"Don't try to talk. You're restrained. I'll get the doctor. . . . Wait, wait. I'll get the doctor." Before Bedford ran from the room, he pushed Jake up against the wall. "Don't talk to her, don't touch her."

As soon as the door swished shut behind Bedford, Jake took tentative steps toward her bedside. "Oh, Sofie, I'm so sorry about this. Thank G.o.d you're awake. You have friends out there in the waiting room who are on their knees with worry." He sat in the chair next to her, and she wondered if he was the one who had left it there in the first place.

He wound his fingers through hers, around the restraints. "You're probably wondering what happened, right?"

She attempted to nod, but could make only a slight movement.

"Yes?" he said.

She squeezed his fingers.

"You were diving. You stayed down too long and came up too fast. The doctors say it was a combination of low oxygen and the bends. Then you came up and hit your head on the bottom of a shrimp boat."

Sofie closed her eyes and tried to remember, but found a blank white s.p.a.ce, as if her mind had been wiped clean of that day.

"The dolphins . . . they saved you," he whispered close to her ear.

The door swished open again, and a woman in a white lab coat and stethoscope came into the room followed by Bedford. She reached Sofie's side. "h.e.l.lo, Sofie. Glad you could join us." She lifted her stethoscope and placed it in her ears as she scanned the monitors.

Bedford grabbed Jake's arm, pulled him to his feet. "I told you not to touch her. Get out."

The woman-Dr. Burke, the name tag said-turned to Bedford as she placed the stethoscope on Sofie's chest. "Not here. If you two have a problem, take it outside. Now."

"I don't have a problem," Jake said, "except that I'm worried about Sofie."

Bedford squared off in front of him. "You don't even know her. Don't say her name. Get out."

"I've known her since she was a child. . . ." Jake touched Sofie's forehead. "I'll be waiting outside."

Sofie's eyes shifted from the doctor to Jake, then back to Bedford and to the doctor again. How awful it was not to be able to say what filled her mind. She wondered if this was how the dolphins felt with her-trying to talk to her but not knowing her language. If only she could tell them all exactly what she wanted to say: Let Jake stay; tell me what the dolphins did for me; give me a drink of water; my head hurts; am I okay? Is John mad at me?

Dr. Burke smiled at her. Her gray-and-black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes crinkled with her smile, and her forehead was etched with deep furrows, probably from looking at patients just the way she was looking at Sofie. "You gave us quite a scare. Your boat captain probably saved your life by calling the coast guard, which was right there when a crewman on the shrimp boat pulled you out of the water."

I thought the dolphins saved me. Jake said it was the dolphins . . . Her mind screamed unspoken words.

The doctor patted her arm. "I know you must have a lot of questions. We'll get you off the oxygen, and then we'll catch you up on everything. Meanwhile, try and rest quietly while I get respiratory in here, okay?"

Sofie blinked as her only response. Bedford sat down in the metal chair, grabbed her hand. Tears filled his eyes. "You scared me."

He loves me. He really loves me.

"I knew something bad was going to happen. Something bad always happens when we lie to each other. I couldn't live without you, Sofie. Please tell me you didn't try and kill yourself."

Kill herself? Had she run from the house to kill herself, and her mind had gone blank at the horrible thought?

She gave a hoa.r.s.e answer that tasted like fire. "No."

"Shhh . . . shh . . . I didn't mean to upset you. I'd just never seen you do anything like that."

What did I do?

He laid his head next to her on the pillow, stroked her hair. "My sweet girl."

Then weariness such as she'd never known overtook her like a wave; she closed her eyes and fell into a sleep where there was water and peace. Sunlight warmed her; dolphins soothed her with clicks, whistles and squeals. Bedford's voice faded into a m.u.f.fled murmur. Jake took his place, and although she didn't understand what he said, his words were comforting and familiar.

Hours later, she woke. The respiratory therapist was there to explain how they had removed the oxygen tube from her nose, how she'd been in a decompression chamber and they needed to check her blood oxygen levels. They drew blood, listened to her lungs.

Finally she spoke. "Where's Jake?"

Bedford slammed his fist down on the bedside table. "Those are your first words after a near-death experience?

'Where's Jake?' " Anger filled the room like a noxious gas. The doctor and therapist backed away from the bed.

She wanted to explain that the only reason she wanted to see Jake was to hear him explain about the dolphins. . . . What had he meant about the dolphins?

Sofie reached her hand out to Bedford, but he didn't take it. "I just want to ask him about the dolphins." Her voice was raspy, rough-not hers at all, yet coming from her mouth.

"I can tell you anything you need to know . . . so can John. He was there." Bedford took her hand, squeezed it. "Do you remember anything?"

Sofie scooted up in the bed now, for the first time aware of how she must look after being fished from the sea. She ran the hand without the IV through her hair; it caught in the tangles. "I don't . . . remember," she whispered.

The doctor stepped forward. "Before she starts talking, I need to check her vital signs. If you will wait in the hallway, I'll call you in a few minutes, and you can have about twenty minutes with her. But she's had a tough time-she'll need to rest."

"Okay," Bedford said. "I'll go tell everyone how well you're doing. A lot of people are worried about you . . . sitting vigil in the waiting room."

"Who?" Sofie whispered.

"John, who is scared to death. Our preacher, Fred. Your mom's friend Jo-Beth . . ." Bedford walked toward the door. "And that annoying friend of yours from Colorado-Jake."

Sofie closed her eyes as the doctors listened, poked, prodded and asked her questions. When they were done, Bedford returned to the room alone.

When he sat in the chair, she looked him in the eye. "Please tell me everything."

