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    I'm Forever Yours

    The fog was quite late burning off that morning, but it was apropos for my mood. I sat in line at the terminal on Pier fifty-two, waiting to board the ferry to Bremerton. Next to me on the passenger seat was a collection of items, and as I glanced at them, my thoughts went back to my life with my wife, Donna.

    Donna and I met in our junior year at Washington State University. She was working on her bachelor's in poly-sci, with a minor in business. I was well on my way to a bachelor's in accounting and an economy minor to boot.

    I wouldn't say that our romance was a whirlwind. It was more of a slow burn. We were both careful and maybe even a little cautious, about going further than a friendship. We were actively learning from each other, taking things slowly, and weren't exclusive.

    I had to turn Donna down one Saturday night because I had a date. Unfortunately, Donna and some friends of hers ended up at the same club that night. I didn't know she was there, until I noticed her back, walking for the door. It was two weeks before she'd taken my call, and she wasn't just mad; she was hurt.

    I tried to play the 'not exclusive' card, and she asked if I'd lost my mind. "Do we need a contract or something?" She sounded so devastated on the phone. I apologized over and over, begging her to let me see her and explain.

    It was another week before I could get her to sit in a coffee shop with me and talk. I could see how badly I'd hurt her and I promised never to do that again. I really had deep feelings for Donna, even then, and I truly didn't want to lose her. Miraculously, we made up and a month later, we were engaged. It would be another ten months from that point until graduation and we'd gotten married in mid-July.

    Our married life had a storybook beginning. Both Donna and I landed good jobs right after graduation. She worked in the county commissioner's office as an administrative assistant. Donna was very busy those first three years, but she said she was getting invaluable experience, and we had a loving and active home life, despite the occasional extra hours.

    I landed at Litmus-Tek, Inc. It was a private accounting firm in Bellevue that did all kinds of business accounting, but also specialized in forensic audits.

    Even with her extra hours during the week, a weekend for us could run the gambit of hiking Mount Rainier and camping overnight, to taking in the open-air Pike's Place Market, and then either a movie, play, or a ferry ride to one of the islands. We probably spent only one weekend per month at home, and that was only so we could keep up the modest home we'd bought. I'd often have dinner ready on nights she had to work late.

    During those three years, I also earned my CPA and was then made a junior partner. Unfortunately for me, only six months after making partner, the business was sold to Morton & Associates. I received a pittance as the newest junior partner, and some future stock options, which would take years to mature. I was told I'd need to travel the state of Washington, and parts of Oregon, to visit customers.

    Donna tried to soothe my angst - being away from home, and from her, was hard on me. But it was clear that beneath her bravado, my travel was taking a toll on her too. Like most couples, we had an 'us' song, that was just our own. That song was the Journey classic: Faithfully.

    From my hotel room, or just at random times during the day, I'd send her texts of one of the verses. Sometimes, just because, and other times with some thought about specifics that were going on at the time. I knew she appreciated that extra effort, and shortly after I began, she started reciprocating.

    We'd both discussed getting settled in our jobs and then start thinking about a family in our fourth or fifth year. If I thought my traveling would have been the end of us, or created a rift, I'd be proven wrong.

    Donna had plenty of patience, far more than I'd have had if the roles were reversed. We spoke every night on the phone, or FaceTime. In our fifth year married, I was averaging three-four nights per week away. That year was the hardest for me. When I was home, I did everything I could think of to reconnect with my wife.

    That ended up getting Donna pregnant, although afterward, she admitted to stopping her birth control about three months beforehand. Jennifer, our baby girl, was a beacon of light for both of us, and that darned kid pulled us even closer together.

    >>>>

    I sat in my car, waiting until the boat lurched forward, leaving the dock. Nothing much had changed in ten years on this ferry, even longer, as I thought back. I hadn't been to the city for almost four years, and unlike the ship, the downtown area was unrecognizable. It was sad.

    A great prelude to the deep sadness I knew I'd be feeling over the next hour or so. I gathered the items in the small cardboard box and exited the vehicle, and then headed to the upper deck. I felt every bit of my hip replacement, as I climbed the skinny stairwell.

