September 2012
HE STEPPED OUT OF THE sea, the ocean pooling under his feet like a fallen cape, waves packing the sand into brown sugar. My husband, a phrase that still seemed foreign to me. Nobody had thought we would last beyond a month, maybe two, once the lust started to flatline. You barely know him, friends had warned me after a diamond ring encircled my finger so much sooner than anyone expected.
Everyone would hate that we eloped, but our spontaneous ceremony on the beach in Santa Barbara had been perfect. I’d worn a simple linen dress and held red-mouthed hibiscus flowers. Humidity had curled the ends of our hair, the crown of my head beginning to bleach from the sun. A day later, we had yet to tell our loved ones. We wanted it to be only us for a little bit longer.
“You should come in next time,” Josh said as he sat down and toweled off beside me.
I straddled his lap, my fingers resting on his damp shoulders. “You swim too far. It stresses me out when I can’t see you anymore.”
He kissed me, long and hard, his thumbs hooked into my hips. When he pulled away, his eyes were playful. “I love you for worrying about me, June Kelly.” My new name felt like a novelty. “But you don’t need to. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
I believed him. After all, he had been right about everything else.
But seven days after I was pronounced his wife, I became Josh Kelly’s widow.