Chapter 24

Asleep in his old bedroom, Joshua had the most vivid dream of his life.

He and Rachel were strolling barefoot along a curve of pristine white beach, hand-in-hand. A summer sun smiled down on them, and a cool, salty breeze ruffled the comfortable white shirts and shorts that both of them wore. They were alone on the shore, the vast sun-spangled ocean on his right, stretching to a hazy horizon.

Something warm clung to Joshua’s shoulder and waist. Joshua turned his head, and looked into the eyes of a child who was perhaps a year old. A boy. With soft skin the color of nutmeg, the child had Rachel’s eyes and nose, Joshua’s lips and cheekbones, a full head of dark, curly hair.

Justin, he thought. Our son.

Rachel looked at their child, then at Joshua, and smiled—an expression of the purest joy, free of worry and fear. Her curly hair was auburn, not black, and she wasn’t wearing her customary glasses.

Joshua brought Rachel’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

Let’s go to the house, she said. She winked, seductively. Justin looks like he needs a nap.

A house was ahead, on the left. It was a two-story Cape Cod, with lots of sun-silvered windows that provided priceless ocean views. A stone footpath, shaded by a palm tree, led from the shore to the house’s broad patio and a balcony staircase.

Justin tugged at Joshua’s ear, drawing his attention away from the house. His son pointed excitedly at something in the distance: a ferry that bobbed on the ocean waves like a child’s bath toy.

That’s the ferry, little man, Joshua said. You’ve been on the ferry before, remember?

Justin only giggled, and tugged Joshua’s ear again.

Rachel had walked ahead; she was waiting at the patio door. Joshua kissed his son on the forehead, and followed Rachel inside . . .

Joshua awoke, breathing hard. His face was wet, and he realized that perspiration wasn’t the culprit. He had been crying in his sleep.

He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He’d never had a dream like that. It had been so real. He touched his earlobe; he felt the soft flesh throbbing from when his son had tugged at it during the dream. The kid had a helluva grip.

Justin. It was one of the boy names he and Rachel had chosen, after they had married and were discussing their plans to start a family. His memory of the dream child’s innocent face, the smooth texture of his skin, and the sweet, baby-fresh scent of him was imprinted on his mind as powerfully as the recollection of an actual, recent experience.

And what about Rachel? He’d never seen her with auburn hair, and she never went around without her glasses.

Weird.

A small shape shifted at the foot of the bed, reining Joshua back into his present place in the darkened bedroom. Coco was sleeping with him on the king-size bed, and was having a dream of her own.

He’d tried to put the little dog in her kennel, where she slept at their house, but she had whined incessantly. Mom had banged on the door and yelled at Joshua to make the dog shut up, or she was going to throw her outside and chain her to a tree in the backyard. When Joshua brought Coco out of the kennel and put her in the bed with him, she had fallen into a restful slumber.

He was available to comfort the dog. But who could comfort him? The dream had left him with an almost paralyzing sense of loss—because it would never come true.

He wasn’t convinced that he would ever see Rachel again. If she did return some day, he would never be able to trust her. How could he trust someone who would leave him? How could he trust someone who had concealed so much from him?

Their marriage was irreparably damaged. He and Rachel would never experience the happiness they had shared in his dream. At one time, they’d had a chance at claiming such joy. But that possibility was gone forever, whether she was carrying his child or not.

He’d hoped that spending the night at his parents’ house would grant him a reprieve from the sickening emotions that tormented him at home. But nausea was beginning to seep through his stomach. He got out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom across the hallway, not bothering to put on his glasses.

With his weakened vision, he bumped against the wall, swore softly. The last thing he wanted to do was to awaken his mother and hear another tirade. In his present mood, he felt as if he might collapse to the floor and weep like a child.

In the mirror, he saw that tears had crusted underneath his eyes. He dampened a towel with warm water and used it to mop his skin clean.

He’d been through a couple of heartbreaking relationships before, and while those had been awful, they didn’t compare to this. He and Rachel had built a life together—their own world founded on their love, shared hopes, and dreams. He felt, literally, as if his world had imploded. It was impossible to imagine what his life would be like without Rachel—as impossible as it might be for someone born with sight to imagine life as a blind person.

Almost angrily, he balled the towel in his large fist, squeezed out the water. He washed his face again, and then turned off the faucet and hung the towel on a rack.

Back in the bedroom, he picked up his Blackberry off the nightstand. There were no messages. He called the landline at his house and checked the voice mail system. No messages there, either.

He’d hoped that Rachel would have called and told him that she was okay, and that she missed him. Or, better, that she was on her way home.

But she wasn’t coming home. Not while she believed she was in danger.

He remembered a passage from her letter as clearly as if the words had been burned in the core of his brain.

As terrible as it will be for us to be apart, this is the best decision for our family. You must trust me on this. It is for our protection.

His mother, as usual, had it all wrong. Rachel wasn’t cheating on him. There was much he didn’t know about his wife, much she might have lied to him about, but he knew in his heart that infidelity was not in her nature, and that faithlessness had nothing whatsoever to do with her disappearance.

He thought about his dream of being with Rachel and their child. It was a dream that could come true only if he hoped that it would. A dream that could become reality only if he believed that he and Rachel had a future together.

Joshua looked at Coco. Lying on the bed, the dog regarded him with sleepy eyes.

“I’m going to learn what this is all about,” Joshua said quietly, yet with an iron resolve that he’d never felt about anything else before. “I’m going to find Rachel . . . and get to the truth.”