He told her how she'd run from the house, how she'd gone out on the boat with John. When she hadn't returned in the proper amount of time, John called the coast guard. They put out an alert for a diver in the vicinity, and that was what saved her life. The shrimp boat saw her floating and notified the coast guard, which by then was only five minutes away. They brought her in, sent her to the decompression chamber, from there to the hospital room. It had been a full day since she'd been rescued.

"A full day?"

"Yes. I spent the night in this chair." Bedford smiled. "I've slept in better places, trust me. They kept you sedated for a while so you could get proper oxygenation. They said you probably wouldn't remember much, but it seems you went down too quick, ran out of oxygen and came up too fast."

"I wouldn't have gone down too fast. I know better." Every word hurt like a needle.

"You were in quite a state. John didn't realize you were so upset, or he wouldn't have let you go down."

"Upset." This wasn't a question-she knew she'd been upset; even the blank sheet of memory allowed this one emotion to slip past.

"It seems you weren't making your usual good decisions. I tried to stop you, but by the time the research center had radioed John not to let you dive, you'd already gone."

"Upset about what?" She attempted to conserve her words.

"Not now, Sofie. We don't have to talk about it now."

She needed to talk about whatever had made her troubled enough to disregard her own life deep in the water. But weariness spread through her again, and sleep came with Bedford's hand on her forehead.

NINETEEN.

ANNABELLE MURPHY.

A full day after her return, Annabelle's suitcase still spilled its contents across her bedroom in a mess of mismatched and wrinkled clothes. She threw all of them into the laundry basket. She dumped her makeup case on the bedside table, then sat on the edge of the bed and took inventory of her room. Nothing had been moved since Knox had died: the wedding photograph propped on his bedside table; the Christmas photo of Jake and Keeley next to it; his alarm clock, which hadn't been set in two years. The day after his death, the alarm had sounded at six a.m., and Annabelle had moved her foot over to nudge him, tell him to turn it off.

Annabelle ran her finger along his pile of books, his phone, then picked up the receiver and dialed the cell number on Sheriff Gunther's card. He answered. Annabelle sat on Knox's side of the bed and spoke in a bold voice. "Hi, Sheriff. This is Annabelle Murphy, and I have the name of the woman who was on the plane with my husband."

Silence came through the line, and for a moment Annabelle thought he'd hung up. Then his voice reverberated strong and sure. "Thank you for calling, Annabelle."

"Her name was Liddy Parker. Or at least it was when she lived here. Remember she owned the art studio? She changed her name to Liddy Milstead when she moved to Newboro, North Carolina."

"Married name?"

"I don't think so," Annabelle said. "I think she just changed her name. She owned the Newboro Art Studio there and has a daughter named Sofie, who is twenty now and still lives there. Remember they lived here for about ten years?"

"Were you in contact with her through these years, Belle?"

"No," Annabelle said, took a breath. "But I guess my husband was."

"Do you know anyone else in town who was in touch with her?"

"No."

Wade's breathing was audible in the silence until he spoke. "Well, thank you for your help. I'm going to need her daughter's contact information."

"No problem," Annabelle said. "I have it."

"Can I ask you one more question?"

"Sure." Annabelle picked up the framed photo of Jake and Keeley.

"How did you find her?"

"I went to Newboro because it was listed in Knox's flight plan, and I asked around. . . . It's a small town."

"Thanks. I'll call you if I have any more questions."

Annabelle hung up, then lay back on her husband's side of the bed. She'd kissed Keeley good night and allowed her silent nod to pa.s.s without comment. Now she waited for the peace of sleep to arrive. As she drifted off, Knox came to her and held her hand and smiled at her. He was alive and beautiful, confirming his love for her and their life together-not with words, but with a simple touch. When she woke, her heart was both broken and healed in the only way something could be both at once: in love.

The ringing phone woke her early the next morning. She would have liked to hold on to the peace of her new-found belief in Knox, the soft moment when he came to her in a dream, but Jake's voice on the other end of the line began another day.

"Hey, Mom," Jake said, "did I wake you?"

"That's okay. You on your way home or are you still in Newboro?" Annabelle sat, swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Sofie had a diving accident. She's still in the hospital, but I think she'll go home tomorrow. I feel like . . . well, like I need to stay."

"Oh, Jake, that's terrible. But she has a boyfriend; you don't need to stay."

"Okay, then I don't have to. I want to."

Annabelle was completely alert now, wistful dreams gone like they had never happened. "Oh, Jake, you're always wanting to take care of everyone and everything. She's not a lost puppy. . . ."

"Mom, she almost died. She ran out of oxygen, hit her head. It was bad."

"I'm sorry. Poor Sofie."

"I just wanted to let you know where I am. I'll call, okay?"

"Jake, I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

Annabelle had told Shawn that she would meet him for a few moments at the cafe on the same block as the Marsh Cove Gazette offices after she got Keeley off to school. She wanted to talk to Mrs. Thurgood. She wanted to immerse herself in writing her column, get back the busyness and normalcy of her life.

Shawn sat at a back table, rolling his coffee mug between his palms. Annabelle understood he was anxious to hear what she'd learned in Newboro, and she swallowed her irritation at having to talk about it this morning when she wanted to float in her memory of Knox's hand on hers, to stay safe in her firm belief in him. But Shawn was their dear friend.

She took a seat next to him, and had to touch his arm before he noticed she was there. "You're off somewhere, Shawn."

He smiled at her, kissed her cheek. "Sorry. I didn't hear you. How's it going?"

"Good." She leaned back in her chair, grinned at Izzy, the waitress behind the counter, and motioned that she wanted a cup of coffee by pointing at Shawn's mug.