wouldn’t be interested in pursuing things with you. But I’m not available. I am in love with my husband, and protecting what we have together is the most important thing in my life right now. I am asking you … no, I am begging you, Scottie, to please just drop this. We had a nice night, and that’s all there is to it. We are never going to be together. Not under any circumstances, and definitely not if you do anything to jeopardize my marriage. Is that clear?”
He had begun gently shaking his head about halfway through her speech and he was still doing it.
“It’s clear, but I don’t believe you,” he finally said.
“What part don’t you believe?”
“I don’t believe you’re in love with your husband. If you really were, then you’d never have slept with me three weeks before your wedding.”
“Like I said, I made a mistake, and I have to live with that mistake. It’s very possible that I had some reservations three weeks ago, but after we were together those reservations went away. I’m sorry if it hurts to hear that, but it’s the truth. I’m not a perfect person. I fucked up, and if Bruce finds out about it, if you think you need to tell him about it, I will fight to the end of my life to win his trust back.” She saw what looked like self-doubt sneak into Scottie’s eyes, and she kept going. “We’re just strangers, you and I,” she said. “I’m sorry if you thought otherwise.”
“Do you remember when we were in my room at the vineyard?” he said.
Abigail didn’t immediately say anything, thinking he was going to continue, but he didn’t. “I do,” she finally said, “but I was drunk, Scottie. I really was. That whole night is a blur to me.”
“The whole night?” He smiled expectantly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Abigail said.
“It was good sex. It was the best sex.”
“Like I said, it—”
“And there was that one moment—I know you remember it—when we were making love, and our hands intertwined, and just for a moment I felt it pass between the two of us. My soul went into yours, and your soul went into mine. I know that you felt it, too.”
Abigail shook her head. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, but I didn’t.”
“Maybe you just don’t remember it, but it happened, I promise you.” He’d leaned in, and Abigail could see tiny beads of perspiration along his hairline, even though it wasn’t warm out.
“Even if we had this moment, this intense experience, it doesn’t change anything, you realize that,” she said.
“It does. It changes everything.”
Abigail’s hair was still damp from her shower and she was beginning to get cold. She shivered a little, then said, “It doesn’t. I’ve said all I have to say. This is over, Scottie.”
“There’s only one way I’ll consider this over,” he said, and shifted a little closer to her along the bench. “You need to prove it to me. I know that we had that moment, and I do believe you that maybe you don’t remember it. I get it. But I’m not going to leave here unless you agree to make love with me one more time.”
Abigail expelled a breath, then laughed a little, not caring if it pissed him off. “That will never happen.”
“Why? You already cheated on your husband. What’s one more time? And if you’re right and we mean nothing to each other, then I’ll know. And I’ll leave you alone.”
Spreading out her words, Abigail said, “I am on my honeymoon. I will never sleep with you again, and if you don’t leave me alone, I will call the police.”
“Then Bruce will find out everything.”
“I’m asking you to please not do that,” Abigail said.
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“I realize that. That’s why I’m asking. Please don’t tell him. Not for me, but for him.”
“Why not? He should know the truth.”
“You say you think we have a connection, then you should honor it. Please, for me. Don’t tell him. It would hurt him too much.”
“It would hurt you too much, you mean,” he said.
Abigail realized that what Scott was trying to do was keep her here talking to him, and she was starting to get annoyed. “Look,” she said. “Do what you want. If you care for me like you say you do, you’ll leave me alone, let me live my life. And if you decide you want to hurt me, then go ahead and tell Bruce what you want to tell him. I’ll tell him my story, and we’ll see who he believes. Okay?”
“He’ll believe me,” he said.
“Fine. If that’s what you think.”
“I’ll tell him about the birthmark.”
Abigail paused for a moment, confused, then remembered the birthmark under her left breast. She then remembered the strawberry birthmark under her left breast, shaped like a crescent moon, lightly pink and threaded with red. When she was young it was very visible, up near her top rib, but then when she developed breasts it had become hidden, and she’d pretty much forgotten about it.
Abigail stood, annoyed that her legs were shaky. “Fine, tell him anything you want. It’s up to you. I can’t stop you.”
“I’m two bunks down from you. It’s called Pinehaven. I’m here for four more days. Come down some night after your husband has fallen asleep. If you give me one more chance, I’ll let you go. I promise. He’ll never know.”
“Fuck you,” Abigail said, “and while we’re at it, fuck you for following me to New York and for showing up at my wedding.”
