“You’ve been distant the past week, ever since the detectives came.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
He nodded. “Has he been on your mind a lot?”
I lay down again. “I think it’s important that I’m honest with you. So the answer is . . . yes.”
Gabriel said nothing. He simply moved his hands to my other foot, and his silence convinced me to open up about everything I had told Rachel on the phone that morning. I confessed how I was frustrated that I still didn’t know what had happened to Dean.
Then I thought of something. I rose up on my elbows again.
“Obviously, the detectives would love to identify Dean as the killer because then they could close the Melanie Brown file once and for all, because he’s not here to be arrested. And if they could pin it on him, they wouldn’t have to keep searching for another killer. But what if he’s still out there somewhere?”
Gabriel’s gaze shot to mine. “Who? Another killer?”
“No. Dean.”
One corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched slightly. “What are you talking about?”
“There was never a body recovered,” I reminded him.
Gabriel shook his head. “There’s no evidence to suggest that he’s still alive.”
“No, but what evidence is there to prove that he’s actually dead?”
Gabriel stared at me. “A death certificate.”
“Based on what? The assumption that his plane went down and crashed into the ocean. But if they pin the murder on him, they won’t be searching for the real killer.”
Gabriel’s hands went still. “You’re not making any sense, Olivia. He’s not still out there.”
“But what if he was? I’m not saying I believe that. Just hypothetically speaking. They wouldn’t be able to question him, but they’d find him guilty, and then the real killer would go free.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “It sounds like you’re still imagining that he’s alive.”
“No . . . I swear I’m not.”
“Are you sure about that? Because it sounds like you’re still hanging on. Or you’re searching for an answer about why he left or where he went.” Gabriel pushed my foot aside and stood. “If only it hadn’t been the Bermuda Triangle.”
“It has nothing to do with that,” I said defensively. “I don’t think he was abducted by aliens.”
“Then what do you think?” he asked, looking down at me. “Or maybe that’s not the right question. No one can say for sure what happened to Dean’s plane. I just want to know . . .” Gabriel paused.
“Know what?”
“I want to know what you’re searching for. What’s missing in your life that makes you entertain the idea that he might still be out there?”
I stared at Gabriel for several seconds while my heart pummeled my rib cage. I hated the fact that he thought he wasn’t enough for me, that I was still in love with a ghost, and that my love for Dean would always be more passionate or enduring. None of that was true.
Or maybe there was a nugget of truth to it, because Dean and I never had a chance to move past the honeymoon phase. But I was wise enough and mature enough to understand that that kind of youthful passion couldn’t last, nor could it compete with a deep and lifelong love or with the kind of respect that was earned and built upon day after day.
When I didn’t answer—because I was reflecting upon my love for the man who was standing in front of me—Gabriel asked again.
“Olivia. What are you searching for? What do you want?”
I blinked a few times. “I want you. And I want closure. That’s all. Just closure.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he spoke in a gentler voice. “I want to believe you.”
“Then believe me. You’re my husband and the father of my children, including Rose. I love you. I don’t want anyone but you.”
A shadow of dismay swept across his face. “Sometimes, I fear that if he ever came back, you’d run off with him somewhere, and I’d never see you again.”
I swung my legs to the floor, stood up, and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. “That would never happen. Not in a thousand years.”
He buried his face in my neck. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you a second time. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
In that moment, I wished I could say the same, but I couldn’t because I had loved Dean deeply and passionately for the short time that we were together.
But that was a different life. Today, I was no longer the woman I had been when I met him, years ago—when I was light enough, untroubled enough, to be swept off my feet. I’d had no experience with grief or mistrust. Those were feelings I had come to know only after I was cut off from my family and after Dean disappeared. It was why I would never take my happiness for granted again. Gabriel was my joy now. Gabriel, Rose, Joel, and the unborn baby I carried.
“I’ll never leave you,” I promised as I cupped his face in my hands. “I love our life together. I don’t want anything else or anyone else. I promise you that. You’re everything to me.”
He hugged me tighter still, as if he could shield us both physically from the unwelcome, surfacing past.
CHAPTER 28
OLIVIA
Two weeks later, not long after Gabriel returned to work and began auditions for a new spring musical, I was at home alone with Joel on a Wednesday morning. The doorbell rang. I thought it was my mother, who had promised to drop off a ballet costume for Rose, but it wasn’t my mother. It was Detectives Johnson and Russo.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” Detective Johnson asked, and my heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. I invited them both inside, then moved into the living room, where Joel and I had been building a large fort out of wooden blocks. It was intended to keep out a herd of dinosaurs.
“Joel, these nice men need to have a chat with me in the kitchen. Can you play on your own for a few minutes?”
He glanced up at the detectives with a wary expression, shrank away from them slightly, and said, “Uh-huh.”
My stomach churned with nervous knots as I led them to the kitchen and quickly cleared off the table. I removed Joel’s cereal bowl from breakfast and his plastic drink cup. Then I grabbed the red dishcloth from the sink to give the table a wipe.
“Have a seat,” I suggested when it was clean.
A moment later we were gathered around the table, facing each other.
“I assume you got the results from the DNA test?” I said apprehensively.
Detective Russo spoke matter-of-factly. “Yes. And I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your late husband was the father of Melanie Brown’s unborn child.”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. My stomach was burning and my mind was frozen in limbo while I tried to process what he’d just said. “That’s not . . . I don’t . . . wait a second.” I held up a hand and closed my eyes for a few seconds. “That can’t be right.” I took a deep breath and regarded the detectives fixedly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he replied. “There’s no doubt.”