Page 82 of The Wild Beneath

Annie expects to cry, too. But instead, she freezes. She can’t feel her limbs. Her body is numb.

The necklace rests in Evan’s open palm.

Annie does not leave her bed.

The days blur together as she hides under the covers, a pillow over her exposed ear. The watch ticks away relentlessly on her bedside table—­it’s torture. She throws it across the floor. She can’t remember the last time she ate.

Evan drifts through the cabin at regular intervals. He catches a fish and fries it on the stove. From her bed, the sizzle in the pan sounds like a bonfire. He touches her hand as he places the meal beside her. But she can’t even look at the plate.

A couple of hours later he takes the food away.

Annie is barely aware of him. She doesn’t know where he’s sleeping, if he’s slept at all. Her brain is refusing to string simple thoughts together. Did Walker drown or leave? Leave or drown?

Late one evening, Evan arrives and pushes aside the curtains. When he opens the window, it gives a drawn-out squeak.

“I know you don’t want to get up.” He sits on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of water out to her. The bruising on his face has faded to green and yellow.

Her mouth is stale. She takes the glass and drinks. Cool air sweeps over her cheeks.

“Henry called up on the radio.”

“Is she coming home?” Her voice is hoarse.

“She isn’t doing well, Annie.”

Her heart stalls.

“They’ve transferred her to Vancouver.”

“What?”

“Henry agreed to it.”

Annie feels light-headed as she sits up. The periphery of her vision fades, then goes dark.

“The fastest way for you to get down is to go on the coast guard ferry.” Evan holds Annie’s gaze. “It’s October first tomorrow.”

Everything is loud, even Evan’s soft voice.

He’s holding an open duffle bag.

Chapter 30

Annie pushes herself through hot tears across the boarding plank along with everyone else on the coast guard ferry. Evan waits with his outstretched palm.

She is the last to board.

Her trembling hand grips the duffle bag that Evan packed. The handles dig into her fingers and its zipper strains; she has no idea what’s inside. Evan squeezes her hand.

She does not let go of him.

“As soon as we’re there, we’ll go see Ruth at the hospital.” His words are faint and far away.

When the engine starts, Annie panics and grabs her chair, as the water surges under them, rolling and unsteady. She is floating on an ocean she cannot trust. Never again. The ride is turbulent, the whipping wind, people milling around, their small talk too loud in the small cabin. The prow of the ferry dips up and down over capricious water. Annie does not look out the windows and cannot let go of the armrests. She’s sure she is dying.

They make another stop six hours later, only long enough for her to walk two shaky laps around the deck at Evan’s insistence. She can’t look anywhere but at the floor. Then she’s back in her seat.

Evan keeps watch over her, rarely taking his concerned brown eyes off her.