In the churning water right below the gangplank, I saw the colors purplish-red. She was probably unconscious from hitting her head, I thought. I needed to get to her. Then my brain caught up with my eyes. That water was churning because of the large props that powered the ferry's forward movement. The trail of blood-soaked sea was becoming greater in volume, and my eyes followed it from the ship out twenty and then thirty feet away from there. I will never forget seeing my wife's drifting left arm, not attached to her body, as the sun reflected off of her wedding ring.

I was puking my guts out.

There were people around me now.

I just stared at the water, hoping - no, begging - for any sign of hope. Someone placed a blanket around my shoulders. For the first time, I registered the ship's emergency horn, which had been going off for some amount of time already. The ship made a wide turn, which was pretty sharp for a ferry not designed to do so.

A small skiff launched in the direction where Donna had fallen. Others trying to help me may have seen something else because I was quickly diverted from the railing back to the closest bench seat.

That's when it hit me, and my legs stopped working. Donna - my Donna was gone.

>>>>

"You know what, Donna?" I asked with a cynical chuckle. "I don't even know why I come. I don't even know why I stay away."

That last part wasn't me. That was some sort of alternate, guilty me, buried within my... whatever. It still came out sometimes. The sneakiness of it - acting as if it knew me - reminded me of the virus that caused Athlete's Foot. I'd gotten that virus way back when I'd been a racquetball freak at the local gym. It never goes away completely - unless you take a pill designed to kill it from within - and that pill caused liver and kidney damage, even heart disease in some people. So like it or not, you become symbiotic with it - human and virus - each hoping and constantly trying to rid themselves of the other.

I didn't need some distant voice from within, telling me how I felt; how to feel.

"I stayed away," I continued, "these past three years because I have nothing left to say to you. You did this to us. To me and Jenny." Another sob caught in my esophagus.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "for what I did to you - to us. I didn't mean to push... I never meant it. I was trying to help you. I hope you know that.

"You could have come to me, you know?" The cynical 'me' was back. "You could have told me. I would have forgiven you, too, for what it's worth, now. We could have discussed it like we always did with anything else... like we promised we'd always do. Like we always did when I was constantly traveling. You had my back then, and we had trust. I'll never understand when you stopped trusting me, and now, I'll never get the answer I deserve."

I whimsically pulled a few more pages from the wedding album, and let them fly. I had plenty more to tell her, but I needed a little time to feel sorry for myself. I wanted her to feel it too - to see me like this - and finally feel my pain.

>>>>

I never spoke to Peter fucking Bedford that day. He was whisked off by authorities, to give his official statement, I supposed, and then by his precious team of attorneys and advocates. I saw him standing several feet to my left, and just like Donna, one minute he was there, and the next he was not.

The police back at port, offered to drive me home. I told them I needed to pick up my little girl from soccer practice. They told me, rather than asking, that I needed to find someone else to pick her up, and someone close to drive me home, or they would take me into temporary custody until it could be worked out. And I was to stay at home. They made that clear. Active investigation... yada yada.

Donna's elderly mother lived in Missouri. My parents were in Southern California. Neither of us had any relatives nearby. I called one of her friends from our neighborhood, Sammi, asking if she could come and get me. Once I was in her car and on the way home, I told her what happened, and we had to pull over four times so she could get her bearings. Jenny had been picked up from practice by Sammi's husband, Vince. I held Jenny so tightly, when she walked in the front door, that Sammi had to tell me to ease up.

Vince gained my respect and my friendship that first night. We were friends because of the neighborhood, but Vince and I had never done anything together, not even met somewhere for a beer. That night, he asked Sammi to stay with Jenny and me at my house. They further agreed that they would both help us with the day-to-day until we felt capable. He'd done it only because of the kindness in his heart, with no other motive, or want of anything in return. We've been very close friends since then.

There were decisions to be made. Donna's mom was too infirmed to travel, and she'd had no siblings, just like me. Vince asked me a ton of good questions that helped me decide about funeral arrangements. The divers had found only parts of Donna's body, including the arm. I decided on cremation and no actual ceremony.

