The Twilight Wife

by A. J. Banner

  Breathe, you can do this. Think. Jacob doesn’t want to kill me, or I would be dead by now. What he wants is to be my husband, to live this lie of a marriage. Until I can make my escape, I have to pretend to be Jacob’s loving wife.

  “You look pale,” Jacob says, handing me tea.

  “I need to rest. You’re too good to me.” I’m a basket case of fear and nerves. The wind howls across the island, rattling the windows.

  “Do you have a fever?” His voice is cautious, worried. He touches my forehead. It’s all I can do not to slap his hand away. “You’re not too warm. You’re probably just tired.”

  “Exhausted,” I say. “I got caught in the rain.”

  “You make a habit of doing that. On our second date, we got caught in a storm. We hung out under an awning, then we went for dinner in Belltown.”

  “Probably somewhere romantic.” No, I’m thinking, I was with Aiden that night, not you.

  “Il Bistro on Pike Street, I think it was. Great food.”

  Aiden and I ran into Il Bistro to get out of the rain. Later, I related the story to Jacob. “We’ll have to go back there,” I say.

  “We will. For now, I’ll make you some soup.”

  “I’m not all that hungry.” I get up on shaky legs. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

  But I can’t sleep. I lie awake late into the night. Jacob’s rhythmic snores fill the room. He came in here to be with me again, and I did not protest. I did not want to arouse his suspicion. A faint glow emanates from the night-light in the hall. As I quietly lift myself out of bed, Jacob shifts . . . my heart jumps. Please don’t wake up.

  He turns away from me, his breathing soft and regular. I tiptoe to the bathroom, close the door but not all the way. I don’t want to make a sound. I quietly open the bottle of sleeping pills and empty the contents into the pocket of my pajama bottoms. I slide the bottle into the back of the drawer. I open the door to the bedroom and gasp. Jacob is standing right there, his hand against the doorjamb.

  “What are you doing?” he says, scratching his head.

  “I had to pee. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I’m glad you did.” His hands travel under my pajama top. I don’t move. His touch tortures me now.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I say, slipping away from him and into bed.

  “Sorry, I know.” He comes back into bed, and soon he is snoring again. I watch the clock tick away the minutes. I close my eyes, not expecting to sleep at all, but I drift off now and then, and in the morning, I’m up early. I put on my robe and slippers, and I go into the kitchen to make coffee. The pills are still in my pajama pocket.

  When Jacob gets up to make a fire, I take two mugs from the cabinet and pour the coffee, turning my back to him. I reach into my pocket for the pills.

  “You want honey?” I say. “The usual three spoons?”

  “Maybe stop the honey. It’s not healthy.”

  “Honey has antibiotic properties. It’s your one indulgence. You’re so good about everything else.”

  “You’ve persuaded me.”

  I let out a breath of relief, scoop in the honey, adding the pills as I stir. My fingers shake. The spoon rattles against the side of the mug. The pills break into pieces, but what if they don’t dissolve? How many pills have I dropped in? I lost count. What if they don’t knock him out? What if he tastes them? I stir the coffee vigorously. He feeds the fire. I take a tiny sip from his mug. The coffee has a slightly bitter taste. I stir in the milk. What if I accidentally kill him? What’s an acceptable overdose?

  My hands tremble as I give him the mug. I’m aware of the contaminated liquid inside, as he adds another log to the fire.

  Jacob gazes at the flame through the glass door of the woodstove. He sips his coffee, stops, and looks into the cup. He knows. He knows what I’ve done. He knows that I know I’m not married to him. He’s going to hurl the mug across the room. I am dead.

  He says, “Hmmm,” and keeps sipping.

  I nearly collapse with relief. I can’t say anything, can’t let on.

  He puts the mug on the coffee table and sits on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. He didn’t drink enough. What if he doesn’t finish?

  As I sit next to him, it’s as if our two coffee mugs are at center stage beneath a spotlight. He knows what I’m up to. He must know.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he says.

