Slater's Beach, Massachusetts 2018

The sun warms my straw hat and your mother and Jane — I am curious how it is that Jane is still here with Jack's kids, how is she back? I wonder if Jack has lured her back seeing that I am struggling but will likely live my life in your quagmire or maybe she is just here with the children, she is so close to Carol now. They sit, Carol speaking in low tones with Jane and she acknowledges me time to time with a glance but really I can't hear all of her words. They are planning or scheming to keep Jack and her together. Why should I be privy? Why should I want to. Alexander is on the blanket beside me in a small tent made for babies. Maddy is next to Carol and yes, I am thankful your mother loves her. She will remain a part of your family I will not.

"Is it all right if I walk to the shore." Carol nor Jane look up. I walk a little closer. "would you mind keeping an eye on the kids?" I ask Carol.

"of course, dear." She says.

Jane squats and gives me a wry smile. In that moment I'm glad her husband kissed me. I'm glad I remain "the one" the one who got away. Not out of the pond obviously, but away. I can tell myself he still loves me. It is the same satisfaction when I think you chose me.

I walk towards the deck where you're sitting, looking like a Kennedy on an Adirondack chair. I see your gin and tonic is hardly touched. It's sweating on the cedar table, covered in glass. You lean back in your chair, feet up on a wood bench. It's irksome how perfect your mother makes everything. The nasturtium, yellow waves around the side of the house, where there is a stone path. Planters leading to an "outdoor room" Carol likes to explain how landscaping can transform any space. "It's all we have" she says and the privilege slides from her lips effortlessly. I think no, there's more.

Why do I call your mother "Carol" and you call mine "mom."

"Where you going?" You ask. I notice your Nantucket t-shirt, how masculine you look. You are fit, always have been. It's the rich lifestyle, the activities it affords. Like all the sailing in the summer, the skiing. Tennis. I notice the little things about you Edward, like how the white cotton sleeves contrasts your tanned biceps.

"Just a walk." I say. Despite my large framed, dark sunglasses I hold up a hand to shield the bright sun. My eyes burn when I look up at you from the sandy beach where I'm standing. I'm wearing on of your oxford shirts-oversized on me— I brought it home. One of your old ones that you don't wear any more. It's worn too, the blue faded in places, the color frayed.

"Hang on I'll join you."

"All right." I say.

As you jump the deck rail, the whited sea weathered wood and over sea grass to the path, I am looking at Jack and You is fixed on me. I hold his gaze just to communicate the same absurdity You acknowledges. His life -their lives- are a facade. You and I exist in another consciousness. How we came to hold two realities is a mystery. No. Three realities. Now, You and I have one too. Just a kiss has opened another possibility.

"Ok. Let's do it." You say.

I know the sand is scorching but I cannot feel it. I have my sandals on and you had slipped on your tennis shoes. Now I see you before me, the same man, the same beautiful man. I think you are more handsome than Jack. You are. Maybe that's why carol loves him more. You smile at me and bend down to kiss me.

As we approach the shore, I remove my sandals.

"Here I'll hold them for you."

I laugh a little, just the idea that you would stand there on the shore watching me, helpless with my leather mule sandals in your hand. "No it's ok. I'll leave them here and I'll get them on the way back."

"Good idea, You say. "me too."

Now, the sand is cold and packed down, near the shore where the surf has pulled in and retreated during low tide. The tide is coming back in and in the places that were starting to dry, growing a little warm, surf creeps up gaining an inch or two each time. Usually no one is here. Your family owns such a long stretch of this beach, but in the distance, another privileged couple or maybe even small family is silhouetted. You'd have to squint to notice them. They are so far away from us. It's true that the rich-like you, like us- have these advantages. Yet, this family is broken and unhappy. Jack had told me-back when we were together-that your father had been mostly absent, but was merciless with physical correction with you, in particular. That was the family term correction. Like prison I think. Those years before you—until that last summer when I was the recipient of this violence—I let it drift out to sea. I let the idea hover on the horizon and sometimes—if you were back from Georgetown or on the rare occasions when your father came to the beach—I would notice the eclipse of the setting sun and I would realize the danger. Then, of course, things changed. Everything changed that last summer with Jack.

That's why Edward I am selfish and won't talk with you at all -in any way- about your dad. I won't listen to you when you try to tell me what he did to you. I certainly won't allow you to talk about what happened to me—or rather to reveal what you know happened. You won't let this sediment settle. You are worse than the surf that rips and agitates the shells and sand and seaweed as the tide comes in. You're worse than the undertow that may be a smooth gliding surge on top but beneath a turbulence and violent velocity and force.

I asked Carol once when we were friends. Back when I was going to be who Jane has become. Permanent in her heart. This was the first year, when I was 16. I asked her innocently enough "Jack said Mr. Clark was very physical with discipline. Carol looked at me curiously. "What are you talking about Annie?"

"Physical punishment."

"No. I don't remember that" she'd drawn a blank. I always held it against her but now when people ask me, I don't remember the details of leaving Jack for you. In truth, I don't really remember—except sometimes when I'm back here, on the beach I remember some of it.

You take my hand and pull me closer. Right here at the shoreline, the waves breaking, a roar that's deafening. It's hypnotic and I don't see a violent sea any longer, I experience the unconscious, the place where true love resides, and I turn and the wind blows my hair.

You pull it back and take my face in your hands. You kiss me with urgency. you whisper "Help. Me Annie. Help me be a better person."

I smile at you. I want to nurture you and care for you. I want the love I hold for my children to translate into an adult love for you.

"I want to help you"

"Help me Annie." The wind slows then picks up.

"Let's swim" you say.

"all right." I'm under your spell. I want to be under your spell. In this moment I think "you are my God." It's a form of salvation to have you back. It's the narcotic heat, the feel of the salty water. It's you. It's being back here and how tempting the ocean is. The ocean is the way out of the darkness, but really if I let it, it will betray me.

Before we walk into the water. You look into my eyes. "you're so beautiful. I love everything about you. Your sandy hair, now sun bleached. Your lips. You touch my lips with your hand.

"It feels like you're sculpting me." I say. I smile and you are serious "I am Annie."

The ocean is warm or I am warm. Your hand leaves a penetrating impression.

I let go and turn to you. We are waist deep. I feel the salt tickling my thigh where it is still dry.

You smile at me then laugh. I splash you then dive into a wave. It is a rush of power rolling over my body. I am challenging the ocean. I can fight you. I can find my way out deep and survive. I am far ahead of you because you stay watching me, waiting to see where I come up. I finally surface and yell out to you. I think you likely can't hear me standing so close to the surf. You are a silhouette and behind you your life and history. The beach house, your family the children. Now it is just us. I am over my head and treading water. The buoyancy is comforting. I love leaving the ground, being supported by something so great that I am a child again, this is a womb.

"Come out here!" I yell.

You dive and in seconds You are next to me. You surface. "Let's go in a little where we can touch the ground."
"Why?" I laugh.

"I want to make love to you."

'Let's body surf."

"No."

I smile again.

"As you wish... Neptune." I joke.

"Come on" You say. This time you lead through the water, unbroken waves lifting us and setting us down, no resistance we move with the ocean and back towards the shore. I watch you this time, still bobbing.

When you stand up the water is just below his shoulders. "come on" You yell.

I wait. It's a tease, it's increasing your desire. "Do you want me!" I yell.

"Yes!" You're desperate.

"Are you sorry for everything you did?!" I yell

"Yes." You laugh, "damn it"

"You cruel man- are you sorry?!"

"YES!"

"Will you love me forever?"

"Yes!"

I dive under and swim towards you. I surface near and then walk through the resistance towards you. I am up to my neck, that's how much shorter 5'7' is to 6.

"Here we are, you terrible girl."

"Why am I?"

"You play games with me." You kiss me. "I'll love you forever. I'll eat you up I love you so." The salt. The sun, and the water.

[Insert notecards.]

Edward's novel is called The Obituary letters. The twist the plot: a woman has drowned by the ocean and her lover is forever stricken because he arrived too late.

—

There is a noticeable change in mood when we enter the house. It's quiet, hushed tones as we reach the deck of the house. The light of day has turned yellow and romantic. And the once burning hot planks of weathered wood of the deck are now warm, holding the energy of the day, not defending against it. There is an outdoor shower and bench and we rinse off before going inside. I slip on a sarong and t-shirt and leave my sunhat and glasses on the bench. You exit into the small cabana changing room and emerge in tan shorts and gray t-shirt. Baseball cap. As we enter the house I see Maddy and Jack's two girls at the table, quietly working on an activity set that Carol had gotten them. It seems to capture their attention in the way that few toys can. All three girls find a way for it to be interesting. They are pop up cardboard houses and little people. Carol has cut out fabric and the children are decorating and coloring. Lissy, Jack and Jane's oldest is orchestrating and directing an her long black hair full of salty sandy strands hangs over the table as she moves close to Maddy and helps her glue a curtain on the house.

You walk over and leans over Maddy and kisses her cheek. She squeals an almost on cue Carol enters.

"Edward, please be quiet. " she looks at me. "they were playing so nicely."

"Sorry," you say, pat Maddy's head and smile at your mother.

"Mr. Clark is home." She looks at me again.

I haven't seen your father in over a year—with the babies and then your affair. During my relationship with Jack and throughout my relationship with you, he was conspicuously absent - except for that last summer with Jack. When I was 18. But, there was the stint—the incident that is buried in the sand—away from the house, close to the shore but not close enough to be taken out into the Atlantic, deep —miles deep where it should be—According to your mom—as Carol explains it — is that Mr. Clark can rarely make it to the beach house. Instead, it's for the women and children—and relatives on rare occasions, it' a retreat. Of course jack and Jane were married here...When Mr. Clark comes it's only for a short period. You see, she always says, it's a gift to us. We should be thankful.

