Every Vow You Break - Peter Swanson Page 0,49

the resort. They didn’t talk again about Eric Newman on the walk, but Abigail was acutely aware that she had just actively lied to Bruce for the first time, that she’d laid the foundation for further lies, if it came to that.

She didn’t get to the grotto pool until eleven thirty-five. There was no one there, and Abigail was relieved that she hadn’t kept Jill waiting.

She slid into the warm water of the pool, pushed herself from the side, and skimmed along the surface. After she had swum back and forth a few times a staff member mysteriously appeared, the same man who’d been there the day before, and Abigail asked him if there’d been a woman here earlier. He told her no, and Abigail ordered a Greyhound.

At noon Abigail gave up on Jill. She drank the dregs of her drink and stepped out of the pool, leaving a trail of water as she walked to the dressing room.

CHAPTER 17

At dinner that night Abigail kept looking toward the door to the dining room, hoping to see Jill and Alec.

“Who are you watching for?” Bruce said, slicing into his rabbit.

“Oh, sorry,” Abigail said. “Jill. I haven’t seen her all day.”

“You going to let her have it for standing you up?” Bruce smiled.

“No, I’m just worried, I guess.”

“What are you worried about? She’s on her honeymoon, too. She’s probably just spending the day inside with Alec.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Abigail’s main course was a vegetable tart, now all gone, and she was nervously scraping up the remnants with her fork.

“And don’t forget. They’ll bring you your dinner to your room if you want. That’s probably what they did.”

“Right,” Abigail said. “That’s probably what they did.”

Abigail saw Eric Newman in the dining room, eating by himself at one of the corner tables. He’d brought a book with him, and there was something pathetic about the way he was sitting alone at the table, the book propped open in front of him, but with his eyes nervously scanning the room. After their encounter on the beach Abigail felt a little better about the possibility that he would simply stop bothering her. He clearly hadn’t been prepared for being called by his real name, or for being questioned about his wife. Maybe he really was just a pathetic delusional man who believed that he’d found his soul mate. Maybe, by challenging him the way she had, Abigail had destroyed some of his illusions about her.

“I’m tired tonight,” Abigail said as they ate their dessert. She didn’t want to linger in the hall after dinner, even though she was still hoping to see Jill and find out what had caused her to miss their swimming date.

“Me, too. Straight to the bunk after this?”

“That would be nice.”

The air was cool as they made their way down the sloping lawn toward their bunk, holding their fake lanterns. When they were near their door something rattled in a nearby shrub and Abigail jumped.

“What’s that?” she said.

“Probably a raccoon, or maybe a fox,” Bruce said. He approached the shrub and they both heard something slink away.

“It’s strange to think there are animals on this island,” Abigail said as she entered the bunk.

“Why?”

“Because they’d be stuck here. I mean, how’d they even get here in the first place? Birds I understand, because they can fly away, but where did the foxes come from?”

“They came from other foxes. Do you need me to explain it to you?”

Inside the bunk the fire had been lit. Abigail went to the hidden refrigerator and pulled out a wine-sized bottle that turned out to be a beer called King Titus. “Wanna split this?” she asked.

“Sure,” Bruce said, and they drank the dark beer together on the couch near the fire, playing a game of backgammon. It was the closest to normal Abigail had felt since before Eric Newman had approached her in the lodge two nights earlier. After playing four games, and each winning twice, they agreed to go to bed, even though it felt early.

Bruce fell asleep first, curled up in the fetal position, breathing deeply. Abigail lay naked under the covers, still awake, thinking about everything that had happened over the past few days. The fire was dying, but it still cast soft flutters of light across the walls and ceiling, and the occasional crackle broke up the oppressive silence of the bunk. She closed her eyes but found she wasn’t tired. She had a trick when she wasn’t sleepy. She didn’t count sheep, but