  “I’m a little better,” I say.

  “Last night . . . I’m sorry. I should have been more understanding.”

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Give me your feet,” he says. My heart beats in time with the wall clock. The refrigerator hums too loudly. What if he leaves his mug untouched?

  I place my mug on the table. Mine is blue. His is white. I can’t get the mugs mixed up.

  I put my feet in his lap. He massages them. I resist the urge to kick him in the face. I keep my breathing deep and even. Come on, drink the coffee. He eventually sits back and takes his mug from the table, watching the fire diminish. “Feels good to let go,” he says. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Let go of what?”

  “The past. Things better left behind.”

  I’m not going to argue with him, not now. The last time we were here, on the island, I decided to go back to the mainland, to try again with Aiden. Jacob was furious. He threw the soap across the bathroom when I told him. He made the dent in the door. But a couple of months later, he called me. I miss you, he said. I’ll take friendship with you, if that’s what we have.

  We met for a drink. I was surprised by how understanding he was. Kyra, he said, I hope it’s been obvious from the start that I really care about you. That all I want is for you to be happy. For you to be with a person who loves you, and who is willing to put you first. I told him that I wished him every happiness, too. When I started to gather my things, he said that Aiden had asked him about us. I had stopped moving then, sat down, and taken his hand. I remember pleading. Please don’t say anything, Jacob. He knows that you were there for me, but I haven’t told him that you were the man I was with during the summer.

  He looked down at my hand. You know that I would do anything for you. Aiden may be blind to some things, but he’s going to be suspicious if we don’t spend time together, like we used to.

  I know, I said. Let’s just give it time.

  A few weeks later, Aiden said he’d been talking with Jacob about a dive and I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I decided to allow us this one outing all together. We were either going to slip back into our familiar dynamic, or I was going to tell Aiden the truth afterward.

  Maybe he already knows, I thought. Maybe Aiden knows what I did and he understands. And maybe he forgives me.

  So we went on the dive, all three of us. On the drive up to Deception Pass, we hiked at Ebey’s Landing. As I stumbled down the cliff into Aiden’s arms, I was wearing my wedding ring again, the one with the orca engraving, not this impostor ring.

  Jacob’s ring glints in the light as he raises his mug to sip the coffee. “Tastes weird today.”

  Time screeches to a stop. He’s onto me. “I noticed,” I say smoothly. My voice gives no hint of the panic inside me. “I need to clean the coffee pot. I’ll run some vinegar through the machine.”

  He nods, distracted, takes another gulp. He puts the mug on the table and snuggles against me. “I need a nap,” he says, yawning. “Damn, it’s still early.”

  “You didn’t get enough sleep last night.” I try to peer into his mug. Did he finish the coffee? How much did he drink?

  “Come back to bed with me.” He pulls me close. How long is this going to take? What if the pills don’t work? We sit this way for a while, for far too long. Finally, he hoists himself to his feet, swaying a little. “Whoa, maybe I’m getting the flu, too.”

  “You don’t feel well? Are you okay?” A sudden wave of guilt washes over
me. He seems somehow vulnerable. What if he falls asleep and never wakes up? But this man has lied to me every day since we got here. Every minute.

  He gives me a quizzical look. How long is he going to stay conscious? I follow him to the bedroom. He’s staggering. He flops onto the bed on his belly. His eyes are closed, his breathing labored.

  I prod him. He doesn’t move. He’s still breathing, but he appears to be out cold. I reach into his pockets. The truck keys are not there, where I’ve always seen him keep them. They’re not in the dish in the hallway. They’re not in the kitchen, next to his wallet. They’re not anywhere. I check his mug. He drank less than half his coffee. The pills must be stronger than I thought. But how much time do I have before he wakes?

  I grab my backpack from the closet, slip out into the hall. Jacob’s drawing jagged, uneven breaths. The truck keys are not on the ring of keys on the entry table by the telephone. Where are they? No dial tone again, either. Who could get here in time, before he wakes? What would he do? Throw me off a cliff? Bash my head in with the ax?