"Why?" You ask. You grab an apple and take a bit. You look at me, "want one?"

I shake my head.

Carol looks at him cooly, "why what son?"

"Is everything all right?" I ask.

"My lord children you are acting strange! I just asked you to keep the children settled here so Mr. Clark can relax."

One would think I would be sent into a spiral of trauma or PTSD or whatever it's called. Instead, I'm cool — numb and emotionless. I don't feel when it comes to the incident with Mr. Clark. Partly it's because I don't remember and I've set up a dynamic with Edward where I own't let him broach the topic. He remembers and I know he wants to tell me. But, I don't want it. When we are at the beach house or even the "farm" outside of Boston -when we are with Carol or Jack and especially mr. Clark, the script and theatrics are such that the event never happened and we can "carry on" as if.

Your mom moves to the cabinet and gets a wine glass and a cocktail glass. "We'll be having cocktails on the deck shortly. Why don't you go in and say hello to your father, Edward. I'd like to speak with you Annie."

"Sure" you say and you drop the apple in the waste basket on your way into the den. The house isn't large but the rooms are fairly separated and private. From the kitchen you can only see a hallway leading out to the den. The house was designed for the view, for the ocean. A row of eight French doors open to the deck and I'm sure the boys, Jane, and Mr. Clark are out there now.

"Where's the baby?" I ask.

'He's sleeping. The monitor is out there with Jane."

'I should go che—"

"The baby's fine. I'd like to talk with you Annie."

"Can I help you make these?"

"That would be nice. Get the pitcher out of the cabinet above the sink and a about a third way full with ice."

I moved through the room for some reason trying to be as silent and obedient as possible. Trying to earn Carol's favor again but the distance was measurable. It was miles, it stretched so far that the statistics of it made the time that short period of intimacy negligible then absent. There was never a relationship. I had been a girl when I was dating her youngest son and now I'm a woman, but still feeble. Still broken after the depression. The times with Edward after the affair, this afternoon. They awaken something but it's short lived in the face of Carol.

She stops cutting limes and holds her hand there on the cutting board, the paring blade still in between the lime. "I'll say it."

"OK." I stop too, give her my attention. I feel my heart beating and yet an anger is waiting inside of me.

"I don't think what Edward did was right."

"His affair?"

"Let me finish Annie."

I nod.

"I meant what he did with Leora — for what it's worth— she was really nothing much."

'You met her?" When? Did You bring her to your home?"

"Yes. She's very successful as I'm sure you know but that's not always such a great trait in a woman.

"To which house? To the house in Boston, the farm?"

"I've thought about it long and hard and I don't know what to say to you." By now I can feel myself burning inside, soon it will erupt. Why would you bring Lenore to her house? What did you want? You wanted your family to accept the whole thing? To like her? Did Jack meet her?

"You set this whole thing up yourself with your relationship with the boys."

'What boys?"

"First Jack then—"

"oh Carol, stop it! I've had enough!"

"Well how do you think I feel?" I told Edward to do the right thing. You with a baby at home then your mother calls and tells me you attempted suicide. Really Annie? Did you really?"
"I have to check on Alex?
"That's another thing, this distrust of Jane. She feels just terrible about it."
"I stare at her a moment then realize that she's drunk. I realize she's transformed because her long absent violent husband is home.

"I feel sorry for Jane too," I say. What's the tone? I don't know I wait for Carol's reaction. "Do you?"

"I feel sorry for all of you." I say.

Her face is a color wheel. First dark and angry, then a cool blank expression, then finally a saccharine yellow sunshine. "Dear, you should feel sorry for yourself."

"No. Really I shouldn't Carol. My father never beat us. My mother called my father by his first name. Your son cheated on me. Your son left me for some ugly woman because he wasn't man enough to take care of his children."
In walks Mr. Clark. Tall and domineering. A navy man. A business man. Square shoulders still in built condition even at 70. His hair is full but turning from dark to white. Carol comes to attention. "oh there you are, did you say hello to Mr. Clark Annie?"
I smile at him.

"How are you dear? It's been quite a while since I've seen you. I've heard you've had a go of it."

"I'm all right. Did you get to see Alex?"

"Oh did I! You's a healthy little boy!"

"Carol Jack and I are going to race out to the point."
'Swim?" She asks, still sweet but so submissive it causes me to feel even more empowered against her attacks. "oh no. I was just making drinks."

"Nope. This one here—he was too afraid to accept his old man's challenge at chess—"

"Really Ted—"

"Nope! He's challenged me to race out to the point."

'It's getting dark." I say without a hint of concern. "but the water's warm"

"That's my girl!" He slaps me on the back and it doesn't hurt rather it was jarring: a strangely man-like intimacy that I've never had with him. I wonder if Mr. Clark's drunk. Then I think maybe he's happy. Maybe he's in love. Starting a new affair—some kind of intoxication/ infatuation that makes him light on his feet—and even that is intimidating like something could give and burst at any minute. Maybe there's something in that life he leads outside of this privileged one that has spilled over.

Jack enters and jeers at his dad "sure you're up for it old man?"

"Did you hear Annie? The three of us are racing?"

"Three?"

"Yes, Edward, me, and old Mr. Clark."

I smile and look at Carol. "I"m going to see Alex."

"all right dear," she says and I know the ocean of her white whine has swallowed the altercation we had. In fact, I'll bet she won't even remember.

I start down the hall and see you approaching from the stairs. You've just changed into another pair of swim trunks "Did you hear? I"ll kick their asses!"

I don't smile at you and start past. You grab my wrist. "what's wrong?"

I pull away and head up stairs to the baby. I enter the room and Alexander's there in the pack crib, he's awake, quietly content. I walk over to him and speak into the monitor "Jane I"m with Alex. I'm turning off the monitor." I don't wait for an answer. I pick him up and he giggles a little in delight over seeing me. He's gotten plumper in the last two weeks. I wonder if it's because I'm happier since you're back. I lift Alex and he gestures, reaches to nurse. We sit under the window, the waves crashing and the sound of the men running and war whooping. They fade while the rhythm of the ocean endures. I place him on a blanket on the floor and remove my shirt. I hold him up to my breast and he gently nurses. He's wide awake and his large blue eyes watch me. Our baby watches my expression and touches the hair that falls over my shoulder. He's sweet and silent and as I feel the milk rush through me letting down, the slight calm and euphoria of oxytocin. I keep my eyes on him and in this mother-child hypnosis I let Carol's comments drift, and resolve some how. I don't think about Carol or Lenore. I don't even think about you, Edward. I am just with Alex.

"Are you my sweet baby?" I whisper. He stops nursing and waits then smiles. I touch his nose and he laughs. He starts nursing again. Stops and looks at me. Smiles. I touch his nose and more giggles.

"You funny little boy." I whisper.

Just then I hear the door jiggle then slide open. It's Maddy. She's carrying a paper house with fabric and sparkles glued on it.

"Momma" she says.

I lift Alex and prop him in my lap.

"Give momma that shirt there."

She grabs your white button down shirt and drags it over to me like a baby blanket.

I slip it on and button a couple of button.

"I sleepy" Maddy says.

I laugh, "you are?" She's never sleepy or never admits to it. "get a pillow and come sit here with mommy."

She pulls a pillow off the bed. Carol's clean crisp sheets. I don't know what she uses in her wash, but they have always had such a clean smell and it wafts past me as Maddy takes her place next to me a tiny hand on my bare leg.

I pick up my phone and call mom. It's only 7:30.

"Hi dear," she says. She's sing-songy—a little eventing wine. The light in her garden probably looks lovely kissed by the shadows of dawn and with the euphoria of her cabernet. "how's the beach."

"Terrible." I say.

Her tone changes to concern. "why? What's going on?"

"This lady is such a bitch."

"Carol?"

"Who else?" I ask.

"Jane" she teases.

I laugh.

"Where's Edward?"

"his dad is here. And the three of them are swimming—a race."

"Jesus. That man is such a Republican."

"He's never here."

"I know. Why is he?"

"Who knows. He's such a bully and Carol—God mom—"

"What did she do?"

"She wanted to talk with me—you know she makes such a show of liking Jane and disliking me? Jane and Jack are getting separated—or are separated I don't know. And she invited Jane anyway, and she came with the kids—"

"Of course she did."

"Mom I hate these people. I'm not coming back here after this trip. I don't know why I did in the first place. I hate that woman so much."

Maddy looks up at me "who momma?"

"are the kids there?"
Shh. I say.

"she's almost asleep. I'm nursing Alexander. We're up in the bedroom. It's ok. Carol calls me in to help her make gin and tonics. Just after Edward and I went for a walk on the beach—I thought we were getting somewhere. She tells me Edward brought that woman over to visit the family—"

"what? Let me come get you."

"Maybe in the morning. I'll text you."

"I'd like to come now. I don't like anyone treating you that way. How did she tell you?"

I can hear her swallow the wine and I give her the space to do so, I listen to the waves and wind. I can hear the voices in the distance, the men. Laughter.

"she told me 'she'd like to speak with me privately' —it's amazing to me how cold she can be. I don't remember exactly, but it was something like how she was — oh yeah, she said she didn't like the woman because she had a career—"

"wake up lady—most of the women in the world have to work!"

"then she said that Edward brought her by and she wanted me to understand how hard I've made things for him, that You never felt secure in his relationship—she was drunk—but she said because of my going out with Jack when I was young."

There's a pause and I know mom is fuming. I know she wants the kids and me with her. As much as she loves Edward—she does see something in him—she has all but given up on him. His family is toxic, she says all the time. I brush back Maddy's curly red hair with one hand. Alex is still awake watching me, when my eyes meet his You giggles a little. I smile.

