Safe Haven(112)

“I’m okay.” She nodded.

“Love you,” he said.

It was all she could do not to break down again. “I love you, too, Alex.”

His eyelids drooped, his gaze unfocused. “What happened?”


She gave him an abbreviated account of the past twelve hours, but midstory she saw his eyes close. When he woke again later that morning, he’d forgotten parts of what she had recounted, so she told him again, trying to sound calm and matter-of-fact.

Joyce brought Josh and Kristen by, and though children weren’t ordinarily allowed in the ICU, the doctor let them visit with their dad for a couple of minutes. Kristen had drawn him a picture of a man lying in a hospital bed, complete with a crayon-scrawled GET WELL, DADDY; Josh gave him a fishing magazine.

As the day wore on, Alex became more coherent. By the afternoon, he was no longer nodding in and out, and although he complained of a monstrous headache, his memory had more or less returned. His voice was stronger and when he told the nurse he was hungry, Katie gave a smile of relief, finally sure that he was going to be okay.


Alex was released the next day, and the sheriff visited them at Joyce’s to get their formal statements. He told them that the alcohol content in Kevin’s blood was so high that he’d effectively poisoned himself. Combined with the blood loss he’d suffered, it was a wonder he had been conscious, much less coherent to any degree. Katie said nothing, but all she could think was that they didn’t know Kevin or understand the demons that drove him.

After the sheriff left, Katie went outside and stood in the sunlight, trying to make sense of her feelings. Though she’d told the sheriff about the events of that night, she hadn’t told him everything. Nor had she told Alex everything—how could she, when it barely made sense to her? She didn’t tell them that in the moments after Kevin had died and she’d rushed to Alex’s side, she’d wept for them both. It seemed impossible that even as she relived the terror of those last hours with Kevin, she also remembered their rare happy moments together—how they’d laughed at private jokes or lounged peacefully on the couch together.

She didn’t know how to reconcile these conflicting pieces of her past and the horror of what she’d just lived through. But there was something more, too, something else she didn’t understand: she’d stayed at Joyce’s because she was afraid to go back home.


Later that day, Alex and Katie stood in the parking lot, staring at the charred remains of what had once been the store. Here and there she could see items she recognized: the couch, half burned, tilted on the rubble; a shelf that once housed groceries; a bathtub scorched black.

A couple of firemen were rooting through the remains. Alex had asked them to look for the safe he’d kept in his closet. He’d removed the bandage and Katie could see the spot where they’d shaved his head to apply stitches, the area black and blue and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” Katie murmured. “For everything.”

Alex shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do it.”

“But Kevin came for me…”

“I know,” he said. He was quiet for a moment. “Kristen and Josh told me how you helped them get out of the house. Josh said that after you grabbed Kevin, you told them to run. He said you distracted him. I just wanted to say thank you.”

Katie closed her eyes. “You can’t thank me for that. If anything had happened to them, I don’t know that I could have lived with myself.”

He nodded but couldn’t seem to look at her. Katie kicked at a small pile of ash that had blown into the parking lot. “What are you going to do? About the store?”

“Rebuild, I guess.”

“Where will you live?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll stay at Joyce’s for a bit, but I’ll try to find someplace quiet, someplace with a view. Since I can’t work, I might as well try to enjoy the free time.”

She felt sick to her stomach. “I can’t even imagine how you feel right now.”

“Numb. Sad for the kids. Shocked.”

“And angry?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not angry.”

“But you lost everything.”

“Not everything,” he said. “Not the important things. My kids are safe. You’re safe. That’s all I really care about. This”—he said motioning—“is just stuff. Most of it can be replaced. It just takes time.” When he finished, he squinted at something in the rubble. “Hold on for a second,” he said.

He walked toward a pile of charred debris and pulled out a fishing pole that had been wedged between blackened planks of wood. It was grimy, but otherwise looked undamaged. For the first time since they’d arrived, he smiled.