  I go into the garage, taking my time closing the heavy door, so it doesn’t make a sound. The truck is locked. Where are the damned keys? I hear a noise and the door to the hallway swings open. Light floods into the garage. I crouch by the wetsuit hanging on the wall, hiding behind the truck.

  “Kyra? Looking for these?” The keys jingle in his hand.

  How did he wake so quickly? He knew about the pills in the coffee. I don’t answer. Please, go away.

  “Where are you?” he says.

  I hope he can’t hear me breathing. He’s between me and the garage door opener.

  “Seriously, did you think I wouldn’t be onto you?” he says.

  Again, I don’t answer.

  “You shouldn’t drive. You could lose your way or, who knows, steer into the ditch. In that wind, a tree could fall on the truck.”

  Still, I say nothing. The blood rushes in my ears.

  “You were in my office,” he says.

  My heart nearly explodes in my chest.

  “You shouldn’t have logged into my computer.”

  Still, I say nothing.

  “Look. Everyone has disagreements. All married couples have ups and downs. We’ll get through this.”

  We’re not married! I want to scream. We never were. “How did you get me out of rehab and all the way here?”

  “We came by boat, like I said.”

  “Where was Aiden?”

  “I don’t know where he was. Why are you bringing Aiden into this?”

  “You lied to me—”

  “I was protecting you. Poor Aiden. He got the worst of it.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. How did you get me out of rehab while Aiden was still in a coma?”

  “It wasn’t difficult. I visited you quite often, but then, you don’t remember.”

  “They wouldn’t have let you take me! I wouldn’t have let you!”

  “You shouldn’t work yourself up. You’re not feeling well.”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Come in and I’ll make you some hot peppermint tea.”

  “You’ve been telling me lies. Everything is a lie. Tell me the truth.”

  “I’ve always told you the truth. I have nothing to hide from you. If we’re going to keep our marriage on a solid foundation—”

  “We do not have a marriage.”

  “You’re under stress. But I’m taking care of you.”

  “What do you mean, taking care of me? You’re a liar and a kidnapper.”

  “Kidnapper! That’s a strong accusation.”

  “You brought me here under false pretenses.”

  “I did not. I was hoping you would remember us. You started to remember, didn’t you? I was going to tell you everything, when the time was right. You jumped way ahead of me.”

  “You were going to tell me everything, really? When, Jacob?”

  “When you finally remembered you love me. You were getting there. You are getting there.”

  “I was never in love with you.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “None of this is real.”

  “You have your dream life here in the wilderness with your seashells and your books, away from technology. It was what you always wanted.”

  “Away from technology. That’s convenient for you, not me. You’ve kept me away from my real life.”

  “This is your real life—you even have your things from before.”

  “How did you get my belongings? The books and shells and boxes of stuff?”

  “We stopped by your house. But the important things were already here.”

  “Clothes I bought last summer, when I was here with you. When we had our affair.”

  “You are my wife. It was what I wanted, and what I want—”

  “What you want, you always get,” I say. “Isn’t that right? You couldn’t stand knowing that I was with Aiden. You had to kidnap me.”

  “That’s a harsh word,” he says calmly. “You were always mine.”

  I take a deep breath. “How did you get away with this?”

  “Good old Uncle Theo came in handy.”

  “Did you . . . pretend to be Uncle Theo? But how . . .?”

  “I couldn’t pretend to be Aiden. The staff at the center knew where he was. In a coma. I don’t know why he didn’t just stay asleep.”

  “Uncle Theo . . .”

  “Would you like to call him? I know you feel disconnected from family here. But I doubt he’ll remember you.”

  I look around for a way out. If I try to open the heavy garage door manually, Jacob will be upon me. But he’s not coming toward me, not trying to grab me and drag me back into the house. “How did you get me out?”

  “You agreed to come with me, and they signed you out.”