"Alex has started this game—sorry to interrupt. He smiles I touch his noes, then giggles. I know he wants to do it."

"that baby is sweet. Maddy used to do things like that—more mischievous like the menu escapades" There's a pause and she lets me play with Alex for a minute. "how are you? I"m worried this is going to start things up again. Annie—I want to come get you. Stay with me for a while."

"no. we're —I'm trying. I won't try again after this. But I do want to leave tomorrow. Maybe the kids and I can spend the day with you. Let me talk with Edward tonight."

"you're probably right. You are trying to make it work, I don't think I could."
In that moment I hear the back door and the banter of you, Jack, and your father. There's lots of laughter and although I can't make out the word, Carol is saying something to you all.

"Hey mom they're back. I'll text you first thing tomorrow—"

'I wouldn't give that woman the satisfaction of another day."

"I know but the kids like it here-or Maddy. And she's got her cousins."

The door opens and you are standing there. My heart drops and it shouldn't. I should be angry or resigned. My mind should be flashing on Lenore and your mother, sitting at the table. Who else was there? Was it at the house in Boston? The large stone fireplace. It would have been April or May and instead of helping with her brand new grandson she was likely giving Lenore a tour of her gardens. And Lenore, for all of whomever she is or was, what was she doing. No. What were you doing?

"I won." You mouth to me. I smile. Alexander turns his head, pulls himself away from me and stares at you. You, this stranger, you that share his blood. You that You belongs to.

"ok momma. I'll call you tomorrow."
"I love you."

'you too."

I turn off my phone and smile at you. It's conscious. It's deliberate. I made the choice to walk a new path with you.

"You ok?" You say. You come over to me and your'e wet. Alexander turns and buries himself against me.

"You're all wet. " I laugh.

'Did mom say something before?"
"You won?"

You step back and dry your body and hair with your towel. I think of the water, the warmth of you next to me, the sun. You yelling over the waves "yes I only love you." If it were true I would believe it.

"Maddy's sleeping' I tell you, keeping my voice down as a cue for you to do the same.

"Come over to the bed I want to show you what Alex is doing."

"Let me change first."

"you want to shower?"

"No I showered outside. I'll just throw on my sweats.

I move to the bed and lay Alexander next to me. He's still alert and I"m glad he's not getting sleepy just yet. I want to show you this new trick. I want you to bond with your little boy. I know given one chance he'll make you fall in love with him. I know you, Edward. I know him. I want you to love my sweet baby. We are laying on the bed and for a moment I look out of the bank of windows. This room was a sun porch at one time. The windows still open and allow for a nearly outdoor experience but we leave them shut with the air conditioning although we don't need it tonight. So what I see is a blue black hue, the glow of the moon over the ocean. Is see night, but it's a different kind of night on the beach. It's not a motionless black ink night. It's amorphous living, its where ocean meets shore.

"OK." You join us on the other side of the bed. Alexander watches you.

"I don't know if he'll do it now."

"What?" You're eager, interested.

"You started a little game with me."

I touch his nose and You stares at me a moment. I can tell -or I think I can- that he's remembering and connecting this game in this new context. He's not breast feeding and it takes a moment but then Alex gives me a sly little smile. I touch his nose again and he giggles, stares intently at me. We wait, I am not looking at you, but I can tell you are equally transfixed, the power of this little baby reaching you, drawing you into loving him.

"Look at daddy" I whisper.

You lean in closer and say "Alex..." He turns and stares at you for a moment. He examines you and just as before he figures out the game can be played yet another way. He smiles. You touch his nose and he erupts in laughter. This continues for a bit then he looks at me, his eyes are heavy and sleepy.

"He's sleepy." You say.

You are laying on your side, with one hand under your head. "I owe you an explanation...I have to tell you why I did—I don't know how to say or -Annie I was so messed up."

"What do you mean?"

"Your pregnancy with Alex. I was coming undone. It was the worst thing—the worst time. I know that. "

I kept silent just rubbing my hand over Alexes soft baby hair, leaning down and kissing his soft forehead. He was almost asleep. I could hear the wind and the faint sound of our bodies against the blankets with our slight movements.

"I felt like I couldn't do it. I was suffocating-not you, but I started having...I can't even say it in words. You know something happened a long time ago and I am holding this. Holding it for years and years and then — for some reason Alex maybe because he's a boy—why I don't know, but for some reason—Annie when you had the baby, it just —"

"What happened?"

"You know—God Annie even now being here. I'm like 'what the fuck are we doing here.'There's the night on the beach and then that summer with you—I was—"

"When you were a kid?"

"Annie. Jesus. Here we go again."

"here we go again what?"

"I don't get it. It's fucking weird."

I just stare at you.

"i'm weird?"

"Forget it for now—let's talk when we get home—I want you to know that if you do decide to do this, give me another chance. I'll — I want to figure it all out. No more avoiding it."

I wait. I nod. "But, you're asking for something that first I don't even remember and second that will fucking make me crazy."

"Do you think that not dealing with it made you crazy after Alex."

"Oh right. What would you know? It's called postpartum—"

"I know it is but Annie. Jesus really? You don't think that trauma has anything—"

"No. I don't. I was perfectly normal before and now I'm trying to be perfectly normal again."

You wait Edward as if something will sink in. And, I know what it is. How pathological you think he idea of perfectly normal is but what if I told you that there is such a thing. All my life I was normal, stable, even mostly happy. Then there was the night with your dad on the beach, the accident, then I was perfectly normal again.

"I can't. I don't' know. It's — we weren't raised spiritual, but we were religious as in going to church, but it was never an intimate spirituality more for show, political. But, when these feelings came up-i felt inhabited by evil. Not really, but I couldn't cope."
"What did Lenore do to make you feel more in control?"
You laugh and raise your eyebrow. I notice you have small granules of sand still on your cheeks. "why do you do that? You know her name is Leora."

I should, but I don't find you funny. I don't like the way you say her. name.

I let out a breath and look away.

"Annie look at me."

I turn back. "I'm trying." I say "I'm trying to do this. Why won't you even talk to me? It's not just you. And for the record Lenora listened to me. She let me talk about it."

"oh fuck." I say. I shake my head, look away and look back at you.

You bite your lip and examine me. I don't even think you feel sorry for telling me that. That she listened to your problems. That she listened to your biggest problem that directly relates to me. Something I don't remember.

I feel hurt and betrayed. "I'm trying here Edward. You say something like that and I think you are taunting me or —I don't know what you are doing but think about this while you are so self-reflective. Think about me as your wife. Think about me as a girl you hardly knew who—whatever happened that you apparently remember or have interpreted or whatever. Now you tell me that you have confided—not your own secret but MINE—to this woman who is sleeping with my husband." I knew my wording was all messed up and confusing but I was trying to say you betrayed me on such a deep and fundamental level.

You take a deep breath. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well you've betrayed me worse than I thought. Now this woman knows something about me that I don't even know about myself. Something I — Jesus."

Neither of us say anything.

"i'm sorry."

I don't answer.

"I'm sorry Annie."

"I know you are."

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. There's no where to deal with this between us. Everything else—everything else is really right."

I shrug. I don't have any words for you. There's a small part of me that knows I owe you something. I owe you —maybe everything. First for rescuing me out on the beach—I would have drowned, I almost did. I know that much. I owe you for keeping the memory and carrying it's weight but I'm so fucking mad at you.

"It's real right? It's real what we did out in the ocean. It's real how we feel right now. Just a moment ago with Alex? We're real Annie. We both know that."

"Ok." I nod slowly. Your mother's words are pounding against the shores of my mind and heart. She is the force and I can see that she just wants me to be upset with you, to close my heart to you. "I don't want to —I don't want this to -add even more distance- but your mom told me you brought Lenore here. It's like you're such a liar. You say things like it's real and then you tell me about the things you told your mistress-your lover Edward while I took a bottle of pills and got into a tub of scalding water."

You flinch. I can see you start to break down but then you regain composure.

"You brought her here to meet your mom?"

You nod.

"You did?" I hear the words coming out of my mouth, my voice weak, cracking. I am so hurt it can't be disguised.

"I did." You say. "I was stupid."

'Why though?"

You lean back on the pillow, lay on your back. You take a moment and let out a breath. I am tracing your features with my eyes. This carnal attraction to you. It's not how I feel with anyone else or how I've ever felt. It's so symbiotic, the effect you have on me.

You turn back to me and touch my face. Your fingers trace my jaw line. Remain. "I don't know Annie. What can I do?"

I stare at you, decide to break the wall that separates us, just. Little fissure, not all of it. "I know." I pause. I can feel myself start to cry so for that reason I don't look at you. "I know you've wanted to talk to me—since the start." Finally I do look.

You let out a breath.

"As much as I feel betrayed. Edward, I know you've carried my burden. I know something triggered you. I don't see things the same way but —this doesn't even make sense."

"Annie this is really important to me and it does make sense. I really want to get through this. I can't—"

"But you know I don't remember."

"You know though, right? You know it's not just drinking and ending up on the beach. You know it's more—"

There it is rising again. It's a suffocating so much so that I panic and place my whole and over your mouth. I'm shaking. "stop." I can't breath and I know I'm starting to hyperventilate. You have become hypervigilant about recognizing this terror in me and you reach for me, pull me to you and hold me. You smooth my hair and kiss me on the top of my head. You comfort me the way I comfort Maddy and Alexander. I hide there Edward.

"Shhh" you whisper, "it's all right Annie."

