His Other Wife (22 page)

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you started sampling all those bottles of wine, what do you say?”

“Please. It isn’t what you think.”

“Is that so?” He took a solid step back and watched Hilary. She wouldn’t be surprised if he started in on the sobriety tests
next:
Ma’am, follow my finger, please
, while he examined her pupils and how steadily they tracked.
Ma’am, walk this straight line for me, why don’t you
, while he waited for her to totter.

There wasn’t any other reason why she would share such intimate information with a stranger. But he was wrong about her drinking,
and being here, praying like this, was so important to her. She didn’t want him to put her and Seth off.

Even as she was denying the captain’s charges, he was leaning in to have a good look at Hilary’s face, his brows knit in disbelief.

“Please, Captain,” she said. “You have to believe me.” She told him softly because she would never make a show of this. “It’s
very important. But I’m only
praying
.”
I’m a woman of sorrowful spirit. I have poured out my soul before the Lord.

Maybe it was her sheer discomfiture that convinced the man. “Well, lady. All I can say is, that must be
some
prayer.”

Hilary mopped her face with her sleeve again, trying to regain her composure. “I didn’t mean to make a nuisance of myself.”

But he wasn’t acting like she’d bothered him anymore. He gripped the railing and peered out in the distance toward the hills
of Indiana. “You want something as bad as all that, lady, I’d think God would be willing to give it to you.”

Hilary leaned over the railing, too. “Maybe.”

It surprised her that this man didn’t act affronted after she’d shown him he was wrong about her. She hadn’t put him out of
humor. On the contrary, he encouraged her.

“You know, I talk to God a bit myself. There’s something about all the time I spend out here on the water. Something about
the way the wind fills the sails that convinces me.”

Lights had begun to sparkle into view all over the city. Hilary had never seen the skyline look so pretty.

“Being a sailing captain makes you understand certain things,” he said. “Makes you understand how even though you can’t always
see the wind, it’s still there to propel you forward with power.”

The stars seemed to swirl overhead in a sky that was fading from velvet blue to black. The captain’s words resonated somewhere
deep in Hilary’s spirit. She kept thinking how, all this time, she’d been praising God and praying to him in some desperate
attempt to feel something, a desperate attempt just to know that he was here with her. She
worked
to make God come to her because she forgot that he was already always there.

“I figure, when a person asks for something the way it looks like
you’re
asking for it, God can’t
help
but listen,” the captain told her. “I don’t know what you want so bad, lady, but let me add my hearty ‘Amen’ to it. I’ll
be praying right along beside you for whatever it is. How about that?”

Hilary could hardly speak. How long had it been since a stranger had stood beside her and offered to pray for her this freely?
Without having to know a complete lineup of details? Without first having to decide what side of the fence they ought to be
standing on?

“I don’t know what to say.”

The captain gave her a wise weather-beaten grin that she’d never forget. “Now I’d best get back to those sails and my crew.
We’ll be changing direction here soon.”

Not many hours later, seagulls would be flashing their wings overhead, dodging and wheeling and fighting for bits of food,
hoping the sailboat’s draft might churn up some breakfast. But for now, the sky had gone totally dark around them. The darkness
wasn’t frightening. It warmed and calmed her, like a hug that lingered.

A magnificent sense of peace surrounded Hilary. For here, beneath this sky, atop this water, she was suddenly made aware of
how small her problems were in the big scheme of things, and how deeply she was loved. Gone was her melancholy and her discontent.
The King of the Universe was orchestrating everything for her benefit. She believed it, discovered it, knew it to be true,
deep in her spirit. Oh, what a discovery!

The schooner’s captain was halfway to the wheel when he turned to tell Hilary one last thing.

“Lady?”

“Yes?”

He tipped his cap. “May the God of Israel grant you what you’ve asked of him. You just wait,” he told her. “Things are going
to be okay.”

God’s will is my counsel; his presence is my joy, even when I can’t feel him nearby.

