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The officers exchange a glance.
“What is it?” I demand, my knees weak. What do they know? Have they already found him? Did he make it back? Has something happened?
The female officer’s eyes take in the full sight of me, head to toe. She sucks in a breath, preparing to say something, but the male officer speaks over her.
“Your husband’s name is Blake Barlowe?”
“Yes.”
“And he was on board this cruise ship?”
“Yes.”
He looks at his partner again. “And he’s missing?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to hide my exasperation.
“Funny…” he says softly.
“What’s funny?” Florence asks.
“We’re here waiting to meet a Blake Barlowe… Because his wife”—his brows shoot up when he looks at me pointedly—“is supposed to be missing.”
* * *
Later, at the police station, I tell them everything. I tell them about the bartender, Benny, drugging me. How he must’ve drugged my water at the bar that night and how he chased me to the elevator before I blacked out. How I woke up on the second ship. I tell them how the men treated me, what Danny told me about what happened to him, and where his ship was. I tell them about my father. I tell them how, at the end of the day, this all leads back to him.
Florence sits beside me, listening in silence as I recount every brutal minute over the last few days. She cries and holds my hand, assuring me she’s here and that she’ll be here.
Then, when it’s all over, when there’s nothing left to tell, I wait. We leave the police station with a warning to stay in the area—not that I’d planned to go anywhere without Blake—and return to the beach.
I tell myself I’ve done everything I can.
Everything to fix my karma.
I just need the universe to send my husband home to me.
Florence and I sit on the beach. If she’s hungry or tired, she doesn’t mention it. We sit, arms linked together over our knees, and we watch the horizon. Several hours pass, each one more difficult than the last.
If I were a braver woman, perhaps I would rent a boat myself and go after him. It’s what he would’ve done—what hediddo. The longer I sit, the more the guilt eats at me.
My last act as his wife was to meet another man for drinks, and he still braved the entire ocean for me. I don’t deserve him.
Maybe this is karma, after all.
When a police officer walks up to us as the sun is setting, something in his expression turns my gut to stone. He drops down on the sand next to us.
“Evening, Mrs. Barlowe.”
“Did you find him?” I beg him to say yes. To tell me he’s fine. That he’s coming back to me right now.
“Ma’am, they…” He swallows and looks out over the water. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this. When our officers were on the way to the island you talked about, they found a boat. We believe it’s the one he’d stolen.”
Stolen.I hate the way he says the word, like Blake’s a criminal.
“What does that mean?” Florence asks, holding my hand tighter. “You found a boat. Was he on it? Did you find him?”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. Based on where they found it, there’s a good chance he traveled straight through the path of a storm last night. It looks like… Well, we’re afraid he may have fallen victim to it.”