Again I make the decision to let the water, the ocean pass over me, dive into the wave, feel the rush and then the release. I don't want to be angry with you.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"no. shhh. Annie," You say softly "should we go home? We should't have come here.

"It doesn't bother me."

"but my dad's here. I didn't think—"

My phone buzzes with a text message.

"who's that?" You ask.

I straighten, am composed. That girl crying in your arms has gone away. It's just me. Perfectly normal. I laugh, "How do I know?" Then a flash of panic, what if it's Jack? His kiss— our texts. "I don't know." I turn my back so you can't see the screen of my phone.

I open the text—when I do it's from a number I don't recognize. When I open the message, a picture downloads. It's a picture of her and you. It's out at dinner somewhere. She wears a strapless dress and I see tan lines. Her face is glowing. There's a wine glass in front of her, white, half drunk. You're sitting next to her, you're in a suit jacket and are smiling -full of affection and attraction towards her. I move from your eyes on her to her eyes on you. I am frozen and I forget everything.

"What is it?"

I shake my head.

"what?"

The phone beeps again. Immediately another picture downloads. This one is out on a beach. You are sitting beside her on a blanket. You're body is wet just as it was with me today. I imagine her screaming out "do you love me." "Yes. Yes. I do." She has taken my place.

'Why are you back with me?" I whisper.

'What is it Annie?"

"This place is haunted right?" I say, mostly to myself. "This family is haunted."

I drop my phone on the bed. I get up, gently put Alex in the travel crib and walk out on to the deck. It's on the second floor and as I open the door, the rush of sea air —the wind that the sealed house had kept out, blows into the room. I close it again against the wind. The light is even more blue and the moon is crisp and clear. We are only a floor up and jumping would result in nothing at all, down on the sand. yet, I still imagine it. Or I imagine the ocean, swimming out further and further, keep swimming, only wishing for a miracle to take me to another world. Otherwise, I'd let myself go, drown. I hate myself in this moment. You can't imagine how depression makes you hate yourself. It's cutting and where I should have been angry all I feel is shame. I cross my arms. I feel embarrassed and I take my nails and scratch slowly down each arm, not hard enough to break skin.

Another loud woosh and the door opens. I think it is going to be Edward, instead Carol stands there. My mind—the darkness is back, my dark thinking is back and at first I wonder sincerely if she is a hallucination. Her white hair blowing , the glow of the room behind her, all that yellow a stark contrast against this blue black. Edwards' mother is glowing and I think whatever You was trying to tell me is also locked away inside of her. I can't imagine—beyond his father's physical abuse, what You might have been telling me.

"Annie dear? What are you doing? Are you all right?"

"where's Edward?"
"What do you mean?"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing—why....are — I wanted to tell you that mr. clark and I want you kids to go over to the club and have drinks. You can walk over. Put everything on our tab."

"i'm sorry I'm confused."

"What dear? I can't hear you with the wind."

"I'm not feeling well." I was in such a spinning descent, back into the depression and out again, flashbacks to the days after Alex's birth. And the photographs they were merging with the reality here, with Carol with what she'd told me. And then that last night here on the beach at the end of summer. When I was 18. Mr. Clark is here in the house. A recalibration for me. He's back.

She walked towards me, I smelled the alcohol on her breath before she reached me. The wind now was a Hitchcock movie and when I looked back through the bank of windows I saw Edward standing there. I thought of modern tragedies Tennessee Williams I thought maybe someone was coming to take mea way. Edward was now dressed—these were just moments were't they.

'How long have I been out here?"

"i don't know Annie. Are you all right. Not long. The boys just got back from their race."

I start to cry. It's as if it's slow motion. "they did?"
"yes dear. Are you all right?" She walks even closer. She takes my hand and motions for me to sit on the cushioned seat that surrounds the rail of the deck. "sit here. What is it Annie?"
I just cry into my hands.

"I'm sorry I was so unkind to you earlier" she says. "I shouldn't have told you all that. I don't know why I did."

I look at her and want to believe her. I want the feelings that are welling up in me but in that moment I see Edward's words and hers, both the same. They don't know love or maybe that's what I think because I"m so distraught and broken.

I look back up and Edward is no longer in the window.

"come on and go out. Put on something nice for your husband. Go out with Jack and Jane and you and Edward. Maybe my children can figure things out—Mr. Clark and I want to pay for you kids to have a night out."

"I have the children."

"They'll be fine. You're only a ten minute walk. I'll call you if they wake and can't get back to sleep."

"i don't want them up in the room all alone."

"We'll put all the children together in here and I'll stay with them."
"Where's Edward?"

She turned to look back at the windows of the bedroom.

"I don't know."

It's an hour later. The children are sleeping. I am so appreciative to the gods or whom ever is responsible for their ability to sleep through the waves of emotion that pummel our lives. You. me. It's me I think. Maybe I've just forgotten them for a little while. Maybe they couldn't find their mother so they went into a Fairy Tale Slumber. You are no where. It's 8:00. I leave the room and pull the door quietly so as not to wake Maddie and Alexander. The hallway has a little yellow glow from the candle sconces between each of the four doors on each side of the hall. Three bedrooms and two baths. What a beach clubhouse, I think. Yet, I enjoy the aesthetic that comes with wealth. The casual million dollar house. The lawn on the front, fit for a Gatsby ball, the dunes, the wood walkway, the beach. The ocean wild and beckoning. I start towards the landing, I planned to look for you downstairs. Maybe you and Jack are playing scrabble or drinking scotch. Maybe. But then as I start past the last room, I hear your voice, muffled and angry. You must be on the sleeping porch just outside the room. Your voice, partly swallowed by the roar of the ocean. I hear your tense and passionate rage. I stand for a moment, frozen wanting to make out the cryptic sounds, break down your words. What are you saying to her? Why are you talking to her? Was it her photographs, the photographs of you two? Her burgeoning stalking, a creature coming to live as it is conceived out of her jealousy and obsession. Are you trying to stop it? Are you fueling it. My heart races and I can feel a shame rise through me. I dread this shame. This shame is a murderous self loathing.

I wait another moment, consider knocking. "Jesus!" I hear him say "I can't!" So I do knock.

"Wait! Annie's at the door." I can make it out now. His voice. The way you say my name to her. As if she knows me. As if the three of us have a sort of agreement. A love triangle. I hear you walking, rushing first then a pause, composing yourself. You opens the door. I notice you don't hold the phone against you. You don't attempt to muffle us. Our intimacy. It is fuel. I think.

"Annie," You says helplessly.

I don't speak because I don't want her to have my voice. More fuel. I just keep my eyes on you.

"I need to deal with this." You finally say. I remain mute. I almost feel sorry for you. You have an expression of exasperation, pleading. And then also jealousy with it's evil twin desire rushes through me. If you had chosen me over her voice, her passion, her pleading. There may have been some hope. You are an elastic band and you've worn us out. We are expended. We are done. I smile. I don't know why.And you react with reflex, a flirtatious charm. You hold up a finger. "a minute ok?" You mouth the words.

"Eddie?!" I can hear her disembodied voice.

I think"Eddie" no one in the world has ever called him Eddie. It is emasculating somehow.

I turn. And walk. I don't hear the door close until I'm at the bottom of the maple stairs. I pass the shelves at the landing. The regatta trophies. All of Mr. Clark's prominent, center shelf, up front the light shining on his accomplishments first. Then, Jack's. Then yours—Your regatta trophies up high where you can't make out the words but that I know bear your name—mostly before. I knew your family and some from when we were teenagers. The irony, of course, is that you were the only good captain, you knew how to sail and navigate. You know when to tack the sail, when to ride fast with the wind. The remember my myself as the girl who tread these stairs back then, a halo and bright light surrounding me. His mother hopeful, that I would be her daughter. The poetry we read together. The whole summer, my own room—a daughter and daughter-in-law.

Until you. Until you Edward.

It's quiet downstairs. I pass the den. It's the doesn't face the ocean. I have always thought this room could be anywhere, it has no evidence of ocean or beach. It is your father's room. We have never spent time here. No one does unless your dad is home. And You is. One of a handful of times You's been with us.

"Kids asleep?" He calls. He doesn't even turn. He knows its me. His military that way—gathering intelligence harnessing his senses.

"Me?" I ask.

"Yes, you Annie." Now he turns.

You is stern but You's softened. You looks like a combination of you and Jack. He's handsome, but carries himself as a 1950s man. A man who commands.

The way he speaks now I remember some very translucent image- the short span of time when he came to the beach house on weekends. A week one time. I remember something.

"Come on in here, Annie."

I walk in. Nervous. Feeling like a child. The room smells like pipe spice. I haven't seen him smoke and don't think You does. You has a scotch.

"You drink scotch?"
"I don't know" I say.

"If you don't' know, then you do."

"Ok." I whisper.

"Come sit."

As I venture in I do appreciate the Stickley furniture. I always liked the oak chairs and brown leather. This is how you know someone is rich. Original antiques, used, in pristine condition. The rug is from Morocco. I know. He told me about his time there in the military and dynamic again as a corporate executive. He has broad shoulders. His eyes are a sparkling green. I never knew if he was charming and manipulative as your family characterizes you, Edward, if he shares the compassion they project on to Jack I always felt he was a machine. Analytical, analyzing, determining one's weakness.
The intimacy between us seems natural - I remember somehow a one sided connection. His with me and my silence enough to maintain the escalating dynamic.

Escalating. That thought is imbued with fear and then the silence. The silence between your father and me. The only person who acknowledged this-back the- was you, Edward. That was how we started. That is what you beg me to relive-to talk about. I think in this moment that is why you left me. You could save me and I won't do the same for you.

"Kids asleep?" He asks as he pours me a glass of scotch.