Hilary watched after this man for a long time. She heard him call, “Man the mainstay!” And as the ship began to veer and come
around to starboard, she was satisfied. She sensed the Holy Spirit in the broad, creaking shift of the schooner beneath her
feet. She sensed him in the way the sails overflowed and the vessel began to surge in the opposite direction.

She had never been alone.

Hilary knew she had to confess to Seth about the phone. The first thing she told him as they sat in the front seat of his
truck in their driveway was that she’d stolen his phone, she’d launched it into the depths of Lake Michigan. Then, as a cloud
of summer bugs swarmed and clicked against his headlights, she made him look at her. She gripped his arm to hold him steady.
She told him about Laura.

Seth’s body arched with physical pain. His arms and his spine went taut with the news. He asked every angry question that
came to mind. He flung accusations.
Was this why they’d spent the day together? Had she kept him busy because she didn’t want him to find out?

How long had she known? How many hours had she kept it from him?

Hilary couldn’t help being frightened while his rage took charge. “How could it happen?” He pummeled the steering wheel with
clenched fists. “How could it happen?” He flopped forward in his seat, slammed his torso back again. “What have I done?” he
cried as he clubbed the air with his arms and the butt of his hand slapped Hilary’s headrest.

“Listen,” Hilary whispered. “Listen.” But she didn’t mean she wanted him to listen to her. She meant that she wanted him to
listen to his own heart, to let his grief win out over his anger. His anger at himself. His anger at her.

Which, eventually, it did.

Seth’s angular body went as slack as unused rope. His shoulders slumped; his arms fell helpless at his sides. There was only
so much fury that one human body could contain before it broke apart. Hilary had been longing to hold him for so many days,
to make him into the young child he had once been, to fold him inside her arms and take some of the burden. But Seth would
walk a road for this and none of them could walk it for him. Hilary’s instinct said he’d jerk away if she offered so much
as a reassuring hand. So she sat beside him, didn’t express the slightest discomfort at his explosion of anger. She waited
until this new ache became ingrained in Seth’s soul. And still, she waited more. She was thinking how dangerous it could be
to press sharply against life the way the kids did at the party that night. Because life likes to shove and throw punches
and press sharply back.

H
ilary didn’t leave Seth alone for very long at a time in the days following Laura’s passing. She gave her son his space, but
she was always in the house, a room away from him, in case he should need her. Every time another of Seth’s friends showed
up, Hilary breathed another silent prayer of gratitude. Remy haunted the door and so did Ian. Emily spent quiet hours with
Seth when he needed to cry. Chase stopped by to play Xbox.

Laura’s funeral wouldn’t be until next week. The Moore family had decided to wait longer than the ordinary few days before
they held the memorial service for their daughter. Hilary had heard that the Moores’ church didn’t have a room large enough
to accommodate the number of families expected to attend, so they’d decided to move it to a different church on the outside
of town. She’d heard that Abigail wanted the kids to take part in Laura’s service; she wanted to give them time to grieve
and, at the same time, give them a chance to come up with a meaningful way for them to memorialize their friend. It made sense
putting it off a bit.

It was Seth himself who convinced Hilary that she didn’t need to shadow him every moment. Eric and Pam had driven over for
a visit. Lily had been beside herself, telling how she and her mom had reservations for a
Braids and Bows
event at American Girl Place in Water Tower Place the next day.

“Braids and Bows,” Hilary said. “Do you have one of those dolls, Lily?”

“No. But Mom says I can get one tomorrow. I’m going to get Ivy. She’ll be the first one in my collection.”

“For years I’ve been hearing about that place,” Hilary said in all innocence. “But you have to have a girl. I couldn’t have
gotten Seth within miles of that place.”

“I’m a girl!” Lily exclaimed. “You should go with us!”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Hilary backpedaled. She glanced at Pam, who had said nothing. “Your mom has it all planned for just
the two of you.”

“You should go with them, Mom,” Seth said. “I’m tired of you shadowing me. You don’t mind if she goes with you, do you, Pam?”

“Seth.”

“You don’t need to worry. I’m going to handle this. I’m not going to off myself.”

