JOYCE KATHY HILLS (Deceased)

I remember 8 o'clock evening of 23rd July, 2007. Rachie was barely eight. Logan was at sea, voyaging on one of his ships as ever. Every night, we'd wait for him to call and tell us if he was okay and give us his co-ordinates before we went to bed. I didn't like his job. I wondered how watching water around him all the time didn't make him sick. Every now and then, he'd be in a different sea, a different ocean, a different hemisphere. I didn't know if he kept count of how many rounds he had made around the Earth. But to him of course, it was all the same – nothing but a never-ending stretch of ebbing water. 

That night, he was being really late in making the call, so I sent Rachael to bed and stayed up. The hours ticked by but Logan didn't call. I kept waiting at the kitchen table with a dim yellow light above my head. I had almost lost count of the hours when I heard Rachie walk into the kitchen with groggy eyes.

"Mom?" she asked in her husky morning voice, "Were you up the whole night?"

I hadn't noticed the faint morning rays of sunlight peeking through the musty kitchen curtains. The clock showed half past five.

I looked up at her, and tried to ease the cringes in my forehead, forcing a smile on my lips. "Rachie." I said, my voice merely a whisper. "No call." I held up the phone in my hands.

This had never happened before in all the past years. If Logan was sailing or on duty, one of his crew mates would always give us a call or leave a message. His ship was bound to Sicily, Italy at that time. A turbulent storm hit it on its way, and the ship was wrecked somewhere near the minor islands. Logan and eight of his comrades survived as they approached the coast of Stromboli in a life boat a few days later. The other bodies were never found. It was a few weeks that they were stranded on that island. Logan had told me later that his years of practicing fishing had come in use. However, since they had no means of connection with the mainland, it was quite some time before they were rescued. He was declared 'missing'. I knew it all when the doorbell rang. 

After closing the door, I reappeared in the hallway, gave my girl a weak smile, hugged her so tight that I remember the sweet childish smell of her hair, kissed her ear and told her everything was fine and Daddy's ship was just delaying in its approach. After fixing her some breakfast out of cold broccoli from the freezer, I escaped into the bedroom, gently closed the door behind me and sobbed helplessly till I had drained every ounce of water in my body.

I hated that word. 'Missing'. Do I give up? Or do I keep holding on? I needed Logan. I needed that wretch of a man to be by my side, to be by Rachie's side. Logan and I had our issues – like any other married couple – but I did love him a lot. I couldn't imagine living without him.

Days passed. Weeks did. Rachie and I carried on. We learnt to live without Logan. It was easier than it seemed in the beginning. I realized I had anyways been accustomed to his prolonged absence.

One night Rachie and I were returning home in a cab. It was late and the streets were mostly empty. After it pulled up in front of our house, I gave her the keys and told her to take the supplies in while I paid that driver. I watched her jog in with two enormous piles of grocery clutched in her tiny arms. I turned to pay the driver. His name was Jim – a good man, he probably lived somewhere in the neighbourhood. He had helped me on many occasions. 

I felt his unwavering gaze resting on me.

"Will you be alright, Mrs. Hills?" I heard his deep voice speak.

"Yes," I smiled, "Thanks."

At first I avoided eye contact, but when I did look up, I felt a slight shiver run down my spine. His gaze was like an animal's – full of enigma and passion. He was biting on his lower lip. I wondered what it would feel like to run my hands over his rough stubble. I quickly looked away but something held me from stepping out. It was his hand gripping my wrist. As I made eye contact once more, I could see nothing but lust in those eyes. He closed in on me, pressing his coarse lips on mine. I closed my eyes and clutched his sleeve. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but every inch of my body was seized with so much pleasure that I couldn't withdraw. Jim had slid into the backseat now, with his hands working up my shirt underneath my brassiere. I ran my hands over his hard chest as he kissed me aggressively once more. Something flashed across my mind; perhaps a memory of Logan's; when I finally pushed him away, gasping for breath.

"Mom?"

I spun around to see Rachael staring at us from the yard, confused.

"Rachie," I breathed, "Oh God."

I frantically started buttoning up my shirt, then climbed out hastily. Jim followed me out and grabbed my hand, "Come on, Joyce, she's just a kid."

"You should go, Jim." I told him but he gave my hand a tough pull and I winced at the sudden impact. I felt a little powerless; and even scared maybe, till I saw my little girl run across the yard and plunge at Jim.

"Geez, get off!" Jim shoved her away and Rachie staggered a bit. Before I knew it, the man was clutching his nose and my knuckles were red.

"Don't you ever touch me or my daughter again," I spat at him.

"Fucking psychopath," Jim cursed under his breath and drove out of sight.

"Christ, Rachie, are you okay?" I asked, kneeling down before her.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay," she said. Soon, a smile spread across her face, "That was so cool! You punched him!"

Three nights later, I was lying in the dark of my bedroom, naked, beside some insolent drunk I had met at the bar. It had been years since I had had my last peg of whiskey and danced to Metallica. The night felt so wild and beautiful and freeing. But of course, I lost all contact with him within a few days. Like they say, golden things fleet fast.

Logan came home eight days later. My first thought was, "I don't want him to be back." All the times I had prayed for him to come home and all the times I needed him to be there, he hadn't been there. Now that I'd learned to live without him, and found a happy and carefree life, he was back. The same old air of dominance and suppression – the same old duties and obligations – I was free without Logan. I had accepted the fact that he was gone and now he had again started a war up in head. I would say that I unconditionally loved my husband and did not think his presence was weighing down on me, but then I'd be lying. Rachael ran to him and he swallowed her in a giant hug. He then came up to me and pulled me to his chest. I breathed in the familiar and comforting smell of his shirt.

I wondered how it was possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time.

Love and hate. Maybe they aren't all that different anyway.

Next morning when I went out to the yard, I saw Rachie and Logan sitting on the garden steps, cuddled up warmly; watching the sky turn a lighter shade of blue with each passing hour. The fragrance of fresh dew drops and roses filled the air. Watching them, I felt a sickening ache in my heart. All I could think was that I didn't deserve this family. I didn't deserve their love and trust. Their hearts were good and strong – unlike mine.

I quietly walked into my room and shut the door behind me. I picked up the photograph of myself and Logan from the nightstand and threw it across the room with all my might. It shattered to pieces.

"Why did you have to come back?" I whispered into the air, then flopped down on the bed, closing my eyes. My own thoughts disgusted me.

Why was it wrong to want freedom? Why was it wrong to follow your heart and desire for more? Why was everything I craved for wrong? Why was I so bad?

After a few minutes, I got up, straightened my clothes and pulled my hair back into a bun. I glanced in the mirror one last time to ensure I had no tear stains on my face. I stepped out of the room, with a smile, and then headed to the kitchen to finally fix some breakfast.