I take a sip. No grimace. It's smooth and hot and I need the burning, and the immediate warmth.

"You do drink scotch" he laughs. "How are you dear?" He asks. "Do you like motherhood?"

I nod. "yes."

"you've had it hard, haven't you?"

I nod and for some reason feel tears coming. They do.

He just nods. Looks at me. "it's hard Annie."

I nod again. Put my. Head in my hands.

"I want to tell you something." He says. He pours another glass for himself and then one for me.

"I tried to take my life too. You probably remember my breakdown- you were 19 I think?"

I look at him.

"That's why I don't come around. You didn't know that did you, Annie? The reason I don't come to the beach house? Or the farm for the matter."

I shake my head. "I didn't know you had a nervous breakdown or attempted suicide."

"Family is too much Annie. It's too much. Love your kids. Forget the rest."

"The rest?" I ask."Forget infidelity? Is that what you mean?"

I raise my eyebrows, I feel the incredulousness. I am ok being lured into a familiarity-one that no one will see. I put the glass on the table and stand. I turn and look at the books. The whole room is floor to ceiling. I don't have a father. My father's dead. I've never been close to Mr. Clark. He like Edward never noticed me until he did. His interest in my problems. I can be like him maybe.

"Can I look at your books?" I ask.

"Sure. Take whatever you want."

"I don't want to take any."

"Books are intimate. They are a man's -or woman's- secret. Right?"

"What do you mean?" I laugh and I let his projection of coyness stand. I approach the bookshelf.

"It's what one knows. It's the basis of their intelligence, personality—It's in us."

Philosophy, paper back and antiquated rare books. Plato, Aristotle. I notice a lot of Hegel and Descartes.

"Isn't Hegel sexist?" I don't know why I ask that.

He laughs, "everyone's sexist Annie."

I notice novels too. Classic, antiquated, contemporary. The shelves are a hardwood mahogany, lights directed at them from above.

"This room is different. I say. You know I wouldn't have thought you would have —that you would be like this. Do you have rooms like this in all of your houses? I mean I wouldn't have thought you—a book collector is all?'
"No? I don't share much with my family, Annie."

"I notice. Why not?"

"Can I change the subject?" He asks. Pauses. Waits.

I realize this feels like a therapy session. Him behind the large wooden desk-authority. Me now moving in the space. No anchor.

"Why not?" I say still thumping through the books.

"I had a sister." He laughs. "she looked almost exactly like you, particularly when you were with Jack. When you first starting coming to the house. That was over 10 years ago, wasn't it?"

I turn to him. This new knowledge that he had noticed me, had an intimate connection with me—even before the night on the beach. Or rather that summer—those days punctuated with a growing closeness, fondness.. A projection of someone—someone You loved?
"yes. It was. 11 years ago." I say.

"Before Edward."

I nod and stare at him for. moment—he's circling something so deadly to me and I feel anger rising but I don't know what exactly we are talking about.. I pick up A leather bound copy of Confucius Analtycis. It's a beautiful book, fabric pages. Gold inlay on the cover.

"is that the one you want?" He asks. He stands now. I have never seen him kind or compassionate-even on those days when he was so affectionate towards me.. He is a little drunk I can tell. He doesn't approach me at first. Instead he walks over to a chippendale desk by a row of windows, shrouded in heavy maroon velvet curtains. They pick up the yellow sheen of the desk lamp as he flicks the switch. The room is so clean, the spicy smell, the smell of lemon wood polish. Your father is a large man, tall and still muscular, even at 60. He opens one of the drawers. I walk over to his desk, still holding the book.

"I always loved these secret drawers." I unwittingly confess times when Jack and I rummaged through them—for what I didn't know—just to see what's in this enigmatic man's secret life.

"you did did you? How did you know about the secret drawers, Annie?" He teases but does not press. I am thinking about you and your father. The stilted, bullying relationship. Man to man—you and Jack never sizing up-never meeting his expectations, exactly. Who is this person? I stand close to him and I see how his hair is graying on the sides. It's distinguished, handsome. How do some people have all the advantages? The room is archetypal. The man is archetypal.

"First the pictures. These photographs are old now. We're old"

He removes a small stack, wrapped in linen paper, an elastic band around them. He opens the paper and there about five black and white photographs. They are glossy and the edges zig zag He hands them to me to look at. They are here at this house.

"you grew up here too?"

"Three generations, many renovations." You laughs but his eyes are on mine. You wants me to look. And once I do, I see the likeness. More. She's my doppelgänger.

I look up at him. She is about 17, the age I was when I first met Jack. The bathing suit is different. The shoreline a little different.

"1960" He says. "the last summer with her."

I look up at him. His eyes are deeply sad. You is vulnerable. You is sharing something with me. A closeness with his sister. I see why. The line is straight—his projection evident, understandable. I shift my weight. I somehow feel the smoothness of the waxed floor on my bare feet. This is meaningful but I am full, topped off and over flowing. I don't know if it's the stress of Edward of a mental illness that runs through my blood—ever since Alexander. It is chemical I feel that. And, my medicine. I shouldn't have stopped it, but it wasn't helping. It was leaving echoes in my mind and I thought-when it was happening brain zaps and quiet haunting. When I felt it I thought it was worse than the darkness. But maybe nothing is worse than this black. infection.

"She does look like me." I say.

"Exactly-" He adds.

I look closer, a paranoid thought—what if these are pictures of me, photoshopped. I can see they're not. I see Mr. Clark, a young man next to her. A man that looks like Jack and a little like Edward. His hair bleached from the sun and beach.

"Can I look at these for a while, tonight?" I am still holding the book.

He nods. They're yours.

"What happened to her."

"She died Annie—"

"I know but—how"

He is already opening another drawer, it's front cared into a decretive shell. Another hidden drawer.

"Here."

"letters?" I ask.

He nods. "and some other pictures Annie.Don't look at them tonight but keep them."

"Don't look at them?"

"No."

"Why are you giving them to me." I start to remove the elastic band.

"No. Don't. Seriously.Don't."

"Are they of me?"

"Annie, carry on with your life. Ignore Edwards indiscretion. A wife's jealousy feeds it. I know, from experience." He picks up his glass and swallows down the rest of the scotch.

"you kids going to the tavern?" Now your father is Mr. Clark again. A different man. Stern. His eyes examine me like they. Usually do. It's s if we have returned from a time warp It's the same suppression of intimate violation. Although I don't remember the night on the beach-I know it's him and he has not rewritten his story. He had a nervous breakdown. I'm afraid of the photographs he's given me because although I have a dark undercurrent in my consciousness that brings me back to the night on the beach when I was 19, I have no idea what these pictures of me are.

'I wanted to—"

Just then Jack appears in the doorway.

"Jack. I was just having a talk with Annie here."

Jack looks as the pictures and letters in my hand. "About what?"
"Jesus son. Don't be so damned suspicious." I see how Mr. Clark uses words to suppress. To deny. To pretend. I slip the photos and letters into the book.

"your dad gave me a book." Then I automatically go along with it. I don't even know what I'm going long with and if you asked me in the moment I couldn't tell you if I was 19 agin or 31. I wouldn't know if I was a mother or the girl -likely the girl in the second set of photographs-the teenager who looked just like Jack's dead aunt.

It's as if light has entered the room and all the shadows have receded

"Oh yeah?"

"Confucius."

He laughs."That's rich."

"All right kids. I have to finish up here. I'm leaving in the morning."

"thank you for the book. And conversation." I say to him.

"you're welcome dear."

I see he likes me or trusts me. I see he's confined something. Maybe even confessed. I gives me a warmth because he's relieved some of the dread.

I walk out into the hallway. I hear movement upstairs murmurs. It's you—talking to her Lenore-in an instant I'm back to our lives. To right now. . Jack and I turn and walk to the screened in three-season room. A fire is still burning low. This maybe is my favorite thing about the Clark's beach house. This room. The glowing light of the fireplace like a bonfire with the ocean breeze wafting through the screens on all sides. Jack and I used to sleep out here way back when. Making love, then each to our own couch. "I love you Annie. I love you Annie." Then, sometimes at night we'd walk out naked, the beach there just down the steps and off a path that runs along the side of the house, secluded from everyone. We'd venture out under the moonlight and stars and sometimes we'd swim or just walk the beach. The wealth offers freedom I never had.

We sit at the settees— two new ones across from each other framing the stone fireplace—

"Want a drink?" Jack asks.

"No your dad plied me with—"

"What was that about? That guy is so fucking weird. "

"He just wanted to talk to me."

"like that summer he took you under his wing."

"What summer?"

"Other than that, I have never seen that man really nice. Unless he wanted something"

"Come on-you're the one he likes. I mean between you and Edward."

"You think so?" There was just a hint of something in Jack's expression.

I look down at the book and then open the hard leather cover. "He gave me these." I hand the pictures of his aunt - to Jack.

"What are they?" He thumbs through them. Silent then looks up at me. "What...?"

"It's his sister."

"His sister?" He thumbs through the rest, studying them. "I didn't know he had a—she looks just like you Annie."

"I know. I think that's why he gave them to me. He gave me another set too. He said they were of me."

"Of you? Can I see them?"

"No."

"No?"

"I haven't opened them. I mean I'm not sure I want to."

"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to talk about it."

Just like the other secrets and taboo's jack accepts the conditions. We pretend I never told him about the pictures his father has of me.

"I didn't know he had a sister That is so bizarre—I have never heard a thing about her, not from my grandparents when they were alive Not from my dad — my uncle."

I shrug my shoulders.

"This is so crazy Annie. Does Edward know?"

I roll my eyes. "I could care less what Edward knows."

Jack smiles. He likes when I disparage his brother.