If anyone noticed a strain between the two, no one mentioned it. “It starts at eleven a.m. tomorrow.” Pam’s eyes were dark
as pitch. “You don’t mind meeting us downtown, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Hilary said with more conviction than she felt.

The doll store, or, as Hilary decided later, the doll
city
, had all sorts of activities to keep little girls busy with their dolls: Making memory boxes. Attending high tea. Learning
how to make “Dazzling Doll ’Dos” for fancy occasions. As Lily’s small fingers fumbled with what the doll stylist called “a
ponytail veil hairdo,” Hilary tried her best to disappear into the crowd. But Lily always managed to find her. “Do you like
the yellow flowers or the pink crown?” Lily would ask.

“They’re both pretty,” Hilary would defer, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes.

“You have to tell me which one you
like
,” Lily said. “Otherwise I won’t put a decoration in her hair.”

“I like the yellow flowers,” Pam said.

“But I want to know what
Hilary
thinks,” Lily pressed.

“Yellow flowers,” Hilary said too fast. “Definitely yellow flowers.”

Next, when Pam gave Lily the choice between a horseback-riding outfit and a skiing outfit with a cast and a matching crutch,
she asked, “Do you like to ski, Hilary?”

“I do,” Hilary said.

Lily said, “Then that’s the outfit Ivy wants, too.”

After Ivy got fixed up with a final touch-and-spray from the salon stylist and Lily was handed a goodie bag, Hilary made some
offhanded remark as they waited in line, something about how Pam spent more money on Lily’s doll than some mothers spend on
clothes for their children for the entire first year.

“I don’t know why money is such a big issue with you,” Pam snapped. “Are you looking for ways to criticize me, Hilary? I don’t
need your opinion. I can spend whatever I like on my daughter.”

Two days ago Pam’s haughty comment would have started Hilary’s confidence falling down around her. Her words would have left
Hilary questioning herself, broken, her spirit nothing but a pile of rubble.

This morning, Hilary’s face wasn’t flaming. She oozed with self-control, something that felt so foreign! She simply refused
to be rattled by Pam. She refused to be hurt by this woman or to let Pam inflict pain. Ordinarily Hilary would have given
in and let Pam have the last word. But after the boat ride, the talk with the captain, the days Hilary had spent with Seth,
today wasn’t any ordinary day. She had important duties.

“I’ve had a lovely morning with you and your daughter,” Hilary said. Feeling the protection of God’s insurmountable love,
she had no need to get defensive. “Lily was the sweetest thing to include me. If I’ve offended you in any way, I hope you
know I didn’t mean it.”

Just as John Mulligan had known to select Wicker Park as the place to tell Hilary the momentous news of Laura, the lawyer
became a lifeline to the three of them as they moved through the next week of a complex and intricate legal maze. John had
suggested Seth turn himself in and request a meeting with the District Attorney, a move that Mulligan said he hoped would
impress the judge with not only Seth’s compliance to the law but also his willingness to be accountable for his actions should
manslaughter charges be filed.

“I made the choice,” Seth told John. “I’m the one who chose to drink at the party. Nobody forced me.”

“Yes,” Mulligan said, looking somber. “But we’re already dealing with those separate charges. This time it isn’t about you
drinking.”

Even though Seth wasn’t scheduled to meet with the DA until after ten, Hilary, Eric, and their son arrived at the Superior
Courthouse an hour early. Eric, who’d driven Hilary’s car, hadn’t been sure how hard it might be to get through the morning
Chicago traffic. They had no reason to leave their seats after Eric turned off the ignition.

Hilary was in the backseat so Seth could sit up front with his dad. She knew her son. If he hadn’t been so worried and distracted,
he would have bowled her over trying to call shotgun.

It was the first time the three of them had been in the car together since the vacation they’d taken to Michigan, to a little
town called Lake Buffalo. Eric had thought it might be educational for Seth if they took a weeklong drive along Lake Michigan’s
shore to meet people who lived in the small towns there. Each lake town touted a dairy that made the best ice cream along
the Gold Coast, and they’d set out to find out who might be telling the truth and who might be exaggerating a little. Hilary
had gained seven pounds that trip.