The police officially closed the case as accidental after eighteen grueling days. The insurance company didn't necessarily see it that way. I was interviewed and re-interviewed.

Jenny was struggling in school, but I was of no help. It wasn't that I didn't try, because I did. Sure, I was struggling too, but I couldn't get past the shock, and some days it was just too much. Both Vince and Sammi recommended, actually they strongly demanded, that I get both Jenny and me some counseling.

That definitely helped, but a cloud remained for the first couple of years after Donna's death. It all happened so fast, it was so meaningless, and while Jenny's loss was centered on a mother, I found no answers or any fulfillment in the answers I did get. I hired an attorney to go after those answers from Peter Bedford after the insurance company finally settled.

But Peter Bedford was gone.

While Jenny and I were going through hell and then recovery, Bedford had been crushed under the weight of media attention. His party politely asked him to step aside from the election, and when he'd refused, they denounced him. He was disgraced from the council and out of politics. My attorney found nothing but a cold trail, just six months after the accident, as if 'he'd fallen off the earth' as he put it.

On the first three anniversaries, I visited the scene of my devastation. The first time was at the suggestion of my therapist. The other two were on me. I was still trying to square things, and I'd had to admit, especially to Vince, that I couldn't figure out how to move on. I forced myself to beg off on the fourth year but then went back the following two years.

Finally, eight years after Donna died, I met Carol at our company's holiday party. She took things really slow with me. I would say that it wasn't just for my benefit. She saw how damaged I'd become, and I think she probably had an exit plan if I couldn't pull myself out of the funk of my life.

I'd explain to her, open up more than I was usually comfortable doing, how Donna and I made commitments, and vows, and more than anything, that we promised we were 'forever yours' like the classic Journey song.

Then Carol would play the same game as my therapist but with different words.

"If there's an afterlife," she'd say, "and Donna is looking down on you, do you honestly think she'd hold you to that if it meant you'd spend the rest of your life miserable? Would you hold her to it, if the roles were reversed?"

There was plenty of logic in the argument, I knew that. So then my real problem, or perhaps fear, was being able to allow myself to let go. I knew if I couldn't, and soon, I'd likely lose Carol, and I'd be alone, now that Jenny was about to start college.

I started to develop a plan to purge my mind and my heart. Many times, I'd go full stop in my planning, and try to convince myself I was just better off with what I'd been comfortably doing for nearly a decade.

Vince, Carol, and my counselor were unwavering in bringing me back around. Finally, I was ready but told them all, it was something I had to do on my own. They were all hesitant about that, but I insisted.

>>>>

I'd almost been expecting someone to write me a fine for littering with all I'd tossed into the water so far. I was now extremely hesitant, and I knew that the people, who cared for me, had envisioned the moment. For them, and mostly for me, I steadied myself and stood up, taking the vase with Donna's remains with me to the railing.

"Donna?" I asked. "I hope you know I loved... love you. With all my heart, I've always loved you, and I always will."

I studied the grey substance in the vase. I'd had an entire speech rehearsed, but the words escaped me just then. I took a deep breath.

"What happened, my love?" My mouth was dry; my voice was raspy. "I so wish you could tell me what happened to us. I... I've met someone, Donna. I think you might have liked her."

This wasn't working out. She was either gone-gone, no afterlife, dust to dust, or she was and had been looking in on me and Jenny all along. If it was the former, then I was standing here like a damned fool, for nothing. If the latter, then she already knew what had transpired, but could she free me from my torture? Could I get some sign?

"I have to let you go, you know?" I'd said that quietly - somberly - but my voice cracked up high like a tenor, so it sounded like I wailed. Embarrassed, I turned to look around. There was a woman, a mother in her thirties, starboard, with two small children. She scowled at me while pulling her children tight to her side. I'm sure she thought me one of the many lunatics that roamed the streets in this town, talking to themselves. The only other person on the upper deck that day was aft. A homeless man sat huddled up in tattered clothing, wearing a plastic bag over himself to stay dry.

"Tell me why, love," I said, not asking. "Tell me why, and I'll return you to the water. Release me, so I can release you."

