“Mind if we join you?” It was the couple they’d met the night before, Alec and Jill were their names, Abigail thought, and both she and Bruce nodded and said, “No,” as the couple settled in across from them. Alec was wearing fancy-looking distressed jeans and a black T-shirt with leather stitched into the neckline. The T-shirt hugged him at the waist. As had happened the previous night, they instantly broke into conversations along gender lines, Alec and Bruce starting to compare notes on what they’d had for dinner—“That Wagyu beef, I mean, fuck me”—and Abigail asked Jill how her day had been.
“We were going to go sailing on the pond, but, you know, the weather.” Jill, who was wearing a white cocktail dress that fell just above her knees, shivered and added, “Honestly, I didn’t know it would be so cold here, did you?”
“Have you been to the pool yet?”
“God, yes, it’s the best, but …”
“But what?”
Jill bit her lower lip, and Abigail noticed that beneath her very artful makeup she looked tired and pale. Jill leaned in while breathing out and Abigail could smell the alcohol on her breath.
“So, thing is,” she whispered. “There’s this guy, also here on the island, totally by random chance, who I was involved with a while ago, and twice now I’ve run into him at the pool.”
Abigail, stunned by the strange coincidence, managed to ask, “Does Alec know that he’s here?”
“God, no. Alec doesn’t even know about this guy. At all. And if he found out about him, I think it would totally wreck our honeymoon. So, I’m just letting it wreck my honeymoon and trying to keep it to myself.”
Abigail was about to tell Jill about her very similar situation, but instead she asked, “Are you sure it’s random that he’s here? You don’t think he …”
Jill’s jaw tensed, the tendons in her neck popping out, and Abigail had a sudden vision of what she would look like in about fifty years—rail-thin, still blond, and very tightly wound.
“I wondered about that, but, no. It’s just an accident, I think. I hope. The thing is, he and I, we were engaged two years ago, and then it ended really badly. I didn’t tell Alec about any of this because I didn’t want him to freak out—he’s the jealous type, and this guy—”
“Is he black?” Abigail asked, without really thinking.
Jill’s eyes widened, and she swiveled her head. “Why? Is he watching us?”
“No, no,” Abigail said. “I think I might have met him this morning, in the pool. Is he from Bermuda?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He’s in the pool every morning.”
“He seemed nice, actually,” Abigail said.
“He was nice. He is nice. I used to be in Bermuda all the time because I was in the chorus on a cruise ship that went back and forth from New York to Hamilton. Let me tell you, not as much fun as you’d think, and he rescued me from all that, at least I thought he had.”
“So, what happened?”
“Ugh. We got engaged and then I got a job in Vancouver for three months and he couldn’t get away from work, so we were apart from one another. And, you know, it turned bad.”
“Why don’t you just tell Alec that he’s here? I mean, it’s not your fault, and it’s not like he thought you’d never had any boyfriends before he came along.”
Jill breathed in through her nose, then took a long sip of her white wine, finishing the glass. “Walk with me to the bar,” she said, standing up.
Abigail stood, still holding her untouched Baileys. The two men stopped talking and looked inquisitively at them. “We’re going to the bar,” Abigail said. “What can we get you?”
Alec and Bruce, each with a beer, declined, and Jill put her arm through Abigail’s as they walked the twenty feet toward the bar. They stood about three feet back from the line of men waiting for drinks, and Jill said, “Sorry. I was getting paranoid that Alec could hear everything I was saying. I talk too loud when I drink. Am I talking too loud?”
“No, you’re whispering. I can barely hear you.”
“Good. Here’s the thing. I told Alec that I was a virgin when we first met. I know, I know. It’s ridiculous, but he was a virgin, at least that’s what he said, and it was very clear that he wanted me to be as well. I didn’t feel good about lying, but I did it, and then we started to get serious, and I couldn’t get out of it. And here’s the other thing—God, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this, but it feels so good. He is super-insecure about sex. It did not go well at all on our wedding night, and it’s very obvious that he, uh, feels inadequate not just in his performance, but I think he feels inadequate in his size.”
“Is he small?” Abigail asked.
“I mean, he’s not large, but what do I know? He’s fine. But if he found out that (a) I lied about never being with a guy before, and (b) that guy is here right now, and he’s the big, handsome black guy …”
“I get it. He’d fall apart.”
“He’d totally fall apart.”
“Ladies.” It was the bartender, and Jill ordered another glass of wine. Abigail thought how incredibly strange it was that the two of them were in situations that were so similar. She’d been on the verge of saying something to Jill, telling her that at least her ex-boyfriend who’d shown up wasn’t attempting to blackmail her into sex. But she stopped herself. For one, she didn’t really want to upstage her new friend, who was clearly having a bad time, and for another, she didn’t know if she wanted anyone else on this island to know about what was happening to her.
“I don’t mean to be laying all this on you,” said Jill, stepping away from the bar toward Abigail. “It’s your honeymoon, too, and—”
“No, I’m glad you told me. Look, it’s just a bad coincidence. Nothing’s going to come of it, so just try to enjoy the rest of your stay.”