    The deck was slick with the fog's moisture. Wet floor signs were scattered about, just as they had been ten years ago to that very day. I took up on a bench seat facing the rear of the vessel, the exact same place I'd sat back then. Looking up, I took in the sight of the cityscape, as it pulled away and out into Puget Sound. I'd always liked the view, because if you watched closely, a building, one second in another's shadow would come out of hiding. The scenery changed right before your eyes if you were willing to notice.

    >>>>

    I remember the first day I noticed - noticed I may have a problem in my marriage. The previous night, Donna seemed to be in la-la land, when I tried to engage in conversation. Jennifer was eight and was already in bed. During commercials on whatever show we were watching, I'd say something to my wife and receive only a blank stare in return. That was a one-eighty, for my usually rambunctious wife. Her expression didn't seem to be troubled. Instead, she had a look as if contemplating something really good, like a great ending to a book, or a heart-warming video on YouTube.

    When I asked, she brushed it off as nothing, and in the morning, I decided I should keep my eye on her to see if it was temporary. Breakfast went okay, but we were all our busy selves, getting young Jenny off to school as we rushed on to work. I'd finally stopped traveling so much and our lives were... well, normal. Later, I'd determine it was more stagnant than normal.

    At dinner that night, Donna had that far-away look again. I looked hard for any other emotions but saw nothing I could easily identify. We were always more than honest with one another, so I brought it up after reading to Jenny and tucking her in.

    "It's nothing," she deflected. "I just have a lot on my mind with this campaign."

    That was valid. Five months earlier, Donna had been given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, to run the social media marketing for former county board elect, now mayoral candidate, Peter Bedford. Donna's education, and her work since, made her more than qualified for the task. She seemed genuinely happy to be involved, even with the extra hours she had to put in.

    >>>>

    I left the bench seat, and headed to the railing at the stern of the ferry, after putting one of the boxed items in my coat pocket.

    "Hello, my love," I started in a small raspy voice. "I'm sorry I haven't come lately... These past three years. I've been trying to put my life back together. I guess I've been doing a pretty shitty job in that regard."

    Tears ran down my cheeks, giving a momentary warm sensation until the Pacific Northwest winds turned them to near freezing.

    "I just miss you so much, and you're always there, just out of reach." I choked out. She'd understand what I meant. I gathered myself as best I could and pulled the item from my jacket.

    "I brought a few photos," I said to the water. "Jenny and I picked them out of the several albums, we've accumulated since... well, you know. She helped me find the ones we thought you'd want to keep, and she wanted to be here... but I told her this was something I needed... The truth is, I've been told... It's time for me to let you go, not just pretend that I have."

    I looked down. The first picture in the stack was Jenny at age four, wearing a Minnie hat, standing in front of the castle at Disneyland. Donna and I both were cheek-to-cheek with her. I looked back to the wake fanning out behind the ship.

    This wind would do perfectly. I let the picture leave my hand and watched it twirl to and fro, as it headed back towards the city, falling short a mere twenty seconds later. It landed on the surface of the water and was quickly consumed.

    One by one, I held up a picture, and let the wind snatch it from my hand. A few times, I closed my eyes and pretended it was Donna abruptly pulling them away.

    The final photo was of me and our daughter standing side-by-side at Donna's funeral. I hadn't wanted to part with that one at all. Jenny made several, nearly indisputable points, which finally changed my mind.

    As I held it up, a gust of wind came so hard at my back, it almost moved me. The picture was no match, nor was my grip on it. I had more to do, but my mind and body felt harrowingly tired at that moment. I retreated to the bench and sat with a heavy thud. That déjà vu moment made me shiver.

    >>>>

    I loved Donna. I trusted her too, perhaps to a fault.

    There was no extra money for a fancy private investigator, nor would I have ever hired one. I'd been treated like a king in my marriage, especially compared to other couples - other men we knew - from our different circles. Donna and I rarely argued. When we did, it was done respectfully. The way two people who care for one another do. No, if something was happening with her, and it clearly was, perhaps the thing she needed most was my help, but couldn't find her way to ask me.

    For exactly two weeks I wrestled with those thoughts, and many more. The only newly introduced element into our perfect lives had to do with the campaign that Donna was working on. Although I wanted nothing to do with the feeling, I couldn't force the thought of Peter Bedford out of my mind. The more it consumed my thoughts, the more a conclusion formed.

