“Besides, maybe he’s stopped looking for you.” Mark met Cate’s gaze, but even he didn’t believe those words.
“You know he won’t.”
Mark sighed. “I know.” He glanced toward the hallway, where Tack had walked, and shook his head. “Maybe we should hire that new guest for extra muscle. He’s built like a wall and what is he? Like six-four? He feels like a cop.”
“He’s a former marine.”
“Yeah, I saw the seabag,” Mark said, and grinned. “If he were your bodyguard, you know who wouldn’t even dream of coming near you.”
“I’m not so desperate that I’m going to go recruiting our guests, Mark.” Though, she had to admit, the thought of Tack by her side made her shiver just a little. She glanced at her watch and realized it was time to pick up her son from preschool. “I need to get Avery. We’ll talk about this later?”
“We’ll have to,” Mark grumbled.
* * *
THE SMALL PRESCHOOL sat in a cluster of palm trees next door to the island’s only aquarium, a tiny but clean building mostly frequented by tourists with kids. A pretty glass mural of a sea turtle swimming in gleaming green water kicked back the light. In the parking lot, iguanas sunned themselves on the stucco path, not even bothering to move as Cate walked by, her big straw bag slung over one shoulder. The sound of little kids laughing found her, and she walked back around to the fenced-in play yard. She saw Avery climbing up the ladder of a slide, his curly blond hair flying into his eyes as he sped down the plastic chute.
“Mommy!” he cried as he saw her and bounded to the gate. Her heart felt like it might explode. She felt this way every time she looked at her son, unable to believe that such a sweet boy had come from her...and Rick. The minute he was born, Cate remembered vowing that she’d protect him from every harm the world had to offer. Even if that harm might come from his own father.
The preschool teacher nodded at Cate, recognizing her and opening the gate from the inside. Avery bounded into his mother’s arms and squeezed her neck tightly.
“Avery!” she cried as she scooped him up, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “How are you today, bud?”
“I made a crown!” he told her, showing her the construction-paper craft he’d decorated with markers and glitter. “It means I’m king!” His green eyes sparkled in delight.
“You sure are,” she said, and hugged him a little tighter, whipping his too long honey-colored hair from his face. “And the king needs a haircut.”
“Aw. Weally?” His adorable lisp temporarily disarmed her. As did the truly disappointed look in his green eyes. They were her green eyes. Every time she looked at Avery she saw herself. She was grateful for that. Though, of course, there were reminders of Rick. In the way Avery smiled sometimes, the expressions on his face. But Avery was all rainbows and sunshine, a bright ball of love and nothing like Rick in all the ways that mattered.
“Yes, really, sire. You need a cut.” She mussed his soft hair and he laughed. Cate carried him over to her little hatchback.
“Look, Mommy. Blue! My favorite color,” Avery said, grabbing the crown and showing her his scribbles. He might just be four, but he was an expert at diversional tactics.
“Blue is pretty, honey.” She was strapping him into his car seat when he held up the crown.
“Do you think Daddy likes blue?”
The question stopped her in her tracks. Avery had gone nearly a year without even mentioning his dad. Now, suddenly, here he was asking questions.
“I don’t know, sweetie.” She tried to keep her voice steady. Rick didn’t have a favorite color. Not that she knew of. If he did, he’d probably get a copyright and then declare that color off-limits to everyone else, she thought.
“Do you think there’s a lot of blue in heaven? Where Daddy lives?”
“I don’t know.” Cate felt rattled by the questions. More so than usual. She also felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Yes, she’d told her boy his father was dead. That was a lie, but what else could she do? Tell her perfect little boy the truth?
Your father is a monster.
No. She never wanted him to know that. Because Avery wasn’t anything like his father, and she planned to keep it that way.
“I bet you’re hungry,” she said instead. “Ready for dinner?”
Avery nodded. “Snack!” he demanded, opening up his hands.
Cate knew the fifteen-minute drive back to the resort would be a lot easier with a few crackers than without. Besides, the boy burned through calories. He needed to eat every ten minutes, so there was almost zero chance of spoiling his dinner.
“Want some graham crackers?”
“Yes!” he cried with enthusiasm. She grabbed the Ziploc snack bag filled with animal-shaped grahams and handed it to him. Feeling relieved, she made her way to the driver’s seat and looked forward to a nice, quiet dinner, before the rest of the guests. Not that there were that many, she thought. The resort was less than half full. It was one of the reasons Mark wanted to do more advertising. And she should, she guessed. She should get over this irrational idea that ads would somehow catch Rick’s attention.
She wouldn’t be in any of the ads, and she could use a picture of the resort on social media. She needed to let go of the fear that drove her. She knew it didn’t make sense. But fear never did.
She pulled up to the resort, noticing the mostly empty parking lot. Her stomach sank. What would she do if the resort went under? When she sold her jewelry—the only thing she took from Rick Allen—she’d put much of it into the hotel. Mark had suggested it. He could be the public face of the resort, and she could be a silent investor, hidden away from the public and from anyone who could recognize her.
Then it had been booming, and she thought it was a sound investment. Of course, that was before the island opened itself up to the big cruise ships. Now, fewer people came to St. Anthony’s to stay. Most opted for a floating hotel, and that meant letting staff go and her taking on a larger role in the resort. She saw two big liners off in the distance. She wondered how many of her guests they’d stolen in the last year.
How many different ways had Rick told her she wasn’t capable of doing anything on her own? There were the hundreds of small household decisions he’d called into question: How could you let the gardener plant those ugly shrubs? Am I wrong, or were you supposed to be supervising him? And then there was the time she wanted to try writing a novel, but he’d ridiculed her mercilessly and in front of others: Cate wants to write. God, can you imagine? A romance! Lord help us. He’d even had an opinion about what she wore: You don’t even know what looks good on you, Cate. How did you last this long with me? When she got upset, he’d tell her she was overreacting. That it was her fault. After all, there was never anything wrong with Rick Allen. The problem had to be with her.
She’d been with him five years, married for three, but in some ways it felt like a life sentence. His nagging voice in her head never quite seemed to go away. He was always telling her something was wrong with her—she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t interesting enough, wasn’t pretty enough. She got now that it was his way of controlling her, just another aspect of the abuse. But while the bruises healed, the insults and criticisms just festered, wounds that never seemed to scab over.
Maybe I’m not smart enough to run this resort. Maybe Rick was right.
The second the evil thoughts weaseled their way into her head, she pushed them out once more. She was done letting Rick push her around, whether that was physically or in her own head. You’d never survive out there without me, he’d told her once. Well, that’s just not true, she thought, I’m surviving just fine.
She