“That’s the other thing,” Jill said, taking Abigail by the arm again and leading her a little farther away from the bar. “I’m not enjoying this trip. I hate this island. It’s creepy. I feel like every move I make I’m being watched by about five staff people. They’re everywhere. Honestly, if one more person sneaks out from behind a doorway and asks me what I want I think I’m going to scream.”
Abigail laughed. “I know what you’re saying.”
“I’m right, right? I mean, the food is good and the drinks are good and our cabin is beautiful, but seriously, I’d give it all up right now for some cheesy resort down in Cancún, with actual other fun couples around, and bad food, and a piña colada in a plastic cup. I just need some freakin’ sun. Look at my skin—I’m turning into a ghost.” Jill held up an arm to actually let Abigail look at it, and Abigail couldn’t help but laugh again. She felt a little bad about having judged Jill earlier for her nose job and her skinny body. “And honestly, there’s just not enough people here, and there’s like no other women. Thank God for you. And I love the pool, but it’s actually scary in there when it’s just me by myself, or me and my ex-boyfriend.”
Abigail nodded. “Yeah, the pool is a little scary when you’re all alone.”
“Right?”
“Tell you what. Let’s go together tomorrow morning before lunch. We’ll hang out in the grotto pool and order piña coladas and request that they come in plastic cups.”
“Oh my God, you are making me so happy right now. Can we really do that?”
“Of course. You and I, and I suppose we should ask the husbands to come along, too, if they want.”
“Mine won’t. Well, maybe he will if I make him do it, but he says he hates to swim. He’s lost a lot of weight recently—actually, he’s lost about a hundred and fifty pounds—and so he has some excess skin and I think he’s self-conscious about it.”
“Oh okay,” Abigail said.
“God, I’m a blabbermouth tonight. I’ve told you all my secrets and now you know pretty much everything about my husband. Please tell me something scandalous about you so I don’t feel like a total idiot.”
Again, Abigail nearly decided to
tell this stranger about her predicament, but something held her back. Instead, she said, “I think I hate this place, too. I actually called my best friend Zoe today just because I wanted to hear her voice.”
“How’d you call her?” Jill asked, her eyes widening.
“I used the landline in the office.” Abigail tilted her head toward the balcony. “Actually, I told her I’d call her back tonight because we got cut off and there was something we still needed to talk about. I was thinking of sneaking up there now.”
“Go. I’ll cover for you, tell them you went to the bathroom.”
“Okay, maybe I will,” Abigail said.
“Go! And we’ll get together tomorrow, right?” Jill said.
“Yes, let’s do it. Eleven-thirty in the grotto pool? Maybe we can even get lunch. Order something like nachos.”
“Sounds like heaven,” Jill said.
Abigail finished her Baileys and put the empty glass on the bar, then walked casually toward the stairwell that led to the offices on the second floor. She took the stairs two at a time and was happy to see lights on in the hallway above. When she got to the office door it was closed. She knocked and waited for an answer. When none came, she swung the door open. She felt guilty, like she was doing something illegal, but she’d been allowed up here earlier to make a call, and she figured it would be okay to make another one. If she got caught, or if Bruce found out, she could tell him that Zoe was in crisis, and that she felt like she had to call her back this evening.
She let the door swing closed behind her and stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. Then she navigated her way to the desk she’d sat at earlier, picked up the phone and dialed Zoe’s number.
“Ab?” Zoe picked up right away.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“I’m so glad you called back.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’ve just been doing detective work all day and I want to show off about it.”
“You found him?”
“I think I found him, but I can’t be sure. His name’s not Scott Baumgart. I’m pretty sure it’s Eric Newman.”
“How’d you find him?”
“Well, first I did a ton of searches for a Scott Baumgart and nothing really came up, nothing that made me think it was him, anyway. And so then I just started doing searches based on everything we know about him. Carpentry. The theater. San Francisco. And I found this one article from about five years ago that was in a local newspaper. It was about this theater north of San Francisco. The Lagunitas Community Theater.”
“Yeah, he said he acted in community theater,” Abigail said.
“The article was basically about how all the actors at the theater did double duty. Like the lead actress worked in the box office and one of the actors designed all the programs. And there was this one line that said that the actor Eric Newman was an accomplished carpenter and helped build the stage. So I looked up Eric Newman and there wasn’t a ton, but he has a website for a freelance carpentry company, and he has a few credits from being in plays, but not for a while. Not for a few years.”
“Did you find a picture of him?”
“Just one. It looks like a professional headshot, and it’s really pixelated, but he looks like the guy from the bar that night. I mean, I didn’t get a good close-up look at him like you did, but I kind of remember what he looked like.”
“Brown beard, blue eyes.”
“He has a beard in the picture, but it’s black-and-white so I can’t tell anything about his eyes. He’s your type, though.”
“Cheekbones and squinty eyes?”
“Yes, definitely,” Zoe said.
“I think that’s him.”
“I do, too. I think we totally nailed him. So, here’s the thing I haven’t told you yet.”