    Bedford was exactly the kind of man who might be able to get through Donna's defenses. That was provided she was putting up any walls in the first place. Donna, Jenny, and I all had Find-a-Phone apps on our cell phones, for emergency purposes. I paid extra for the premium plan, just in case one of our phones was stolen, or accidentally fell down a sewer, without us knowing it.

    I went online to the app's webpage for the very first time and logged into my account. Even pressing the keys made me feel soiled, but my suspicions had morphed into something more than curiosity. There wasn't anything there to find, and that made me feel even worse.

    That was until I saw the different reports available and noticed one that showed time periods when the phone was not in service. I clicked the 'i' and found that the report was showing when the phone was turned off, and/ or the battery removed.

    I was shaking my head to myself, as I clicked on that report, understanding how far down a rabbit hole I'd already gone - but damned if it wasn't right there. Sixteen days previous, about two or three days before I noticed the changes in my wife, her phone was completely shut down for one hour and thirty-seven minutes in the mid-afternoon.

    Before being turned off, Donna's phone had been at Le Bistro Phillippe, a popular restaurant almost a mile from her office. I'd heard her mention the place in passing conversation, as one that many of her co-workers swore by.

    So she'd been to lunch there. That proved nothing. I thought hard, trying to recall the particular day. Donna had been home when I arrived, preparing dinner. Jenny was brought home from soccer practice by a teammate's mother shortly after I got home, and we had a normal dinner and evening. That had made me feel better, but suddenly foolish. It was like any other day. Still, why would she have turned her phone off, and not said anything about it?

    That left me with only a few options. The incident in question had happened on a Tuesday. I'd have to wait four more days for the next Tuesday to come around, but I'd arrange to be outside the county offices in a place where I could track her movements, from the lunch hour forward. I couldn't do it every day, of course, but it was the best idea I could come up with.

    Sure enough, Donna, Peter Bedford, and two others came out of the building at twelve-thirty. The others, a man and a woman were likely other campaign staffers. This time, they went in two vehicles to Panera Bread all the way into downtown Seattle.

    It took nearly thirty minutes just to get there from Bellevue. There was nowhere to park, but I noticed the structure they had used a block away, so I drove up and down the surrounding streets, passing the restaurant in about ten-minute intervals. Finally, I just went into the parking structure, pulling into a parking space as far away as I could from Bedford's vehicle, hoping not to be spotted.

    Not long after, Bedford and Donna approached his vehicle. They were not arm in arm, nor did I perceive any loving looks or touches.

    Donna's whole persona seemed a bit... nervous if I was reading her correctly. I followed them at a distance, which wasn't easy to do in downtown traffic. Instead of some lover's rendezvous, I ended up five cars behind his at Pier fifty-two, waiting for a ferry.

    >>>>

    It was time to get this moving, and I knew I was drawing it out. Some kind of giant finale - and for what purpose? I was the only one there. I stood and grabbed our wedding album from the box and walked back to the railing. I'd fought this for so long, had so many wonderful people try to help me, and still I was rehashing every possible reason to just go back to my car and prolong my suffering.

    "Hey, Donna, I'm back," God, I sounded so stupid. So unlike the man, she'd married. Lacking in ways neither I nor she would have contemplated. Many times during my years of suffering, I'd wondered if she didn't get the better end of the deal.

    "Anyway," I restarted, "I brought our wedding pictures today. I don't know if you want any of these, but I'm hoping so."

    I opened the album and immediately began sobbing. I demanded my body to keep those sobs deep down in my abdomen. This was no time to lose it. I needed to man up.

    "I guess I'm going to have to choose for you," I said. "I'll just try to remember what you like most and then I'll..."

    There was no containing it. That abdomen where my guts, my heart, and my lungs resided betrayed me then - betrayed me worse than Donna ever had. In my fit of profound sadness, my mind took the wheel, and a wave of deep anger rose to combat my emotional peril.

    She had done this to you - and Jenny. The internal voice sternly and firmly screamed. That voice though, I'd heard many times over the years, and I'd had my share of reasoning with it, telling it to go straight to hell, even bargaining with it.

    I tore a page from the album and flung it like a Frisbee. Then another and another. Fuck the pictures, or taking them from the sheathes, I told myself.

