Brian Freeman: The Bone House

Even so, he had somewhere to go, and he was anxious to get there.

Hilary broke through the trees on to Schoolhouse Beach behind their house. Mark was waiting for her. So was Tresa, sitting on a bench beside him, her red hair tied in a ponytail. Sunshine spilled across the expanse of the horseshoe bay and left it flecked with gold. The season was still too early for tourists, and they had the rocky stretch of shoreline all to themselves.

When the two of them saw her at the crest of the slope, Tresa ran. Mark lingered on the bench by himself, letting the girl go first. Tresa greeted Hilary with a huge smile and threw her arms around her in a hug that seemed impossibly strong for her skinny arms.

'I'm so glad you're safe,' Tresa whispered.

'Me, too.'

'Mark told me you were coming home today. I really wanted to stay and see you.'

'I'm glad you did.'

Tresa leaned in, hugging her as fiercely as before. When she let go, she ducked her head into her neck. 'I'm so sorry about Jen. I mean Katie. I should have done something. I should have told someone about the fire.'

'You were a kid back then, Tresa,' Hilary said.

'I still feel like a kid.'

'You're not.'

'Mark thinks I am.'

Hilary didn't answer, and Tresa bit her lip and shoved her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans. 'Well, I'll leave you guys alone.'

The teenager brushed past her, but Hilary stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. 'Tresa, wait. There's something else.'

'What is it?'

'You did a brave thing by coming here that night like you did. You risked your own life. Thank you.'

'I couldn't let anything happen to Mark,' she said.

'I know that, and I'm grateful,' Hilary went on, 'but I also have to tell you something. Woman to woman.'

Tresa hesitated. 'OK.'

'You can't spend any more time alone with my husband,' Hilary said.

Tresa's eyes widened. 'What?' I mean, yeah, I–I understand. I'm sorry. He told you what happened, huh?'

'Of course he did.'

'I'm really sorry.'

'Girl crushes don't bother me, Tresa, but you're not a girl anymore.'

She nodded. 'Sure. You're right.'

'It doesn't mean we never want to see you again.'

'No, I get it.' Tresa took a long look over her shoulder at Mark. 'Thanks,' she told Hilary.

'For what?'

'For saying I could actually be a threat. That's cool.'

Hilary smiled. 'Take care of yourself, Tresa.'

'You too. You're lucky, you know?'

'I know.'

She watched Tresa disappear into the trees, and then she turned with a strange sense of anxiety and relief toward Mark, trying not to run. He climbed off the bench as she drew near. Their faces told the story. They didn't need to speak. His arms enfolded her, and she grabbed him hard, and they kissed with an outpouring of love and longing that left her fighting back tears. It was as if everything in her life had come within a breath of slipping away, and then, suddenly, miraculously, she had it all back in her grasp. They stood there in silence for long minutes, clinging to each other, still somehow afraid that they would be torn apart. When they finally let go, they walked back to the bench hand in hand and sat, still not speaking, listening to the steady beat of the water on the rocks.

'I thought I'd never—' Mark began, but she stopped him firmly with a hand over his lips.

'Don't. Don't say it.'

He nodded and let it go. She didn't want to talk about fears or nightmares. She didn't want to talk about what might have happened or how close they'd both come to the edge of the precipice. The only thing that mattered to her was that they were still here and still together.

'I got a call from the principal at the high school,' Hilary told him. 'Oh?'

'It sounds like the last few days have made a lot of people rethink what happened last year. Or maybe they got nervous and called their lawyers. I think they're going to offer you your teaching job back.'

Mark's head bobbed in surprise. 'Seriously?'

'Looks that way. Do you want it?'

'After everything that's happened?' He hesitated, and she assumed he was about to say no. Not ever. Not again. He surprised her.

'Actually, yeah,' he continued. 'I do. All I ever wanted was the life we had before.'

She smiled at her husband. He was the idealist between them. He thought things could be the way they were again, as if the horrors had never happened, as if the injustices had never been perpetrated. She wasn't so blindly optimistic. Life didn't go backwards. She prayed that she could look in the mirror one day and see the same two people who had come to this place to escape, that she could live in peace among the neighbors who had wronged them, that she could find a way to heal the wounds in her soul.

Something had been taken from her, and she didn't know how to get it back. She would never admit it to him or anyone else, but when she was alone, she still heard Katie taunting her. You're like every wife, loyal and stupid. Do I need to spell it out for you?

She saw Mark and Glory. On the beach. No one will ever know.

Hilary told herself for the thousandth time that nothing had happened between them. Mark was an honorable man, and Katie was a sociopath playing with her head. And yet she wondered. She was human. It was a seedling of doubt she wouldn't water, in the hope that it would wither and die. That was all she could do. You push aside your fears and hope there are no monsters waiting behind them. You live your life. You trust. You have faith.

'So do you want to stay here?' she asked.

'I do,' Mark said. 'Don't you?'

Hilary nodded. What they had, what they wanted, was worth fighting for.

'I don't want to be anywhere else,' she said.

I

lost a dear friend during the writing of this book. Gail Foster sent me my very

first 'fan' letter in 2005 before the release of my debut novel, Immoral. As we got to know each other, she became a sounding board and advance reader

for my manuscripts, and I always looked forward to her feedback and reflections

on my work. Marcia and I had the good fortune to meet Gail several times and to

become friends with her and her family. We miss her greatly.

This

book is in your hands because of the efforts of many people around the world. I

am grateful to everyone in the publishing industry who has been so supportive

of my career throughout the past six books. A special thanks to my agents, Ali

Gunn, Deborah Schneider, and Diana Mackay — and the agents in many countries

who work with them.

Of

course, I'm particularly grateful to my readers. I grew up enjoying

entertainment from many wonderful authors, and it is an honor to play the same

role for readers around the world. Keep writing to me and sharing your stories.

I always appreciate it.

This

would be a lonely business without the support of family and friends. My own

family in California has been with me every step of the way, even when we are

separated by long distances. I'm also blessed with wonderful friends close to

home, across the country, and around the world. Many thanks to people like Barb

and Jerry, Matt and Paula, and Keith and Katie, for the ways you enrich our

lives.

Every

book is dedicated to my wife, Marcia. Those of you who have met her know that

she is (as one bookseller described her), 'the icing on the cake' at book

events. Actually, that's not true — she's the cake, too! Whenever I get invited

back to a bookstore or library, I can count on hearing the question, 'You will be bringing your wife, too, won't you?' So the biggest thanks of all

to Marcia for twenty-six years of marriage and for joining me on this