The fireplace crackles. Despite his softer temperament Jack's features are much more defined than yours. I can see his jaw tighten just a little as he examines the book and letters. He hands the pictures back to me. "And those?"

"Letters."

"What do they say?"

Jack's blue eyes pick up the light from the fire, glow a cool ocean blue. Partly gray. Still, he communicates with me without words. It's not passion or love, it's not like you. Why do I love you when I had Jack? It's because of these things your father gave me. I probably wouldn't have stayed with Jack. I probably would have gone to college and forged another path. Maybe with or without postpartum mental illness. But everything changed and I am now branded by your family's violence and trauma.

"Annie? This is weird right? My dad gives you this —what's going on?"
I look down as I realize that I've been staring into Jack's eyes, not responding. "Sorry, I guess I"m tired—He just gave them to me."

"What happened to her?"
"I don't know-she died. That's all he told me. I don't know why but I feel like she drowned."

I hear your footsteps on the steps, then approaching the room. Instinctively I slip the letters and photos back into the book. I slide the book to the side of the couch, wedged beside the cushion. I don't know why. This is not my secret from you Edward. It's your fathers.

You enter the room. Your shirt is pulled out from your kakis. You have your loafers on - no socks. You walk into the room, look at Jack and then me. You let out a breath and eye us both again.

"What's up?" you ask. Your words careful. You allow a pause, an implied suspicion—as if I were the one on the phone with my lover. "Where's Jane?" You look t your brother.

"She's out in the car, mom's talking to her."
"About what?"

"We're spitting up Edward—I'm sure Annie told you."

"She did not." It's cool condescension you reserve for Jack. You stare at Jack a moment, then turn to me. I feel a sinking in my stomach. The darkness invading me.The shame and humiliation. It's compounded by a growing numbness and panic that has been stirred by your father. It's catching up with my thoughts, the feelings maybe memories beneath and looking at you I feel no power at all. My mind flashes on you -you with her and how much it implies about your intention the you would bring her here to be with your family. As if she is that important. And what about them. How easily they could betray me and your children. No matter how much I try to find myself, I imagine Lenore here. In this house or the house in Boston. Sitting across from you and your mom. Playing scrabble. Thanksgiving. All of it.

You should be with her, Edward. I think you should have left me and stayed with her. I was getting better, really. I was. Mom was right. I'd talked to Alice and I was going to finish my apprenticeship at the firm. I was going back to work. I had Dr. Antol and medication. You should have stayed with Lenore.

"The kids are still sleeping" You say as if you had anything to do with it.

"Are you going somewhere?" Jack asks. He has a special condescension for you too.

I see the disdain cross over your face. You ignore your brother.

"Are you?" I ask.

"Yeah." You finally say. You lean against the door frame. Looking at me, asking for sympathy.

"No." I whisper. I think about what your father said to me. It fuels you. Your dad knows, From experience.

"Annie I have to straighten this all out. seriously. The woman is starting to — I mean she's —"

"No you don't." Jack interjects. "the only thing that will come of it is making it worse."

"You don't know anything about it."

"What is Annie supposed to do?Come on!"

"When did it become your business? You don't need to be so concerned about Annie."

"what the fuck is wrong with you, Edward?"
"I am not even going to waste my breath—you aren't worth my time."

"Are you so much better than us? So deserving of whatever whim—better than everyone else? Why do you feel like you have so much fucking privilege? You have always had your sullen as fuck attitude around here as if you are so much better—" Jack is full of contempt.
"Yes. In fact. I am better than you. I got everything you couldn't get."

A silence descends.There I am in the center of this competition. Was that the lure all along?

"Fuck you Edward. You're a worthless piece of shit. You know that?"

I stand and walk over to you and your eyes follow me and I am in a dream place, because of your father, because of the scotch. The depression -my darkness, my delusions- just on the other side of the room, out the scree door, the ocean —it's all there the draw and the pull to darkness. I have tried so hard. "Don't" I plead. "I want to talk to you about something."
"Annie stop. I have to. I don't want her sending pictures and harassing you." You put your hand on my arm, lean in. I think you will kiss me. I don't know why I thought that. Something in your look, your face softening. A paradox. A seduction.

"You just spent an hour on the phone with her. She's getting your time." I' m pleading. I'm a child.

"Annie stop it."

Jack stands. "Jesus Edward what the fuck is wrong with you. Stay home with your wife. Most people would just block the call and get on with it. You're a God damned cheat."
"You should talk. Your wife is outside being consoled by mom and you're in here trying to seduce my wife."

"Fuck you" Jack walks out.

I hate myself. I hate myself for being close to you. The sand still in my hair. The feel of you in my heart, my body. The wind roars or it seems like it does.The sound of the ocean howling, at least in my mind. I can see myself submerged. Depression does that, it stands beside you, sometimes a shadow other times a ghost. It reminds you there's always another way. Something luscious in its macabre lure. many women have drowned themselves. Returning to the earth's womb. It is tempting and I think that if you leave I will take some pills and swim—just swim out. The death of this life is unbearable.

"Please don't. Edward—I can't do it on my own any more. I'm not doing well—" I start to cry and you wrap your arms around me.

You kiss the top of my head and whisper "Annie don't be jealous. This is almost over for good." You look at me and hold my face in your hands. I feel like a child and despite your gentle gesture, some loose strands of my hair is tangled in your fingers in places, unbeknownst to you, you're is hurting me. "don't be jealous. Annie."

You kiss me and I feel everything, all my senses so heightened. I lean into you and kiss you passionately—you reciprocate. I'm trying to keep you. I want you to be what I need. I want you.

You smooth my hair. "I have to go."

"Are you coming back tonight?"

"I'm driving to —"

"You're not?"

You shake your head.

"How far will you push? Do you want me dead?" I say. I'm cool and composed.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean Annie?"
"If you leave tonight. I'm leaving you for good." there is an ember and that sentiment might strike an energy. An energy that will counteract the lure of suicide.

"You do't mean that."
I pull away. "I do. I was thinking about it anyway. And now this and the weird conversation with your dad. I called mom. She's coming tomorrow. I'm done. If you go tonight. That's it."
Your expression changes, this look I recognize—it's stone cold. It causes a shudder, brings up hints at things I don't remember.

"I wish I had married Jack," I say. It's quiet, almost to myself. It's not what I wish but it's the only ammunition I have.

"What did you say?"

"you heard me?'

These things happen in sudden flashes, My mind slips them-for some reason—immediately into amnesia. But, for a second a split second I think I see your hand—your class ring with the sapphire stone. I see you raise your hand and I gasp.

"Don't hit me!" I say.

But, it's an illusion. I see your hand is not raised. Instead you look worried. "Don't hit you?" Your hands are by your side and you reach for me.

I pull away."I thought you were going to hit me."

"hit you?" You shake your head. At first you maybe you'll defend yourself, then I can see you've decided that I'm manipulating you —or at least that's what I think—but I did see a hand coming down—maybe not now but the feeling is real.

"i'm tired Annie." you say "I'm tired of all this fucking shit. Let me deal with this. You don't understand—if you want to quit our marriage—" You turn back to me, down the hall now and the hallway looks very strange. It's too dark and too narrow and then where you stand there is a bluish light. You look dead. You look like a corpse Edward. I would run to you but the hallway looks so dangerous. "If you want to quit our marriage then quit our marriage."

You turn and open the front closet door. I am so numb and sounds are so distorted. I hear the fabric move, as you put on a jacket. Then I hear the front door. I slowly walk back to the front of the house, the family room. I see the headlights of your SUV - backing out, the sound of shells cracking as the car backs out of the driveway. I get a glimpse of your silhouette. You look like the grim reaper to me. As you retreat like the ocean.

I feel very drunk at this point. I don't remember how long I was in the family room. You never returned, Jack never did. I waited for nothing. You're dad is in the doorway now. He's got a casual way about him that I remember, a familiarity.

"Edward wants you to meet him." He said. He was friendly, familiar.

I look up, things are slow.

"Meet him?" I ask.

"he took a walk on the beach. Wants you to join him."

'He's back?" I whisper.

"Back?" Your dad laughs. He's tall and the light from the hallway casts a one shadow Ito the room.

"Carol will watch the kids."

"He's back?"
"Yes, dear. He is waiting for you by the shore."

Everything for the next eight hours are only splinters.

I feel my face, the burning.

I am in the bathroom splashing cold water. Edward is waiting by the shore. Yes, of course he is. He's back. When I close my eyes, I see a hand and taste the briny ocean water. I feel a grip on my arm. I see the blue black sky and all of it, all that is nature and force is in such a blur I am dizzy and feel faint. It rises like this, like the tide and sits with me. When It retreats I make a note to watch the children. I make a note, tell myself to anchor and not drown. Not leave them here. I can hear a voice—it's yours I know now and I don't make out what you are saying. Maybe it's "Dad!" or maybe it's "Dead!" Somewhere deep in my unconscious I know that although I hear the voice here and now, it is a memory.

I nurse Alexander and he falls back asleep.

I pour a glass of water.

A hand over and over grabbing me, it flashes before me. I'm trying to remember I'm trying to incorporate this truth because if you have to go to someone else—another woman- to get peace, to have someone to listen to you then I've failed too Edward.

Then, the panic rises and this time there is no anchor. I see the trick my mind has played. I just wanted the children asleep so they would't wake before I could do what I'm about to.

I am shaking pills into my hand. Five. Then 10. Then 15. But I think this is stupid. With the scotch and wine I would only need one. I only need to be sleepy then I can swim out -whatever happens, happens. If I just keep swimming I think I'll escape this time. My hands shake as I put all but one pill back into the plastic bottle. One ambien. I lift the glass and swallow it.