  I’m still crouched behind the car. The garage is cold. “I’m going back to the city.” Even I recognize that this is wishful thinking, but a part of me hopes he can still see reason.

  “Why? You love it here. Look, you surprised me when you wanted to give Aiden another chance. He didn’t deserve you. I had to make another plan.”

  “I have to get back to him. What did you do to him? Did you tamper with his oxygen?” My voice trembles. I look around for something to use as a weapon. The garden tools are on the other side of the garage.

  “With his gas mix, you mean. His air. Who’s been planting these ideas in your head?” He’s coming toward me, running his hand along the hood of the truck.

  “Did you try to kill him on the dive?” I crouch behind the bumper. Our dusty scuba tanks sit on a shelf right next to me.

  “Kyra, there are so many ways a dive can go wrong. It’s so difficult to pinpoint the cause of an accident.”

  “You did something to his pressure hose, or his tank valve, didn’t you?” Slowly, I pull my scuba tank to the edge of the shelf.

  “It was an accident. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. No way to prove it wasn’t.”

  “What about Van? His allergic reaction? Did you have something to do with that?”

  “Kyra, Kyra. Do you think I am so cruel?”

  “I do now. Did you? Was that your doing?”

  “Van should watch what he eats, and he should keep an EpiPen around, don’t you think?”

  “You have to let me go. This was a mistake.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  He’s too close now. As he steps around to my side of the car, he reaches for me. I lift the scuba tank and swing it with all my might, with all the force of my body. The tank crashes into his head—I hear a horrible cracking sound, and he crumples to the floor. Blood trickles down the side of his head. He’s moaning, pressing his hand to the wound.

  I hit the button to open the garage, and as the door rises, I grab my bicycle, but it won’t move. It’s locked to Jacob’s bicycle. Double locked. “What did you do?” I scream.

  He’s still moaning, holding his head.
/>   “Give me the keys to the truck,” I say.

  “You can’t . . . drive. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I know how to drive. Give them to me.”

  “Come and get them.”

  I’ll never be able to wrestle the keys away from him. I grab my backpack and run out into the wind. I take the steps down to the beach two at a time, and when I hit the sand I break into a sprint. The tide is rising. I look over my shoulder. He’s not coming for me, not yet.

  I keep running, and when I reach the final curve of shoreline leading to Doug Ingram’s secluded beach, the tide laps against the embankment. I stop to catch my breath. A voice calls to me on the wind. I can’t make out the words. It’s Jacob. He’s still far away, a mere speck on the beach, but he’s gaining. His wound slows him down, but in the end, I won’t be able to outrun him. I wade into the icy surf, my feet going numb. The dark current yanks at my legs, but I push my way forward, gasping as I stagger onto Douglas Ingram’s beach. I collapse on the sand, gasping for breath. This can’t be happening. There is no boat tethered to the dock. Douglas Ingram is gone.

  I climb the rickety, steep wooden stairs to Doug’s house. The staircase sways from side to side. Some of the planks are soft, rotten. A rock tumbles past me, down the embankment. I keep climbing, hoping the railing won’t give way. At the top of the steps, the log house comes into view through the trees. I run through the garden to knock on the door. There’s no smoke rising from the chimney, and nobody answers. I knock again, frantically. My backpack is too heavy, pulling at my shoulders. It occurs to me that this is all I have in the world. My backpack and a crazy assailant who believes he is my husband.

  I cup my hands to the window and peer inside the living room. Everything is neat and tidy, but Douglas is not at home. Nobody has to lock their doors here, Jacob says in my head. But the door is locked. Maddeningly locked up tight. The windows, too. In the back of the house, there’s an unlocked door leading into a dank storage room. I lock myself inside, my heart pounding. The storage room leads into the house. I call for Doug, no answer. On a table in the hall, I see it. A telephone plugged into the wall. The line makes a crackling sound.

  “Thank you,” I breathe to the universe. I call 911, and a man’s voice comes on the line.