CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

She did know. Somewhere deep in her heart. It came to her on the water, the islands growing familiar. With a rising anticipation in her blood.

They headed west. As they cleared the reef, the twin-engine launch picked up speed. Karen went to the back of the boat. She waved at Hauck, who had come out onto the pier. A minute later the boat skidded around a bend, and he disappeared.

She was in Charlie’s hands now.

It was a beautiful ride. Lots of white-beached islands, small, uninhabited slivers of sand and palms. The water was a soft green-blue, dotted with whitecaps. The sun beat down on them, clear and warm. The craft kicked speedily over the waves, leaving a wide wake, the captain clearly at home in the local waters. Karen’s hair whipped in the salty breeze.

“Do you know Charles?” she shouted to Neville over the loud engines.

“You mean Mr. Hanson?” he said. “Yes. I man his boat.”

“This one?”

“No, ma’am.” Neville grinned broadly, as if amused. “Not at all.”

The boat passed inhabited beaches. A few towns tucked into coves. Places they had been to. All of a sudden, she knew why Charles had asked her to come here. Once in a while, they shot past a beautiful yacht in the open sea. Or little fishing skiffs, manned by shirtless fishermen. Once Neville grinned and pointed out toward the horizon. “Sailfish.”

Whatever agitation Karen felt, it began to ease.

The ride took fifty minutes. The launch started to come closer to tiny, uninhabited islands.

Suddenly she realized that Neville had been right. A bizarre familiarity began to overtake her. Karen recognized a beach restaurant they had once pulled into-no more than a large thatched hut with an open-kettle grill, where they had had lobsters and chicken. A few small boats moored there. Farther along, a lighthouse she remembered, striped blue and white. The name came back to Karen.

Bertram’s Cay.

Now she knew where he was taking her. A last gulf of open blue sea and she saw it.

Her heart expanded.

The isolated cove where they’d once sailed, where the two of them had anchored. She thought of Charlie and his floppy hair and Ray-Bans at the helm. They had to swim into the beach, brought a basket of food and some beer, lay around like beach-combers on the fine white sand, protected by wavy palms.

Their own personal cove. What had they called it? The Never Mind Lagoon.

Where the hell did Charlie and Karen go? everyone would ask.

Karen went up to the bow as the boat slowed, and she shielded her eyes. Pulse quickening, she scanned the small horseshoe beach. Neville guided the launch, which must have drawn around three feet, to within a few yards of the beach.

It looked the same. Just as when they’d discovered it eight years earlier. There was a yellow inflatable raft drawn up on the sand. Karen’s heart beat faster. She looked around. She didn’t see anybody. Just heard a caw-a few gulls and pelicans hovering above the trees.

Charlie…

She didn’t know what she was feeling. She didn’t know what her reaction might be. Karen took off her sandals, crept up on the bow, steadying herself on the railing. She glanced back at Neville, and he gave her a cautioning hand to wait as he coasted in a little closer and came around sideways. Then he nodded for her to go. Now…

Karen jumped off, her bag strapped around her shoulder. The water was warm and foamy, coming halfway up her thighs, soaking the bottom of her dress. She waded in to the beach. She didn’t see anybody there. She turned around to look as Neville started to back the Sea Angel away from the shore. He waved to her. Karen spun around again and for the first time actually began to feel afraid.

She was alone. On this totally deserted strip. Hardly even on a map.

What if he never even came for her?

She realized she had not called Ty. Stay in a public place, he had insisted. Public? This was the most deserted spot in the whole fucking world.

Karen stepped tentatively up the low dune. The morning sun had baked the sand, and it felt warm and fine underneath her bare feet. There was no sound, only some chirping from the trees and the soft lapping of the tide.

She went to grab her phone from her bag as a tiny tingling of fear rippled on the surface of her skin.

She heard the brush move and then his voice before she saw his shape.

Soft, eerily familiar. It sliced through her.

“Karen.”

She felt her chest tighten, and she turned.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Like a ghost, Charles stepped out of the thick, close brush.

Karen’s heart came to a stop.

There was a strange tentative smile on his lips. He looked at her and took off his sunglasses. “Hello, baby.”

A knifepoint of shock stabbed through her. “Charles…?”

Staring back at her, he nodded.

Karen’s hand shot to her mouth. She didn’t know what to do at first. Her breath was stolen away. She just stared. He looked different. Completely changed. She might not have recognized him if she’d passed him on the street. He had on a khaki baseball cap, but underneath Karen could see that his hair was virtually shaved. He had a stubbly growth over his cheeks, his eyes hidden. His body looked leaner, more built. And tanned. He wore pink and green floral beach trunks, water sandals, and a white tee. She couldn’t tell if he looked older or younger. Just different.

“Charles?”

He stepped toward her. “Hello, Karen.”

She stepped back. She didn’t know quite what to feel. She was a jumble of confused emotions, suddenly seeing the man with whom she had shared every joy and important moment in her adult life, whom she had mourned as dead, and feeling the disgust that now burned in her for the stranger who had abandoned her and their children. She felt herself rear back. Just hearing his voice. The voice of someone she had buried. Her husband.

Then he stopped. Reflexively, she took a couple of awkward steps to narrow the distance. His gaze was tentative, uneasy. She stared through him like an X-ray. “You look so different, Charles.”

“Comes with the territory,” he shrugged, a thin, wiry smile.

“I bet it does. Nice touch, Charles, this spot.” Continuing to walk toward him, absorbing the sight of him, like sharp, uncomfortable light slowly settling into shade.

He winked. “I thought you’d like that.”

“Yeah.” Karen stepped closer. “You always had a good antenna for irony, didn’t you, Charles? You sure outdid yourself here.”

“Karen”-his complexion changed-“I am so sorry…”

“Don’t!” She shook her head. “Don’t you say that, Charles.” Her blood was hot now, the shock over. The truth came back to her, why she was here. “Don’t you tell me you’re sorry, Charles. You don’t understand where sorry even begins.” A powerful current of anger and disbelief roared through her. She felt her fists close. Charles nodded, accepting the blow, removing his sunglasses. Karen stared, teeth clenched, narrowing her gaze into his familiar gray eyes.

She slapped him. Hard, across the face. He flinched, taking a step backward, but didn’t cover up.

Karen hit him again-harder, confusion boiling over into unleashed rage. “How could you? Goddamn you, Charles! How can you be standing here in front of me?” She raised her hand and struck him again. This time in the chest, with her fist, sending him reeling back. “Goddamn you to hell, Charles! How could you do this to me? To us? To Alex and Sam, Charles, your family. It killed us. You took a part of us with you, Charles. We can never get that back. But you, you’re here… You’ll never know. We mourned you, Charles, as deep as if it were a part of ourselves that had died.” She pounded his chest again, tears of anger glistening in her eyes, Charles now deflecting the blows, which continued to rain on him, but not moving away. “We cried for you every day for a goddamn year. We lit candles in your memory. How can you be standing here, Charles?”