Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

Jesus, Marcus. She’s grateful. That’s all. You rescued her and her kids. It’s common for people in these situations to feel attracted to their rescuers. But it doesn’t last. It’s not real.

Then again, he wasn’t a very good judge of what was real. He talked to his dead wife’s ghost. How real was that? She came to him during times of intense stress. When he’d had very little sleep. Obviously she was a figment of his exhausted mind. Ghosts weren’t real.

But she led you to Rebecca.

And she’d warned him to hurry in the hospital.

Natural intuition. Nothing more than that.

He listened to the final speaker, all the while rationalizing Jane’s recent “appearances.” He fought back a yawn as people shuffled to their feet, all promising to hold on for one more day.

On his way to the door, he bumped into the leader of the meeting.

“Excuse me,” the guy said, “but is your name Marcus Taylor?”

“Uh, we’re supposed to maintain anonymity here.”

“I know. My apologies. But your picture was in the newspaper. You rescued that woman and her kids.” The man smiled. “You’re a hero. Not many of us in this room can say that.”

“I prefer to think of it as doing the right thing.”

“You’re a 911 operator. Physically searching for someone is beyond your job description, isn’t it? That’s a hero.”

Marcus didn’t know what to say.

“You did the right thing,” the man said. “You showed extreme courage.”

Marcus shrugged. “Like I said, it was right thing to do at the time.”

“Doing the right thing isn’t always easy. That’s why we’re here in this church basement. But you’re on the right track.” The man patted him on the back. “Hopefully one day you’ll show that same kind of courage and share your story.”

“Perhaps.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Taylor. It was an honor meeting you.”

Driving away, Marcus replayed the man’s words in his head.

A block from Rebecca’s house, he slowed the car as a peculiar tingling went through his body. He glanced in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see Jane sitting behind him. But the seat was empty.

“Jeez, Marcus. Overactive imagination much?”

A sensation of foreboding crept over him, one he couldn’t shake.

“Get it together,” he muttered beneath his breath.

He pulled over once Rebecca’s house came into view, parked and shut off the engine. There was no way in hell he was going to let Rebecca see him like this. He needed to calm down.

He twisted in his seat. “Okay, Jane. If you’re going to make an appearance, please do. I’ll wait for you.”

Then he settled back and waited for his wife’s ghost to appear.

After ten minutes, Jane hadn’t shown up.

He was about to get out of the car when a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb ahead of him. He didn’t pay it any mind at first, until a tall, silver-haired man climbed out and made his way across the street. The man glanced over his shoulder in Marcus’s direction. Sunlight caught the angles of his face—the bushy eyebrows and piercing stare. He strode to Rebecca’s front door, knocked and then went inside.

The man looked familiar, but Marcus couldn’t quite place him. The guy wasn’t one of the detectives. Their pay scale didn’t supply them with Lincoln town cars.

“The lawyer,” he mumbled. That’s who it must be. Carter something.

Not wanting to interrupt them, Marcus remained in his car.

Returning from the washroom, Rebecca heard the knock on her door and let out a relieved sigh. Marcus was back. The past hour and a half had ticked by so slowly, and though she knew there was no longer any threat to her life, she didn’t like being alone. She’d jumped at every noise, every shadow.

“Come on in, Marcus,” she called out. “The door’s unlocked.”

She moved down the hallway and heard the soft creak of the front door. Rounding the corner, she smiled. “So how did your meeting—” She blinked.

Walter Kingston stood in her living room.

“Hello, Rebecca,” he said stiffly.

“Walter. What are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize. For the behavior of my son and his… well, you know.”

She nodded, thankful her racing heart was slowing. “That’s very kind of you, considering the circumstances. Thank you.”

He took a few steps, then said, “You’re expecting someone?”

“Uh… yes. Marcus Taylor, the man who found us.”

“I expect you’re very grateful he did.”

She frowned. “Of course. We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”

“So he’ll be here soon?”

“I think so. He had a… meeting to attend.”

Walter’s eyes grew shadowed. “Then I guess I’d better do what I came here to do.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Walter. Wesley made some awful choices. I don’t hold you responsible for your son’s actions.”

Walter ambled forward and opened his arms wide. “I’m so happy to hear that.” He gathered her up in his arms. “But I’m still sorry.”

“How about a glass of wine or some tea?” she asked, slipping out of his grasp. “Come on in, take off your gloves and stay a while. You can meet Marcus when he gets back.”

“Oh, I’m not planning to stay long. But tea sounds like a plan. Let me get it for you. You don’t seem to be moving too quickly.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Walter.”

As he puttered around in the kitchen, he called out, “Honey or sugar?”

“Honey, please.” She settled back onto the sofa and propped a pillow behind her. “There’s herbal tea in the cupboard and regular too.”

“Found it. Let’s try the strawberry pomegranate. Lots of antioxidants.”

She almost laughed, wondering when Walter had become such a connoisseur of teas.

When he handed her a mug, she nodded in thanks. “It really is very nice of you to stop by.”

He set the teapot on the coffee table. “You are my daughter-in-law.” He peered over her shoulder. “Are the kids sleeping?”

“They’re at my sister’s.”

“Perfect.”

She raised a brow. “How so?”

“I mean, dear, that you need some time to heal, and running after two active children can’t be easy right now.”

He had a point, and she let out a sigh. “The past few days have been very difficult.”

“And Wesley and Tracey didn’t make it easy.”

She was touched by his understanding. They’d never been that close. She’d always found Walter a little standoffish. Yet here he was, drinking tea in her living room.

“I wish things had gone differently,” she said.

“Me too.”

She cradled the mug in her hands and took a sip of tea. It had a bitter aftertaste, and she made a face.

“Too sweet?” he asked. “I wasn’t sure how much honey you take, so I put in a good spoonful. Can’t hurt. It’s good for you.”

“It’s fine.” She drank a bit more, hoping to get the sickening sweet taste out of her mouth. “I still can’t believe it…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s probably best we don’t talk about everything that happened.” She yawned. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure it has.”

“I hope we can remain… friends. For the kids’ sake. You’re their grandpa.”

“You need fluid and lots of rest.”

She chuckled. “You sound like a doctor. Dr. Kingston, MD.”

“There was a time when I thought I’d go into that profession. But law suited me better. I have a deep need to right wrongs.”

She blinked. “You’re a good lawyer.”