She walked away from him down the path before he could say anything back to her. Her heart was racing, and her arms tingled. She checked her watch. It was not quite eleven. She’d have time to go back to the bunk, get changed for lunch. She hoped Bruce wasn’t there, that he was still on his walk. She needed more time to think about what had just happened, and what to do next.
When she got back to the bunk it was empty. Out of habit, she grabbed her cell phone and checked to see if there was any service, but there wasn’t. If she had service, she’d google “Scott Baumgart” to find out if that was really his name. Maybe he was a lunatic with a police record? Also, if she had service, she could call Zoe, tell her what had happened, and ask her for advice. That was what she really wanted to do, more than anythin
g. She looked up Zoe’s phone number on her contact list and wrote it down on the inside cover of the paperback novel she’d brought with her to read. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to speak with her best friend, to hear her voice.
She left the bunk and walked swiftly toward the lodge. The day had turned a little warmer, but the sky was still cloudy, a solid bank of gray, a hazy spot where the sun was located. In the hall of the lodge one of the employees was stacking wood by the fireplace, and Abigail asked him where the phone was.
“What phone?” he said.
“You must have a landline, for guests to use?”
“Of course. Is it an emergency?” The man, about her age and with a military buzz cut, looked genuinely concerned.
“No, not a huge emergency. There was something that I needed to tell my friend before I left for here and I totally forgot. I just need to at least leave her a message.” Why was she having to explain this?
“Not a problem,” he said, and she followed him up a stairwell to a balcony that ran the length of the hall, then through an open door that led to an office space, in which there were five desks, three of which had large desktop computers. There was a printer station, and the walls were covered with large detailed maps that looked to be of the island. Mellie, the woman who had brought Abigail to the pool this morning, sat at one of the computers, her back to them, and when the man gently touched her on the shoulder, she let out a short scream that made Abigail jump as well.
“Jesus.” She turned to them, swiveling on the chair. “You scared the shit out of me, Glen. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Then she looked at Abigail and said, “I’m sorry. I thought I was alone up here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Abigail said. “I get scared like that at least once a day.”
The woman laughed, and Abigail said, “Mellie, right?” Then she glanced at the computer screen behind her, wondering if what she was looking at had anything to do with her reaction. But the screen was blank, just a box in the middle where a password would go.
“Abigail, what can I help you with?” she asked, recovering.
“I was hoping to use a phone for a quick call.”
“Oh sure,” she said, glancing at Glen. “I can show you where it is.”
“Thanks, Mellie,” Glen said, and retreated out of the room, while Abigail was led to one of the desks that didn’t have a computer, but which had a phone on it.
“Dial nine to get an outside line,” she said, then left Abigail alone.
Abigail opened her paperback—it was her well-worn copy of We Have Always Lived in the Castle—and punched in the number. She heard several ominous clicks and then there was a distant ringing.
“Hello?”
“Zoe, hi, it’s Ab.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Abigail reflexively said, then added, “Well, no, actually. I can’t talk long, but I need you to do me a favor, okay?”
“What’s wrong?”
Abigail, aware of the presence of Mellie, leaned forward over the phone and lowered her voice. “Remember that guy in California? At the bachelorette party?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s here.”
“What?”
“He followed me here. He thinks we’re in love.”
“He’s there on the island? Staying there?”
“Yes. And I’m pretty sure he was at the wedding, too, skulk ing around.”
“What?”
“I know. It’s nuts.”
“Jesus,” Zoe said. “Does Bruce know?”
“No. Not yet. I might just tell him … I don’t know.”
“What would he do if you told him?”
“He’d leave me. It would all be over. Our marriage would be over.”
“Then don’t tell him,” Zoe said.
“The guy … this guy, whatever his name is, says he’s going to tell Bruce about us. I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out.”
“Ab, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Can you do me a favor? Can you look him up? He says his name is Scott Baumgart—probably B-A-U-M-G-A-R-T—although I’m not totally sure he’s telling the truth. See if you can find something out about him. He said he was a carpenter but that he did regional theater. That might help. And he said he lived in San Francisco.”
“I’m walking right now. Dan’s car’s in the garage so he took mine and now I have to walk to work.”
“You don’t have to do it right now, but as soon as you can, okay? There’s no internet here, no service at all, but I can call you back on this line.”
“What’s his name again?”