I check the children again. "you're a bad mother' I tell myself. "You're a bad wife." Carol will watch the children.

It's deep, a knife into my heart, my stomach, my chest. The pain radiates, at first it's the humiliation, it's the ocean, it's then more, it's all of me. It is who I am and that is the reason I can't live any more. It's a memory that has such a strong gravitational pull. No one understands that it is a haunting and an evil that has one objective. To kill me.

I'm slow on my way out of the room, down the stairs. I am stealthy as I pass the library, the three season room. I hear hushed voices, likely more conversations over Jack and Jane's breakup. I am ready. I don't feel the pill but I know if I keep swimming, out and farther out, I know that they will do their work. I will escape or I'll die and be free. It won't happen to me.

I walk across the deck, slip off my sandals and continue down the wooden walk way. First it's the wind, a steady but strong

The moon is white, it's a hallucinatory white. I know this burst of electric magic. It entered while I was sleeping, the night my father died. I sat up. "dad". I'd just seen him in a dream walking towards me, along train tracks. The night was dark but the moon was bright, bright enough to break through this mortal world.

Are you with me now? Dad? I think. Will you accompany me to my death? I simultaneously feel like a faker, an imposter. If I wanted to die I should have taken the bottle of Ambien. Not just one. The ocean is ink. The moon's reflection a north star. I know where to follow. I can feel the terror in my veins soon to my heart. Will I fall asleep in the salty water? Is one sleeping pill enough, along with all the wine and scotch.

The wind comes in bursts, strong and each unexpected like the series of waves surfers talk about. The resistance, the cool air, not cold. Summer on the shore. Why am I here. Why am I alive.

When I reach the shoreline the sand is cold and hard. It was worth it to be this close to the ocean, the roar is alive, it surrounds me. I see shells that's have been dredged up. It's low tide. I'll have to walk out far before I can dive in. I walk slowly and all I think about is Alexander and Maddy—Maddy mostly. She won't understand at first, but in the long run...she'll be better. Maybe Jack and Jane will take them. I hope not, Edward. Edward you are just as bad as I am. How did we create these beautiful little beings. I am crying but I find it indulgent to let my tears fall back into the sea. I soon will be too. The black ink water has hints of phosphorescence as I wade deeper. I don't know when but I removed my clothes sometime between the house and now. I am naked and the water has that oily feel against my skin. I see how white, how pale I look. I see an apparition. It's the girl. The girl in the pictures. I was hallucinating but I see here own there and I know immediately that she drowned too. That she was cursed by something. She has the long hair of my teenage self. She's thin and white like me. I swim towards her, towards my father now a symbolic light, God. I am dying, the ocean knows it. I swim as far out as I can and then, my legs become useless. I am ready for the ocean to swallow me, make me disappear.

I float, stare up. It's transcendent the way the water feels, how small I am-how much the ocean can offer hope. Something that should be frightening out there in the blackness, the waves, not rough like near the shore but an undulating seduction. I know the water draws you out deeper once you're this far from shore. The undulations-I remember from sailing with Jack. When we let the sail down and the water seems so calm. Floating there, the sun beating down, the gentle rocking and how far we drift without knowing. But, he was there to take control when need be. I take control too, I realize. I have taken control of my life and really it's still there. With or without Edward. With or without the Clark's. This thought is what gives me the consciousness, maybe even counteracts the sleeping pill. You have to surrender when you are on the line, but not over it. I know my physical strength. So many times I've gone running with Edward or rock climbing-sports that require endurance and every time I've won. He wins when technical skill is required like sailing or skiing but physically I am strong.

I wake to my life and being out there, wishing death upon myself seems silly. I am not terrified of the ocean or the pale moon above nor am I entranced. I am just me out in the water-I am a strong swimmer. What do they tell you to do when you hit a rip tide or are taken out by an under toe? You look for shore but you don't swim directly back to it. Instead, you swim parallel until you feel the current working in your favor. The houses are so far apart that there is not beacon. At first I see no light, no landmark to shore. Out that far it all looks expansive and infinite. I turn over stop floating and tread water. I listen but of course there in sonic clue. That close to water, indeed nearly full submerged it is only the wind hitting the surface. It is my movement slight splashes as I turn my head to orient myself. But,then When a current lifts me, the bobbing water. I may be drifting farther out for all I know but when a swell passes I see the light of the Clark's house-I think it's the clark's house but it doesn't matter. It is one of the estates that dot Slater's beach. So I know. I know where the shore is. I swim parallel for a moment but realize I am not swimming against the current at all. I turn and feel a surge of adrenelyn through my body. The same push that comes at the end of a long run. The same surge that comes when I sense -not see but sense Edward's exhaustion. His defeat. "Go!" I scream in my mind and with that I swim hard strokes back towards the shore. Each cupped hand plunging into the water followed by a syncrhonized hard kick through the salty sea.One after another and really, it doesn't take long at all. Once I feel the rush of surf over my body I stand. My legs are so weak they are shaking. My look blue under the moonlight. What was the sound of what was the sound of ocean and wind is now the sound of land and a rising tide. It's the rush of sea grass. It's pebbles crunching as the tide hits the shore, disturbs the debris and it rushes back into the ocean. The air is warm and I am thankful. I walk over the hard sand, still wet-eternally damp through low and high tide. It must be so soaked beneath where the ground water sits below. That was how I imagined it as a child. Like two sideways triangles, Land under water, water under land. If you were to look at it from a geological lens you would see a sideways hourglass. I remember trying to explain it to my logical father when I was a child. Sitting on the public beach on Cape Cod, Hoards of people around us. He carries me on his shoulders to the water. He'll plop me down and we'll walk the length of the shore, sometimes a mile or two until I get tired and he puts me back on his shoulders.

I sit there on the sand, on the part that's dry and I cry. I cry for my father and for the chance to be a child again and think of the world in simple physics - what must be because we do not criticize our concrete thoughts. I thought the wind caused waves and I thought if I could open the door of an airplane and walk on the wing, I would be able to sit on the clouds, that they would support my weight. This is because of what I saw and what must be based on the appearance. Maddy does that too, Edward. She'll ask questions that seem so obvious to me. Is cheese hard milk. Do babies like Alex have their own language and do other babies understand them. Maddy thinks the dolls and stuffed animals at the toy store have spirits and personalities. She can't just pick one. Instead we have to stand as she introduces herself to them, inspects them. Finds the one she likes, who likes her.

I'm tired, Edward. I'm tired out here on the shore of Slater's beach. Are you back yet? Have you driven to Lenore's house. Are you on the road, driving to New York? Or have you gone somewhere else? Then, in the distance. I see a figure, a sillouette. For a moment I think I am back on the beach years ago. I am 18 again. I think the future is you and that you have come out to the shore, to rescume. I'm elated thinking you'll be proud of me—maybe feel less burden-when you see I've saved myself. I almost lift my hand to wave to you so you can see that I'm ok.I know you can see me because the light of the full moon casts a celestial brightness on the beach. I love these nights the way the ocean and shore look other worldly like a dystopian novel. Then I see the gait, the stature. It's not you Edward. Then I think Jack but the figure is slower than Jack would be. Jack would have already called out to me, picked up his pace. He never lost his enthusiasm, the childish quality of the youngest child. No Edward. It's your father.

Instinctively I stand. I look around to see what's close—where I can run to for help but there is only beach. I see I am likely half a mile from your beach house and this is the side of the beach that's undeveloped. The two mile stretch of the peninsula before hugging the main road back to town. There is this stretch, then your house, then a half a mile form there Antoinette's aunt's house.

"Annie!" He calls. "You OK?" He is closer but not close enough to make out his features. He is a silhouette becoming visible in the moonlight.

"I'm fine." I yell. I wipe the sand off of my legs and posture, ready to run. I assume a position of power that i"ve seen on a ted talk. Stand in a position of power, you will be powerful.

Now he's in front of me. "You ok?" You see I can tell the way he's acting that something is off. I can tell because he and I are not familiar with each other but he's slipped into a delusion. He has told himself that we are intimate and now, here, we can be real with each other. I recognize this, Edward.

"Where's Edward?" I ask him. I do not slip into the nice, respectful girl I was at 18. I don't remember what happened Edward. Not even now this moment, with the same ocean ow pounding the shore, waves growing stronger as the tide has creeped up closer to my position on the dry sand. Maybe it's the power pose.

He shrugs and laughs a little. "Let's take a walk Annie."

"No." I say. "Where's Edward."

"with his girlfriend, I imagine."

I don't turn Edward. I don't turn because if I do I know he'll grab me. "I don't remember what you did." I say. "But Edward does."

"Edward. Edward. Edward." He says. "so what?"

I shake my head.

"you came back here Annie."

"So."

He starts towards me and I know that his projection of intimacy —or maybe it's a reduction of me to a two dimensional role in his story. He's going to try to hurt me Edward. I back away and instinctively I yell "Edward!" When I start to run what I knew would happen, happened he grabbed my arm. He was in the military and despite him being old now, he's not old. I realize that military men are not old in their sixties.

"let go of me" I say. Edward I feel myself hit the sand and maybe for a moment I remember but it's not the linear dialogue of your narrative of the night on the beach when you rescued me. It is seaweed loose and sticky. It is amorphous and hallucinigentic. I can feel the tide rising and I feel his hands on my neck, one arm pinning me. I am waititng for you Edward but you are not going to come this time.

I squirm and he moves his hand from my neck and holds my chin.

"Stop." I say. "Stop Mr. Clark."

He can't hear me. Does he want to rape me or does he want to kill me? Why me I think. I am trying to squirm and the sand is working in my favor just a little because it makes it hard for me to pin him down.