I waited for an answer that didn't come.

With a solemn exhale, I unscrewed the decorative top from the vase. I couldn't watch. Holding the vase out and slightly down, I knew her ashes were leaving. After a while, I looked up at the now-empty vase.

There was one thing left to do. I pulled her wedding band from my pocket and studied it, as I had a million times before. Stepping back from the railing, I looked down at the two-by-three golden plaque the city had donated to the ferry line. It had Donna's name and said 'in memoriam.' I bent over and kissed it.

I stood there looking at the ring like some sort of moron. It was time to let go completely - to become a man again. To become a real and decent father and the kind of person Carol could be proud of sharing her life with. I twirled the ring between my fingers, getting a sense of its weight.

"My sweet darling," I cried, "I made you a promise. I'm forever yours... but forever will have to wait. You left me for him. Then I caused you to permanently leave us. But I have to live. I hope beyond hope, that I'll see you again. That we can smile at each other and we can reveal... no, not talk of the past, but of the love we shared. That's what I want."

The ring! I bobbled the ring. I grabbed at it, quickly, and I thought I had it back in my hand, only to fumble it again.

In vain and with all I had, I reached over the railing for it, trying to slap it back toward me. I was supposed to throw it, not drop it!

Two things happened at once. I became top-heavy, and I felt my toes leave the deck. My heart stopped as I looked straight down at the churning water. This was going to be it. Both the ring and I were to suffer the same fate.

And just as quickly, I found myself on my ass, sitting on the deck, my momentum forcing me further onto my back. I heard the sound of the ring before I saw it. It was rolling and then did two small circles before wobbling to a halt at a pair of old, tattered shoes.

Looking up, I saw the homeless man staring at me intently. His beard covered his face, hanging a good six inches below his chin, and the hood, along with the plastic bag covered his head. There was something about those eyes, though; familiar and haunting. It was Peter Bedford, I was sure of it.

"Bedford," I spat under my breath, announcing a ghost.

"Hello, David," his voice was calm and calculating. "Couldn't let you go into the water. Not like this."

I was trying to determine what was happening, and what he was saying. Why would he care? And why was he dressed like a homeless man?

"Why not?" I asked. "It would have been convenient, not to mention I killed your lover."

"Ah," he sneered, with an odd expression. "But you didn't. You didn't kill your wife, David. I did."

I just studied what parts of his face I could make out. He seemed to be waiting for a question or a response, and when it didn't come, he took a deep breath and a sighing exhale.

"Not ten years ago this day," he said. "That was an accident, just like the authorities told you. I've seen the video from the bridge." He pointed to the elevated command center mid-ship.

"One of our arms did bump her off, but while trying to correct her momentum, and regain her balance, she simply slipped and went over the railing. No, I killed her slowly, over time."

"Don't play the regretful Lothario, you piece of shit!" I finally found my voice.

"Sure," he replied in a self-loathing chuckle. "Whatever you want. Do you want the truth? I've been here before, watching you talk to her. I knew at the ten-year mark, you couldn't stay away, and that's why I'm here now - well, one of the reasons.

"I started working on Donna from almost the minute she was assigned to the campaign," he continued. "If the truth matters to you, she was damned resistant to my advances at first. That only made me more determined and her more desirable. I laid on the compliments thick and heavy. I finally started breaking through her defenses. Whether you complimented her at home was irrelevant. Husbands are supposed to say those loving things. After a while, they ring hollow. Believe me, I was happily married for almost twenty years."

"Then why, you son-of-a-bitch?" my anger finally coming to the forefront. "You had your own wife and family. Why Donna?"

"Because I wanted her," he said as if it was nothing at all. "And I could. It's my curse; my addiction. Some people smoke, and then quit, only to take up chew. They end up dead from mouth or throat cancer. Some quit smoking and drinking altogether, but then pick up a gambling addiction later. I'm addicted to women - to fucking - and to the chase. Probably the chase, even more, if I'm being honest. At least I was until what happened ten years ago."

