anything I say about it is going to sound so cheesy, or over the top, but the truth is, it was so, so different. He kissed me real y gently to begin with, and then he kind of leaned back and looked at me, like he was checking I was okay. And then he kissed me again, except deeper, and everything about it was perfect. His skin was warm and he smel ed so good, of the sea and himself and everything was perfect. His body is so beautiful. Oh man, I know, I know this is so over the top and I’m blushing like crazy as I write this but I’ve never wanted anything so much as I wanted him. The funny thing is, there’s a little cabin on the boat and we could have gone there, but I never thought of it and he didn’t suggest it. We just sat on the deck and made out until my chin was raw from his stubble and the sun started to set. He said we should sail home. I stood with him at the til er and we kept trying and failing to have a conversation. Al I could think about was how happy I was, and . . . at the same time how scared I was that this was going to screw everything up. But we touched al the time—his hand on my shoulder, mine on his back. I think we both knew that we were going straight to his bedroom the moment we docked. But then . . . we turned into the quiet little bay and sailed toward the jetty and there were two people there, waiting.
Both men, one of them standing stil and the other pacing. We were too far away to make out their faces. I looked at Tom but he shook his head. He had no clue who they were either. We had to sail a lot closer before we could see that it was Mike, and someone else. An older man. Heavyset, dark haired, with a beard.
I thought it might be Mike’s dad, but Tom shook his head again, said he didn’t recognize the guy. He got on with taking down sails and bringing the boat in to dock, so I stayed on deck and watched Mike and the stranger and their vibe was real y off. I can’t put my finger on what it was. Maybe it was the way they were standing—stiff and stil —or the way they never spoke to each other the whole time we were docking. Mike caught the rope Tom threw him and tied it up, and when he final y spoke there was an edge to his voice.
“You took the boat out. You never said anything. I came looking for it and found it was missing.”
Tom gave him a look and said something like, “I wasn’t aware I had to ask permission to use my own boat.” Which sounds snarky now, when I write it down, but he didn’t say it in a snarky way. Tom was more cold than anything, and something about the way he said it made him seem older, suddenly. Mike saw it too. He gave one of his fake laughs, acting like he thought Tom was kidding around, but I could see he was nervous. He was sweating, even though the sun had nearly set and the evening had cooled.
“Who’s this?” Tom said, nodding toward the stranger.
“Sorry, sorry, this is my friend Dom. He’s thinking of buying a yacht, same model as yours, so I offered to show him around. Is that okay?” Mike’s tone was so exaggeratedly apologetic that it bordered on sarcasm. Maybe he thought he’d embarrass Tom, but he was wrong. Tom said it would be fine, but in a disinterested kind of way, and then he started gathering up our things. He took his time, not hurrying. I helped. Dom just stood there watching, saying nothing, with a tight smile on his face. He was wearing jeans, white sneakers, and a T-shirt that was a size too smal . The clothes were real y young for him. He should have looked ridiculous, but actual y, he was just scary. Intimidating. He had this look on his face al the time, like he was holding himself back from saying what he real y wanted to, but only by the thinnest of threads. And he was completely silent the whole time we were getting ready. I kept thinking that there was something familiar about him and it was only later that I realized what it was. He had the same vibe as a debt col ector for a loan shark. There was violence shimmering just under the surface.
When we were ready, Tom slung our bag over his shoulder and helped me off the boat, and we walked up the path toward the trees and the house. I stopped at the top of the hil and looked back. Mike had already disappeared below deck, but Dom was stil standing on the jetty, and he was watching us. I shivered. Tom took my hand.
“You okay?”
I told him I was fine, but I wasn’t. I had that horrible feeling again, like something bad was going to happen. Tom was frowning, looking back over my shoulder toward the boat.
“Come on. I’l take you home. I don’t know what that was al about, but I’l talk to Mike when I get back.”
I thought about suggesting that I stay. Not for romantic reasons.
Just to provide support. But Tom drew me quickly through the house to the car and I fol owed. And a few minutes later, when he was driving and we had the windows down and music playing, I started to feel a lot better. He held my hand and I ran my thumb along his scar.
And the whole mood changed again and everything started to build.
By the time we got to the hotel we had both forgotten about the whole Mike thing.
Tom parked the car and leaned over and kissed me. I pul ed away, looking into his eyes. His expression was so serious when he looked at me and it made me want him so much more. It was my turn to take him by the hand and lead. My room is pretty basic—just a single bed, a desk, and a tiny bathroom—but with Marta gone it’s private. I closed the door behind us. Neither of us turned the light on.
The sun had set but the moon was bright and there was enough light coming in through the window that we could see each other, just. I took off my T-shirt. He untied my bikini top and dropped it on the floor. He kissed me and we fel onto the bed. And everything was perfect. Until afterward, when I suddenly felt afraid. I don’t know why, but I suddenly had this horrible feeling that I was about to lose him.
Maybe everyone feels like that when they find someone special.
“Stay,” I said, clinging to him.
He turned over and kissed me. Told me he wasn’t going anywhere. Five minutes later he was asleep. And I’ve been lying here, staring at the ceiling, since.
Hannah
FIVE
TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 2019
When Robert Parekh finished his pep talk, Jim Lehane took center stage and started to run through the details of the Sarah Fitzhugh case. He didn’t have Parekh’s natural magnetism. He was lower key, less intense, but he had no trouble keeping the attention of the room.
“Here are the basic facts. In 2007 a young mother by the name of Sarah Fitzhugh was alone in her apartment with her children—she had two, Samuel, age seven, and Rosie, who was a baby, just over six months old. Sarah and Samuel had dinner—pizza, I think—and Sarah fed the baby. Then—we don’t know for sure but we’re assuming she fol owed her usual routine—she put the children to bed. Probably no later than seven-thirty. After that, she watched TV
for a while. Her husband, Saul, was a midshipman in the Navy, and he was halfway through a six-month tour. By al accounts their relationship was good. Sarah’s parents lived two blocks over so they were able to help her when Saul was away, and that made things a little bit easier. Anyway, Sarah’s parents had nothing but good things to say about Saul, and as he was three thousand miles offshore at the time of the murder, it’s safe to say that Saul had nothing to do with her death.
“At nine-thirty Sarah turned off the TV, put her dishes in the sink, and climbed the stairs to bed. We know about the TV and timings because Sarah was living in a smal apartment in Yorktown, and it seems the wal s were paper thin. The neighbors could overhear each other’s conversations.” Jim looked down at his notes. “Rita and Thomas Stamford gave evidence that they heard Sarah’s television going until about nine-thirty, and they heard nothing at al after that.