Page 41 of Dearly Departed

“I’ll be fine in the shower, kitten.”

Catherine groans. “Are you trying to impress me with your strength or something? You don’t have to. I’m already impressed, okay?”

“I’m finding it increasingly difficult to fathom how anyone could walk the earth and not want to impress you.”

“Oh my God. That’s—stop.”

“I won’t. You should see how stunning you are when you—no, I take that back. I don’t want to set conditions. It doesn’t matter if you’re smiling. You’re fucking breathtaking, Catherine Bettencourt.”

“Chambers.”

For a foolish heartbeat or two, I think she’s calling me Chambers like Evans does when she’s irritated with me or when she’s out of patience or when she’s having a good day. All the time, really.

Catherine doesn’t call me that. She never calls me that. Maybe once or twice as a joke, but never seriously.

“Were you, like, not looking when I signed the marriage license? There was a line for me to put my new name. So now I have yours.”

“I was watching.”

“You were not. If you were paying attention, you wouldn’t look so shocked.”

“I was watching your face. I might’ve glanced down at your hand a time or two, but not for long enough to see that you’d—” I had no idea. None. We’d gone to the reception, and I’d been split into two people—the man who memorized every second I had with my wife, and the man who was getting ready to leave her behind. We never talked about the license. “I assumed you’d keep your name.”

“Ugh. Why would I want to keep my father’s name? He was the worst. And you’re my favorite person in the world. It was an easy choice. And don’t say you’re not any better. You are.”

I want to believe it so badly.

I don’t know if I do.

“Well, Catherine Chambers.” It has a lovely ring to it. Personally, I think she made the more beautiful choice. “There’s no one outside the window. Are you going to let me shower unsupervised, or⁠—”

“No.” She pulls me gently away from the window, staying close. “I mean—absolutely not. You’ll just have to deal.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

It’s a pleasure to get clean. It’s not as much of a pleasure to be on my feet for the length of a shower. I’m exhausted by the time I get out. I promise Catherine I’ll only sleep for an hour.

When I wake up again, it’s afternoon, so I’ve failed to keep my promise.

From the way Catherine smiles at me, it doesn’t matter at all.

Sometime in the night, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of the cabin wakes me up. I don’t know what I’m hearing at first. It can’t be anything scratching at the door. It resolves into rain after a few minutes. I lie in the bed next to Catherine, who sleeps with one hand over my heart, and listen to her breathing until the rain gets so loud I can’t hear her anymore.

It’s still raining the next morning. The sound makes both of us tired. Catherine naps on and off until noon, then asks me if I want any soup, which Catherine found in the cabin. She’s eaten some already, and it was fine.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat as soon as I’m hungry.”

Catherine looks like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t.

It keeps raining. Catherine gets a booklet out of one of the cabinets and shows it to me.

“There are codes in here.” She shrugs, then shuffles closer to my side. “I don’t know what any of them mean. The cabin is on the map, though. See? There’s the waterfall. There’s an X and a ladder, too.”

I take the book out of her hands and study the map. It tells us where north is. There’s the X on the beach—buried treasure? And there are faint lines, roughly matching the shape of the island, forming rings⁠—

“I think these are elevation lines.” The smallest ring is around the ladder shape Catherine saw. I tap my finger on the ladder. “Maybe this isn’t a ladder. Maybe it’s a radio tower.”

Catherine sits up, her eyes wide. “For the radio.”