CHAPTER 15
Thought I’d lost you,” Bruce said as he settled in across from her ten minutes later. He was wearing a fleece with his company logo on it, and hiking pants, and his cheeks were flushed as though he’d been outside all morning.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Abigail said. “It’s so strange not to have cell phones, otherwise I’d just have texted you.”
“How was your morning?”
“I’ll tell you all about it, but right now I’m famished.”
Lunch turned out to be a buffet. Abigail actually wasn’t that hungry, her stomach still in a tight knot from her encounter with Scott earlier that morning, but she managed to have some tomato bisque, which came with slivers of toasted sourdough topped with Gruyère cheese.
“So you had a good morning?” Bruce asked, for the second time, after they’d finished their meals.
“Yes, that pool is beautiful, but no more of this separation, okay? It’s our honeymoon and we should do things together.”
“Agreed. No more separation.”
They walked back to their bunk together, the day darker and the sky beginning to spit rain. It felt like dusk and the inside of the bunk was dark. Bruce began to light a candle by the bed.
“No, don’t,” Abigail said.
Bruce shook the match out, and Abigail undressed and slid under the covers. She could hear the distant roll of thunder, and the window that looked out toward the pond lit up with a weak flash of lightning. Bruce began to undress as well. Unlike the night before, when the thought of having sex with Bruce made her almost queasy, she was now physically aching for him to touch her. Scott might wreck their lives together, but he couldn’t wreck this particular afternoon, Abigail thought.
Bruce slid under the covers quickly. Despite how much he liked to look at her when she was naked, he was modest himself, often turning away when he undressed.
“This is nice,” Abigail said, as she slid a thigh across him and their lips met. The light from the window was projecting streaks of rain onto their skin. “Let’s stay here all day, okay?”
“Let’s,” Bruce said, and shifted underneath her. He wasn’t hard yet, so she slid down his body and took him in her mouth, his hips rocking slightly, a hand cupping her breast. She pulled herself back up and was surprised when Bruce flipped her onto her back, buried his face in her neck, and entered her too fast. She grimaced, and he slowed down, but only for less than a minute. He positioned a pillow under her, returned his face into the crook of her neck, and thrust frenetically until he was finished.
Later, after the storm had passed, there was a light knock on the door. Bruce was sleeping, but Abigail, despite having slept for a solid hour, was now wide awake.
Even though she assumed the knock was Paul, coming by to find out if they wanted cocktails delivered to their bunk, Abigail instantly thought of Scott, barging in to tell Bruce everything and destroy her life. But she didn’t think it would be him, at least not yet. He would still be holding out hope that Abigail would have sex with him one more time. Maybe if she could just keep him believing that it was a possibility she could get through this nightmare of a honeymoon.
Abigail got out of the bed, slid her robe on, and went to the door, cracking it open. Paul stood outside, in rain gear, just as she expected, and Abigail ordered two Manhattans to be delivered.
After dinner that night—Abigail skipped the appetizer and dessert but did eat a pretty tasty saffron risotto topped with a lobster tail that had been poached in butter—she and Bruce went back into the hall, where a jazz trio had been playing all night.
There were more guests around—a small party of businessmen had arrived that afternoon—and despite looking for him, Abigail didn’t spot Scott. As her eyes scanned the room, she felt as though the men—Jesus, why were all the guests men?—were glancing back in her direction, surreptitiously almost. It was warm in the lodge, but she felt the skin of her arms break out in gooseflesh. She suppressed a shiver. At the bar, Carl, his mustache heavily waxed, poured a beer for Bruce and a Baileys on the rocks for Abigail. The band was playing something familiar, and it took a moment for Abigail to realize that it was a jazz version of “Creep” by Radiohead. More chairs had been added around the fireplace, and they brought their drinks over, Abigail taking the seat with a better view of the hall. She’d been the one to suggest lingering after dinner—she was hoping to sneak away at some point, go upstairs to the office and see if she could call Zoe back. She realized it was unlikely that there was someone still in the office who would let her use the phone, but she wanted to give it a chance. If she knew Zoe, her friend would have done everything possible to figure out who her stalker was, and she was anxious to hear the report.