    >>>>

    I sat on the bench about twenty-five feet from the stern railing of the ferry, where my wife stood closely facing Bedford. It had taken nearly half the trip across the Sound to build up the nerve and a plan.

    I'd paid some old guy fifty dollars for his baseball cap, and then the same amount to a woman for her wide scarf. I'm sure I looked completely ridiculous, but neither my wife nor her probable lover paid any attention.

    I watched them for... some time. It could have been five minutes or twenty. Donna seemed to be conveying something important and was quite serious about it. Bedford was nodding and looked to be sometimes agreeing and others not. She gently touched her forearm. For both of them, it was a very gentle, intimate move and the way it occurred told me it wasn't the first time. Just seeing that gentle touch almost made me lurch.

    Finally, Bedford went to pull Donna into an embrace. She was having none of it. She pulled back a few steps, but then, she came right back into his space. After a few more words, that appeared to be anything but agreeable, Donna leaned in to kiss him. It looked like she intended the kiss to land on his cheek, but Bedford had other ideas, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and neck, as he tried for a real kiss on the lips.

    I'd intended only to get evidence. Hence the feeble disguise. I could have confronted them when they first left his vehicle, but that may have only created a bunch of excuses and lies. I'd have rather witnessed her breaking vows than ever have her lie to my face. Honestly, and later I had to come to terms with it, I didn't have much of a plan at all.

    I'd never taken all the contingencies into account - all the possible outcomes. Right then, I saw Bedford as the aggressor and the enemy. I leaped from the seat and made my way to the pair very quickly.

    "Get your goddamned hands off her," I warned him, in a low manic voice.

    Bedford had me by about three inches in height, and probably a good twenty pounds, if I had to guess. His surprise put him on the defense though, as I scrambled toward him. Donna also looked surprised, until the wind took my ball cap. Surprise quickly turned to horror.

    "David!" she wailed.

    "Oh, my God! Oh, my Goddddd..."

    She stopped cold, watching me swing wildly at Bedford. He'd put up both hands, covering his face in a defensive posture. My arms were moving in a volley, with no practice, or reason.

    We were two feet or less from the railing. One of his attempts to fight me off grazed the left side of my head, but with the adrenaline flowing it didn't even register.

    I felt Donna feebly try to grab me. It could have been anyone, actually, but she was the only one close enough. Bedford had blood dripping from his nose and mouth.

    It was either the blood or the normal moisture that caused us both to slip. He reached for the rail, and I fell into him. Donna was at my back, calling my name and telling me to stop.

    Bedford pushed me back off of him, both our arms flailing. I know for sure that my elbow or forearm contacted my wife. I was about to begin another volley on Bedford when a high-pitched scream stopped me in my tracks.

    I've heard people describe accidents. Many claim a slow-motion effect as it happens or at the moment of impact. My description of that moment, while explaining it and even in my mind was the opposite. I turned towards my wife's dreadful scream, and she wasn't there. The scream trailed off beyond the railing. I scampered to it.

    Donna wasn't there. Bedford was standing right beside me, in shock.

    I was panicked. I couldn't understand what happened for a second. Then I ran towards others on the deck, screaming.

    Help!" I remember yelling. "My wife! My wife is overboard! Help! Stop the boat!"

    I ran back to the edge, losing my balance on the slick deck, and almost went over myself. I looked down scanning for any sign she'd been able to get ahold of something. Then I saw it.

    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."

    "Alright, David." She replied, calmer now. "I love you, you know that, right? I want to be your forever. So get a good night's rest and come home to me in the morning, so we can start our future."

    That night, I slept like the dead. There wasn't any waking up in terror, after dreaming about the ferry. All I had in the morning was a blurry remembrance of Donna, her beautiful face parting the surface of the Sound. She was looking straight up at me, giving words of wisdom.

    I couldn't then, nor can I now recall them exactly. But I do know she was releasing me from our forever. That was the overall message without any specifics. Maybe it was a vision; then again, it could have been my brain finally deciding to move on.

    I hoped, no I am sure Carol will be a faithful, 'forever' kind of woman. Donna faded into memory, and my dark cloud finally gave way to the bright sunshine.

     
      Posted on : Mar 29, 2025
     

     
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