That there will never be another woman in our lives.
I close my eyes and struggle to process the caller’s words, what he’s saying not quite piercing through my exploding grief. I don’t know why he thinks his news is worthy of the label “positive,” but whatever. I’m sure his English is way better than my Filipino, or whatever language he grew up speaking here, so I probably have zero room to talk.
“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” I say, finally interrupting his increasingly agitated monologue. I’m still hung up on his first sentence after he introduced himself. “Can youpleasestart over and repeat what the first thing was you said?”
“Susannah Evans. Your wife. She and others are being transported by boat to Bandar Seri Begawan. They arrive, maybe six hours, maybe seven.”
I’m too ragged and raw. I close my eyes, the sob escaping me. Closure, at least, can happen now. Owen and I will always grieve her.
Now how to break the news to my boy?
“Thank you,” I manage to choke out. “What do we have to do now? To claim her body?”
I’ve been expecting this, but not really thinking I’d have it, especially three weeks out. I figured we’d be planning a public memorial for her with nothing but pictures to celebrate her life, and—
“She asked for you.”
I’m not sure if my heart’s actually stopped or not.
“What?” I’m thinking this idiot obviously doesn’t know English as well as he thinks he does, and how cruel of him to fuck with me like this.
“Sheaskfor you,” he insists.
I finally force myself to sit up, feet on the floor, my body protesting as I do. I rub my forehead against the massive headache I’m almost hoping is an aneurysm so it damn well kills me right fuckingnow.
“Look,dude, I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but—”
“She isalive.They find her and othersalive. Your wife, Susannah Evans.”
“What?” I know I scream it, but I’m wide awake now, adrenaline spiking my pulse in a way it hasn’t since that day in the desert so many years ago before the car bomb forced my life into an unanticipated direction. Or the day at the school, when I had to be a soldier again.
I’m standing now, with no memory of even getting out of bed. “What do you mean she’salive?”
“Alive. She and four others. Please, pack quickly. We send bus to hotel for you and other families within hour. We will fly you there. Please, wait downstairs in meeting room. Mr. Ocampo to arrive shortly to talk details. He is en route.”
“Okay.” I can’t think. “Okay. Alive? Okay. Wait, alive?Really? Are-are you sure it’sher?”
I will absolutely fucking track down and rage-murder this fucker with my goddamned bare fucking hands if it fucking turns out he’s fucking wrong about her fucking identity and it’s someone else.
Fuck.
“Yes! Susannah Evans. They are on fishing vessel. Rescued off island. Please, hurry, Mr. Wilson. Mr. Ocampo asks no press yet.Nopress. Please. He talk to families first.”
“I…thank you. Thank you, I will. Thank you!”
The line goes dead and I’m still holding my phone to my ear, trying to…process.
Alive?
She’s alive!
I slump onto the bed and my hands are trembling so badly I can’t manage to get my goddamned phone to open my contacts. I finally have to use voice commands to ask Siri to call Owen’s personal cell phone for me.
My whole body is shaking. When Owen answers, I’m already crying. Now, hearing the sound of his voice, I completely crumple.
Sobbing.
Poor Owen probably assumes the worse when he hears my voice, but before he can ask me anything, I’m babbling. “Where are you?Rightnow. Where are you?”