"I don't believe you," I told him. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," was his simple answer. "You're here. You need the answers and closure. I need to give them to you. Your wife resisted until one afternoon, about a week before..." He waved at the railing. "A working lunch, a little too much midday wine, and I convinced her she deserved it for all her hard work, and that we'd be discreet. She relented, but it took some doing. I could tell she felt a great deal of guilt afterward. She was avoiding me the next few days, and when we did interact, things were awkward."

"Motherfucker, I'm gonna kill..." I'd been rising to my feet as I'd said the words, but Bedford pulled a pistol from under his bag and coat and motioned with his other hand for me to stay put.

"Don't make me shoot you, David." He looked sincere, I guessed, so I plopped back down on the deck.

"Finally, on Friday morning, the day we ended up here, I couldn't take it. I got her alone in my office and told her we needed to talk about things. Told her I needed her for the campaign, and since you were none the wiser, we could just drop that part of our relationship, or if she wanted, we could continue, discreetly."

He slowly put the gun back under his layers. He seemed to be carefully considering his next words.

"I wanted to take her to lunch," he continued, "but she said we could talk here, on the ferry, in a more public setting. I think she was afraid another lunch would lead us both to a similar situation. She stood, just there..." he pointed two feet away at the deck. "And told me she loved you, and that she'd made a terrible mistake. Said if I pushed her further, flirted, or any kind of blackmail, she was prepared to lose you in order to ruin me. You saw me try to console her. I was doing it to try to get back in her good graces, and the rest is history."

I sat there thinking of something to say. He was right; he did kill her. The circumstances he'd created had led to my wife's untimely death.

"We're almost finished," he said with a combination of pity and sorrow in his eyes. "You lost a wife, yes - a one-time unfaithful wife - but someone you loved and still love, best I can tell. Your daughter lost a mother.

"I lost too," he said, reaching down to pick up the ring. "My family, my job, my ambitions, and even my friends at the country club shunned me. Finally, desperate for even the slightest companionship, I made a decision. The city's homeless problem was just starting to explode back then. I figured, why not? I'd already lost everything dear to me. I just blended in. At least my walk of shame didn't feel so personal."

The bastard was giving me his sob story as if he was some sort of victim in this menagerie. I suddenly realized I was going to kill the prick. I was going to kill him with my bare hands and throw his lifeless body over the edge. I felt my face getting hotter and hotter. As I rose to my feet, Bedford stepped closer to the railing, while pulling the plastic bag off of him.

"Not so fast," he warned. "This is my show, David." He pulled his coat open. I had to look again because I couldn't understand what I was seeing. There were chunks of concrete blocks strapped to his waist, and even more duct-taped to his abdomen, three times around.

"She told me that day, right here, that she loved you more than her own life. That she'd committed over and over that she was forever yours... faithfully. Some song between the two of you, going back to when you traveled a lot. She said she didn't know how she could go on living, after what she'd done with me. Told me that even if you never found out, she'd always know. That's why I had to watch the video. I had to know if she jumped instead of slipped.

"I heard you say you had a new woman," his voice was so small, he didn't even sound human. "Take good care of her, and live a good life, knowing this was all on me, and that Donna was as remorseful as a spouse could ever be."

He held up the ring and said. "If I see her... out there, I'll give her this, and all your love, until you meet again. I'm so sorry, David."

He didn't jump. He didn't dive. Bedford simply fell over the side. I stood and went to the railing. This time there was no panic or fear. This time, I heard the sirens the instant they sounded.

I spent two and a half hours with the authorities. They needed time to review the onboard tapes, of course. I knew what the recordings showed would exonerate me, so I simply told the truth. Finally, they let me call Carol, who I made sure they knew, would be frantic with worry.

After explaining everything, a few details more than once, I told Carol that I needed to stay overnight.

I was just too overwhelmed to drive thirty miles south. Of course, Carol was extremely worried about me and wanted to come and stay with me.

"It's okay, love," I consoled her in a calm voice that surprised me. "I'm far better right now than I've been in a very long time. But I have relaxed muscles that I never even realized were in a constant state of tension, and that's made me extremely tired. I'll text you where I'm staying, and I promise, it will be the first place I can find with a vacancy."