The fire spread before either of them could control it.
They put on flotation vests and entered the water.
Waves pulled them apart.
“Paul kept shouting my name,” Evan said.
His voice cracked for the first time.
“I could hear him, but I couldn’t reach him.”
Paul pushed a sealed tackle box toward Evan before another wave separated them.
Evan looped its cord around his life vest.
Hours later, he reached an unmanned navigation platform.
A cargo ship found him the next morning.
“The authorities knew someone survived?” I asked.
Diane nodded.
“They knew there had been another man aboard.”
“And you let me believe Paul had been alone.”
“I thought they would find him.”
“For how long?”
“A few days.”
“A few days?”
“They recovered the ring and wallet. You were barely functioning. I thought telling you about Evan would destroy you.”
I laughed.
It sounded sharp and unfamiliar.
“So you decided to let me live inside a false version of my husband’s death?”
Diane began crying.
“At first, we planned to tell you after the memorial. Then after you started sleeping. Then after the holidays.”
“And then?”
She looked at Evan.
“Then there was never a right moment.”
There was always a moment.
There was simply never a moment that felt safe for them.
Evan had been staying in his father’s empty house while settling the estate.