“Okay,” Abigail said, and something about Zoe’s tone of voice made her stomach flip a little.
“You said he was married, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what he told me. That he was married, and that he was unhappy.”
“So, I found an article from about two years ago. There was an Eric Newman who was on a honeymoon with his wife down in Baja California, and she drowned. The wife drowned.”
“Do you think it’s him?” Abigail asked, thinking there were probably many Eric Newmans.
“Here, I’ll read it to you. ‘Eric Newman, the groom, runs his own carpentry business in San Francisco. He met Madeleine Cartwright when she hired him to put molding up on the ceilings of her recently purchased Victorian.’”
“Jesus,” Abigail said. All she’d heard was the name of the bride.
“It’s him, don’t you think? It has to be.”
“Yeah, it has to be,” Abigail said, then added, “Zoe?”
“Yeah.”
“So, we gave each other fake names at the vineyard. Like, it was a game we were playing, each of us deciding what to call one another, and he decided to call me Madeleine.”
“What? That’s nuts. Ab, you need to report this guy for following you there. Seriously, right now. It doesn’t matter if Bruce finds out. If he truly loves you, he’ll forgive you. This guy’s probably a total psychopath.”
“I think maybe he’s just obsessed with me. I don’t know. Maybe I reminded him of his wife and he kind of cracked.”
“He also could have killed his wife.”
“What do you mean? What did the article say?”
“Well, it didn’t say anything like that. But I don’t know, maybe he drowned her and got away with it.”
“Okay. You’re freaking me out.”
“You should be freaked out,” Zoe said. “Seriously, you need to tell Bruce about this. You need to get off that island.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it. I’ll deal with it. Zoe, sorry, but I told people I was going to the bathroom and we’ve been on the phone forever.”
“Call me tomorrow when you get a chance. Promise.”
“I promise. I’ll be safe.”
Abigail hung up the phone. She wanted to sit for a moment, digest all the information she’d just been given, but she knew she’d been away too long. She stood, began to wend her way back through the desks toward the door that led to the hallway, when it swung open and one of the staff members came in, flicking on a light. “Oh hello,” he said to Abigail.
“Sorry,” Abigail said. “I was just using the phone. Mellie showed me where it was earlier.”
The staff member—she recognized him as one of the servers in the dining room—shrugged and said, “That’s fine.”
“Hey,” she said. “I was just wondering. I’ve been talking with a friend who’s not doing so well. If I needed to get off this island, how long does that take?”
“You flew here, right? It’s about twenty minutes.”
“No, I mean, how long does it take to arrange a flight, get someone to come here from the mainland?”
“Not very long. Casco Air always has a plane available, unless the weather’s bad.”
“Thanks. Just checking. What’s your name?”
“It’s Aaron, Mrs. Lamb,” he said, and something about the fact that he knew her name made her feel a little on edge. Did all the staff know everything that was happening with the guests? Well, of course they did. There weren’t that many guests, and Bruce was a part-owner, after all.
Back downstairs Bruce and Alec were still in their chairs, still talking, and Jill was sitting near them, staring at the back of her hand. For a moment she had thought Jill was looking at a cell phone, but of course she wasn’t. As Abigail walked toward the group, Bruce looked up at her and made a face that she immediately read as, Save me from talking to this guy any longer.
Abigail went over and touched Bruce’s shoulder, told everyone she was exhausted and wanted to call it a night.
CHAPTER 16
The next morning Abigail told Bruce about her plans to meet Jill at the pool before lunch.
“You’ve made a fri
end,” he said.
“Not really. She’s just … I think she’s feeling a little outnumbered here on this island by all the men.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “How about you?”
“Oh, definitely outnumbered. You’re more than welcome to come, though. Remember that we weren’t supposed to separate.”
“Come where?”
“Swimming. With Jill and me. She’s going to invite Alec, too.”
“Alec’s trying to get me to invest in a movie about a serial killer who’s killing one woman in every state in the country. He goes, ‘You know how some mountain climbers want to bag the biggest peak in every state? This killer wants to bag a woman in every state and get away with it.’”
“Sounds horrible,” Abigail said.
“I agree. It will probably make a fortune.”
They were eating breakfast outside on the veranda. It was still cool, but the skies had cleared and everything was bathed in a soft morning light. Abigail had actually slept the night before. She hadn’t thought it was possible—her mind buzzing with all the new information she’d gotten—but after going over and over her conversation with Zoe on the phone and with Jill after dinner she’d actually slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she woke up, there had been about two minutes during which she just lay there in the comfort of the bed, her mind blank, before it all came rushing back. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Zoe had said about Scott Baumgart, real name Eric Newman, and how his wife had drowned on their honeymoon. It was obvious that what had happened with him was a driving force behind him being here stalking Abigail, but was he some kind of psychopath, or was he simply grieving? And what was the deal with Jill, and an ex-boyfriend of hers showing up during her honeymoon? What were the chances that something so similar would happen to both Jill and Abigail?
Every Vow You Break Page 11
