Chapter 14 - The Water Again
For almost two years, I could not go near open water.
Swimming pools were fine.
Baths were fine.
But marinas?
No.
The smell of diesel and salt made my chest tighten.
Jet-ski engines made my hands go cold.
Therapy helped.
Time helped.
Eleanor helped without knowing she was helping at all.
She loved water.
At eighteen months, she would run toward fountains squealing.
At two, she demanded to splash in every puddle.
At three, she announced she wanted to see “Grandpa’s big boats.”
My father looked at me carefully when she said it.
“No pressure,” he told me.
I hated that phrase by then.
So one Saturday morning, I agreed to walk with them along a quiet marina in Palm Beach.
Not ride.
Not board anything.
Walk.
Eleanor held one of my hands.
My father held the other for the first hundred yards.
Then I let go of his.
A small Coast Guard patrol craft moved across the inlet in the distance.
For a moment, the sound of the engine punched me backward in time.
White spray.
Yellow rope.
Blood.
Julian on the dock.
I stopped walking.
Eleanor looked up.
“Mommy?”
“I’m okay.”
She believed me.
Children are generous that way.
We kept going.
At the end of the pier, she pointed toward a group of pelicans and laughed so hard she nearly fell over.
And suddenly the water became water again.
Not evidence.
Not a crime scene.
Not the place where Julian tried to end us.
Just water.
I cried quietly while Eleanor complained that Grandpa’s binoculars were too heavy.
My father pretended not to notice.
That evening, I took the tactical watch from my jewelry drawer.
The same watch.
Scratched now.
Preserved as evidence for almost two years before prosecutors finally returned it.
I fastened it around my wrist.
May you like
Not because I expected danger.
Because I wanted the object to belong to my life again instead of Julian’s crime.