"I have been nothing but kind to you Annie. You come here in my home and seduce all the men. What kind of family are you from?"

I feel the water coming closer. Not every wave but that's how the tide rises. It's in sets of waves. A few not drawing closer to the higher dry part of the sand, but one or two that rush in, until they all do. Until things on the shore are submerged.

There are no rocks or driftwood. There is nothing I can use to save myself. One thought is to beg him but I can see from the look in his eyes, he has a violent momentum that has completely blinded him. At some point-maybe when he decided to come out here—he surrendered to it.

Another strategy is to just let him do it. Let him finish but I really dont' know what finish means. Not with the ocean so close, now running through my hear with each wave. I know from. Body surfing as a child that the foamy surf can drown you just as the deep water can.

I somehow loosen one hand and I glare into his eyes. This fucking asshole on top of me. My hands are wet and slippery. I draw my hand and in a violent motion-not self defense but rather my own version of violence I scratch the side of your face. Instinctively you reach up to protect yourself. and I am released. I don't make a move yet. Something else is there emboldening me. He looks at me and he is part hurt but I know there will be a sudden shift back to violence. I don't pull away yet. When he looks at his hand looking for blood, but there is not blood yet, Edward. Yet. I reach up again and this time I cup may hand turn my fingers into claws. I am methodical, conscious—the opposite of the first time I imagine when I was unconscious from alcohol or whatever. Unconscious on this very shore, maybe this same spot and I claw at his eye and when I do he yelps. He sounds like a woulnded animal. "Jesus Annie. What are you doing?" As if. As if this was all normal until I went crazy and scratched him. Now there's blood and he's gets off of me. He is bleeding and the blood is now on my bare stomach on the top of my bikini.

I pull away and grab a handful of sand. It's a childish act. Something you would do to a sibling. I throw a handful of sand into his bleeding eye. And again he yelps. It's like a super hero movie and I didn't need super human strength or godly powers. It was his eye. A police report might say "good fortune that I hit his eye int he struggle and he was so wounded." But it wasn't an accident. I did it on purpose.

I stood and he started to get up. I think for a moment that I will harm him more. I wait standing above him. He is on his knees. Now the water has saturated his kaki Bermuda shorts, unbuttoned, unzipped. HIs shirt is soaked with his own blood. He is holding his palm against his eye. Have I blinded your father Edward.

He looks up at me with one eye. He is bloodied but I think he's stopped the bleeding. Under the moonlight, this moment I realize it's not over. What would a soldier do? What would a marine like you father do? No. A wound-even a mortal wound wouldn't stop him. And, this isn't a mortal wound I know that. Then I am back with you in my mind. We are running, one of our long beach runs and I am tiring you out-as I do. I have the endurance that none of the men in your family have. I take off towards the hosue. I know it is two miles. I know I should it have the physical strength to do this. Even my muscles must be saturated with lactic acid by now.I don't know how I do it Edward but I run and I run hard and maybe even fast. I don't look back but I sense that he is not behind me. That even if he tries to run he won't be a able to make up the distance. He had to put his clothes back on. He had to take off his top siders and he'd have to be less drunk.

I run hard and when I get to the deck, the wooden walk way I've traversed so many time so many years. I see the soft yellow light inside the hosue. Your family is moving about as if nothing has happend. I don't know what time it is but it's not as late as I would think, Edward. As I pass the shower I see the three season room, a fire int he fire place. I see Carol holding Alex and Maddy playing on the floor. When I push open the doors they hardly look up. This is how fucked up they are. They must have known that your father came out after me. They must have known that I went out to the beach first, having had scotch with your father. But, they hardly look up at me. Even Jane is back, sitting close to Jack. I look around the room and can't determine if it is a dream or reality. How far will they take the lies?

Jack looks up at me. "Look who it is."

I don't say anything. Maddyruns up to me, holds a drawing.

I look back at the door but no Mr. Clark. Will he just leave? Will he kill himself?

"Annie you really should put something on."

Now I realize my body must show signs of the struggle. They must all know.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask her. "Are you fucking kidding me Carol?"

She flinches. She felt my words as a physical assault. "Annie. My god have you gone crazy again. Jack do something."

"Annie what's wrong with you?"

I walk over and gingerly take Alex out of her arms. She resists a little at first but I look at her and say "you're all in trouble." She relates him as if he's on fire. I don't know what that threat meant and maybe it meant nothing but that is the fear isn't it? Her fear. That someone would know she let that man beat her children, rape a teenage girl. Who knows what else.

"Come on Maddy" I say and the paper drawing of a little mermaid falls to the floor and when it does it floats-at least in my mind- like a leaf from a tree.

I turn back before I leave the room.

"I'm calling my mother. I'm leaving tonight and if any of you try to speak to me or if that man comes near me or my children my mother is calling the police."

They all sit—including your brother-they are stunned and silenced. They have no idea what to do—but only for a moment. They are paralyzed with cognitive dissonant and it's it weird Edward that reality is challenging their pretense—not the other way around? It's dizzying. But then it's Jane who resets everything. "Rummy?" She asks. And it's so innocent and normal that I now see what you have been trying to get me to see all these years Edward—hiding the truth and pretending is unbearable. It's so isolating and soul killing. It's what I've done to you.

I'm not going to call you Edward ad the reason I'm not is a practical one. I need my mother. I rush upstairs to the bedroom. For a moment I see the ghosts leaving out the French doors

Mom

She instinctively hears the crisis in my voice.

What's going on. Are you going to hurt yourself.

I start to cry. "We need to get out of here."
"Where's Edward?"she asks.

"He's not here. Momma." I am crying like a child and Maddy has her little hand on my face. Alex, somehow is a sleep. "The kids and I have to get out of here."
"Ok. I want you to call an Uber. You aren't far fro town there at Slaters. They'll be there quickly. I want you to call and then call me back. If you need to leave, just walk up the road until it gets there. "

"Ok." I say. Now I have a plan. I expect to see one of them—maybe jack-come up, stand in the doorway. I realize mom's right. I should just leave and start walking down the road and I am weighing -am I safer in here with them. If Mr. Clark comes back, comes after me will they protect me. No. I think they will keep playing cards, maybe turn the stereo up louder. They'll ignore any danger—even jack. I let out a breath and my hands shake as I open the app and order a uber. I start to call mom and I see headlights outside. At first I think you are home, that you've pulled up in our ___ and then I realize I dont' hear the familiar sound of shells cracking under tires. The order is reversed. There's headlights, then the sound of an engine, then the cracking of the shell driveway. The lights grow dimmer and the sound of grows distant. I walk on to the porch and I can just make out Mr. Clarks' car pullout out and I watch the red tail lights utill they are no longer visible behind the tall laurel. I wait a moment and I realize he is gone. The sound of the car is no longer audible.

Honestly Edward, i dont' know what this means. Is he coming back? Is he getting a gun? I have no idea. But I think he's leaving—maybe going to kill himself.

I decide against waiting for the uber on the lane that leads to the main road. I decide to call mom, stay on the phone with her and keep the kids here, lock the door until I know my ride is here.

I get mom back on the phone.

I ordered a car. I'm looking at the app. now, it's six minutes away.

Oh good honey. Ok. Are the kids ok. yes.

Momma, I start to cry again.

Just hang on honey. You can tell me everything soon. Let's take it one step at a time let's get you out of that house.

Once you're in the car I'll get you a hotel. Then, I'll drive to Massachusetts.

Momma, I want you to come get me.

I'm coming honey. I won't be there until morning if I leave now. It'll take me six or seven hours but if you want to, you can stay on the phone with me.

Can you fly here? It won't take that long.

I can look at flights. I don't know if there is one.

But it's safer than driving. I'll buy the ticket.

Don't be silly.

They're here. I say.

Do you want me to call Edward, she asks?
No. I say. Don't.

Notes on end of this section:

Mom got a flight and was on Massachusetts door to door in 3 hours. I knew she'd called you and Ypu tried calling and texted me. More detail than usual for you. Trying to explain Leora and something about her too being in Massachusetts and Ypu involving the police. It I felt like you describe contemporary mythic plots. We are in (book)

I texted you to give me space until mom got here.

You texted you'd told her everything

I know I asked her to.

When mom got there she insisted o go to the hospital. Maybe there were injuries I didn't feel yet because of the Addren

I could feel my Injuries. The burning on my chafed skin. My neck. My arms. But I did as she asked. I wanted her to take care of me fully.

Hospital drug in my system.

Mom tells me what Edward told her

Call Edward - don't know what to think it feels over this time.

What do you want to do about my dad?

Never see him again or your mother. Maybe not jack.

Ok.

Your dad gave me pictures. And a letter. The pictures are gross. Of me. With jack when I was 16. Out on the beach -

Jesus.

Yeah I am going to burn theM and take the ashes out to tte ocean.

Ok

There's a letter too

A letter ?

He said he attempted suicide after he raped me. It's the letter.

Why does he still have it?

What do you mean. If he really wanted to kill himself. Who keeps their suicide note.

I don't know. I started to read it but I don't care what he has to say. I thought maybe you'd want it.

Yeah. I do.

I'm going to stay with mom for a little while. Not too long. - are you able to work.

Sort of. Enough. Are you ok Annie? The depression ?

Yeah it feels over.

Well I'm here.

Is everything with Lenore dealt with.

Honestly I'm not sure but I think so. She has this big career you know

So?

Well she doesn't want the police involved. She keeps trying to email me - even with the police.

Jesus.

Yeah but I think it's most it over. It's been 3 days you say weakly

I was thinking about how you told me about contemporary mythic themes. This is like that.

All because of me.

That's not true.

Every one of these problems leads back to me.

Not your father. You could say the same about jack.