“Hey,” she said as they sat in the silent car, waiting. “Remember maple fudge ripple?”

The question was out of the blue. She didn’t expect either of them to answer. Neither of them did.

Then finally Eric said, “I still dream about that ice cream sometimes.” He pushed the radio knob and fiddled with the scanner.
Seth made no comment.

The radio landed on a station that was giving a rundown of the day’s forecast. “Look for Rockford to top ninety-six this afternoon,
which matches a record set back in 1953 for that city. On the North Side, we’ll be looking at sunny skies and —”

But then Seth said, “I can’t make myself feel anything.”

Eric glanced sideways at his son again. “What?”

“Everything that happened with Laura.” It was the first time he’d spoken of it since the ride home from the jail. “It’s like
it happened to someone else. It isn’t real. She’s not gone.”

Hilary laid her hand on the shoulder of Seth’s suit jacket.

“It won’t come out. I can’t let myself feel anything. Because there are so many things inside of me that if I start letting
it out, I might never be able to make it stop.”

“Expect gorgeous weather on the lakeshore today with scattered clouds early. It’ll be a good day to leave the office early
and enjoy summertime in the Windy City.”

“You made a mistake, Son. Sometimes you do things without thinking. You just don’t realize who it’s going to hurt until later.”

Or sometimes
, the thought popped into Hilary’s head,
you do
.

Once the weather report ended, pop music started playing on the radio, jarring and surreal. Thankfully, Eric turned it off.
The three of them sat without speaking for so long that Seth’s shoulder warmed beneath her hand. There hadn’t been an obvious
moment to move her hand. Hilary waited. Then, uncomfortable, she rubbed his shoulder hard and let him go.

Eric checked his watch. “What time is Mulligan meeting us here?”

“Nine thirty,” Hilary said. A flock of pigeons had invaded the courthouse lawn. Most of them were pecking at the grass or
checking out the pavement with their bright yellow eyes. One waddled toward the car, its head bobbing perfectly to the gait
of its legs, reminding Hilary of a toddler’s pull toy. “We should go in,” Hilary said.

As they entered the superior court, the front foyer stood empty. Today wasn’t a scheduled court date. No bailiff stood at
the courtroom. No other families stood in clusters, their faces twisted with worry. Eric’s, Hilary’s, and Seth’s voices echoed
in the empty lobby as a single security officer directed them to empty their pockets for the x-ray machine and step through
the metal detector.

“Manslaughter.” Ever since Mulligan had first introduced it, the lead weight of the word had been as heavy on Hilary’s tongue
as a stone. In legal terms, if the DA decided to file manslaughter charges against Seth, it meant that the state’s prosecution
team felt they could prove that what had happened at the campsite had been an unlawful killing of a human being without malice
or premeditation, either express or implied, distinguished from murder, which requires malicious intent. Malice doesn’t have
to be present for a manslaughter charge. Manslaughter is voluntary, when it happens in a sudden heat; or involuntary, when
it takes place at fault in the commission of some unlawful act. The legal definition made it sound so clinical. A simple summary
of a tragedy that was too complex in its reach for mere words.

The words rattled in Hilary’s head like a broken strand of pearls.
“Without malice.” “Involuntary.” “Commission of some unlawful act.” “At fault.”
Seth’s drinking had been unlawful. But so had Laura’s. And so had about two hundred of their closest friends’. Where were
those other words, the ones Hilary had been singing out like a battle cry, the ones she’d been applying to her son’s wound
at frequent intervals like comfrey? “Accident.” “Mistake.” When Seth had taken Laura’s hand, when he’d led her toward the
hill and said,
You can do this. Don’t be afraid
. And Laura had followed because Seth had pressed.
It was an accident. You made a mistake. It wasn’t your fault.
When you thought you were doing the right thing, could it be unlawful to make someone follow?