Abigail told her, and they agreed that Abigail would call back sometime later in the evening to get a full report. After hanging up, Abigail stayed at the desk for a moment, wondering how much Mellie had heard, but when she turned to go, she found that Mellie had disappeared from the room. She was alone, and she stood for a moment, wondering if there was a computer she could get onto. But just as she was considering her options, she heard someone bustling by in the hallway and abandoned the plan. She found her way back to the main hall, where a few more people had gathered and the bar was now open. There was a seat open by the fireplace and Abigail decided to take it, wait for Bruce to show up.
CHAPTER 15
Thought I’d lost you,” Bruce said as he settled in across from her ten minutes later. He was wearing a fleece with his company logo on it, and hiking pants, and his cheeks were flushed as though he’d been outside all morning.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Abigail said. “It’s so strange not to have cell phones, otherwise I’d just have texted you.”
“How was your morning?”
“I’ll tell you all about it, but right now I’m famished.”
Lunch turned out to be a buffet. Abigail actually wasn’t that hungry, her stomach still in a tight knot from her encounter with Scott earlier that morning, but she managed to have some tomato bisque, which came with slivers of toasted sourdough topped with Gruyère cheese.
“So you had a good morning?” Bruce asked, for the second time, after they’d finished their meals.
“Yes, that pool is beautiful, but no more of this separation, okay? It’s our honeymoon and we should do things together.”
“Agreed. No more separation.”
They walked back to their bunk together, the day darker and the sky beginning to spit rain. It felt like dusk and the inside of the bunk was dark. Bruce began to light a candle by the bed.
“No, don’t,” Abigail said.
Bruce shook the match out, and Abigail undressed and slid under the covers. She could hear the distant roll of thunder, and the window that looked out toward the pond lit up with a weak flash of lightning. Bruce began to undress as well. Unlike the night before, when the thought of having sex with Bruce made her almost queasy, she was now physically aching for him to touch her. Scott might wreck their lives together, but he couldn’t wreck this particular afternoon, Abigail thought.
Bruce slid under the covers quickly. Despite how much he liked to look at her when she was naked, he was modest himself, often turning away when he undressed.
“This is nice,” Abigail said, as she slid a thigh across him and their lips met. The light from the window was projecting streaks of rain onto their skin. “Let’s stay here all day, okay?”
“Let’s,” Bruce said, and shifted underneath her. He wasn’t hard yet, so she slid down his body and took him in her mouth, his hips rocking slightly, a hand cupping her breast. She pulled herself back up and was surprised when Bruce flipped her onto her back, buried his face in her neck, and entered her too fast. She grimaced, and he slowed down, but only for less than a minute. He positioned a pillow under her, returned his face into the crook of her neck, and thrust frenetically until he was finished.
Later, after the storm had passed, there was a light knock on the door. Bruce was sleeping, but Abigail, despite having slept for a so
lid hour, was now wide awake.
Even though she assumed the knock was Paul, coming by to find out if they wanted cocktails delivered to their bunk, Abigail instantly thought of Scott, barging in to tell Bruce everything and destroy her life. But she didn’t think it would be him, at least not yet. He would still be holding out hope that Abigail would have sex with him one more time. Maybe if she could just keep him believing that it was a possibility she could get through this nightmare of a honeymoon.
Abigail got out of the bed, slid her robe on, and went to the door, cracking it open. Paul stood outside, in rain gear, just as she expected, and Abigail ordered two Manhattans to be delivered.
After dinner that night—Abigail skipped the appetizer and dessert but did eat a pretty tasty saffron risotto topped with a lobster tail that had been poached in butter—she and Bruce went back into the hall, where a jazz trio had been playing all night. There were more guests around—a small party of businessmen had arrived that afternoon—and despite looking for him, Abigail didn’t spot Scott. As her eyes scanned the room, she felt as though the men—Jesus, why were all the guests men?—were glancing back in her direction, surreptitiously almost. It was warm in the lodge, but she felt the skin of her arms break out in gooseflesh. She suppressed a shiver. At the bar, Carl, his mustache heavily waxed, poured a beer for Bruce and a Baileys on the rocks for Abigail. The band was playing something familiar, and it took a moment for Abigail to realize that it was a jazz version of “Creep” by Radiohead. More chairs had been added around the fireplace, and they brought their drinks over, Abigail taking the seat with a better view of the hall. She’d been the one to suggest lingering after dinner—she was hoping to sneak away at some point, go upstairs to the office and see if she could call Zoe back. She realized it was unlikely that there was someone still in the office who would let her use the phone, but she wanted to give it a chance. If she knew Zoe, her friend would have done everything possible to figure out who her stalker was, and she was anxious to hear the report.
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