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Am I… drowning?
Suddenly, though, a hand grips mine. I see the charm bracelet wrapped around it.
Trisha?
She pulls me out of the water and throws me on the shore. I’m safe.
“Thank you, Tri – ”
I stop talking because Trisha isn’t there behind me. She’s nowhere in sight. When I look again, I see her hand sticking out of the middle of the lake. Then it sinks. The water turns into a whirlpool around her and sucks her in.
“Trisha!” I shout her name as I sit up on the bed.
Sweat dampens my back. My heart pounds so hard inside my chest it hurts.
“Cathy!”
Jackson rushes to my side and wraps his arms around me.
Still, I can’t stop shaking. I know I was just dreaming, but that dream was too real. I know I’m safe, but fear still courses through my veins.
“Cathy, what’s wrong?” Jackson asks me as he clutches my shoulders. “Tell me.”
I grip my chest as I look at him. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I think… I killed Trisha.”
Chapter 16
Jackson
What did Cathy mean when she said she killed Trisha?
I ponder the thought as I flip a piece of leftover salmon on a pan.
A few days have passed, but it still bothers me. It still seems to bother her, after all. She hasn’t been herself since that night. Yes, she wears a smile for Maisie. She acts strong in front of Ken. She goes about her duties and tends to the diners in the restaurant as if nothing has changed. Yet when she’s all alone – or she thinks she is – she either seems on the verge of tears or has a far-off look in her eyes. What is she looking at? She’s also been eating less. She’s not in the mood for sex. She takes long showers with the door locked. One night, I woke up and she wasn’t beside me. I found her wandering in the garden like a ghost.
What on earth is going through her head?
Surely Cathy can’t believe she killed Trisha? I don’t. I don’t even know what that means.
It’s not like Trisha was murdered. She drowned. Tragic, but plain and simple.
As far as I know, a man found Cathy on the shore of the lake and called an ambulance. My cousin was alerted. She and some of her friends headed into the lake to look for Trisha and they found her body. She was already dead. The coroner who came to the scene with the cops pronounced that she died from drowning almost instantaneously. He repeated the same to my mom and I when we went to the morgue to get her body.
Trisha drowned. So how can Cathy say she killed her? Does she mean she drowned Trisha?
Impossible. And absurd, so absurd I don’t even want to think about it.
So why does Cathy think it? Why does it bother her so much?
“Um, chef,” one of my cooks interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to him. “Yes?”
“That salmon is done, I think.”
I look at the pan, and sure enough, the salmon has started to turn brown. I turn off the fire and try to take it out of the pan to save it, but it already seems stuck. As I move the spatula back and forth, it crumbles.
There goes lunch.
I let out a sigh as I step away from the stove. “Throw it in the bin.”
“Yes, chef.”
I walk out of the kitchen, scratching my head. I went there hoping to take my mind off things. Apparently, I can’t. That burnt piece of beautiful salmon in the trash bin is proof of it.
There’s only one thing to do – to get this thing off my mind once and for all. And there’s only one way to do it.
Talk to Cathy.
And if she tries to turn me away again? Well, I just won’t let her.
~
“I’m not going to stop asking until you tell me what’s wrong with you, Cathy.” I go after her as she walks down the garden path. “So you might as well tell me.”
“Nothing,” she says without stopping or glancing at me. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“We both know that’s not true. Ever since you had that nightmare, you haven’t been yourself. Something’s weighing on your mind.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be running away from me.”
Cathy stops in her tracks. Her shoulders droop. Then she turns to face me but doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and looks to her side.
“I’m not running away from you.”
“Yes, you are.” I stop in front of her. “You still are.”
I take her hand in one of mine and touch her cheek with the other. Finally, her hazel eyes look into mine.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Cathy,” I whisper as I stroke her cheek. “Please.”
For a moment, she stands still and silent, her gaze locked with mine. I stand still as well, without saying another word, patiently waiting for her answer. Finally, she places her hand on top of mine and parts her lips, but just as I think she’s about to say something, she clamps them shut again. She pushes my hand away and steps back. When our eyes meet again, hers brim with pain.
