Chapter 12

"I always held on to the hope that this day would come, honey," said Erin, lying there in my arms in post-coital bliss. "I mean, I went through long periods of time when I felt completely discouraged. I had to search for distractions to keep my sanity. But I never let myself lose hope."

"That's sort of how it was for me," I replied. "It was different in some ways, but I always found the means to hang on to a sliver of hope."

There we were ... in our bed, our bedroom, our house; just as things were a couple of years ago, before everything was turned upside down. Now, it appeared that I'd been given the opportunity to walk right back into the life that had seemingly been stolen from me forever.

Our reunion was extraordinarily emotional, as one might expect. It wasn't until we were almost halfway home when we were able to begin to share our respective stories. To my utter amazement, Erin had driven to the airport in my car – the same one that had been left behind near my insurance office on that fateful evening a couple of years ago. Eventually, I got around to commenting on it.

"Wait a minute," I blurted out. "This is my car! You still have it, after all this time?"

"I didn't know what to do with it," explained Erin. "It's in both of our names, so I could have sold it if I had wanted to. I just couldn't let go of it. My old car went out of commission several months ago, so I got rid of it and kept this one."

"One of our first orders of business," I pointed out, touched beyond belief, "is to get you a new car."

"We don't have to think about that right now. Let's just enjoy this incredibly happy day."

Erin started to fill me in on what my in-laws and the rest of her family had been up to over the past couple of years. It was like I'd just emerged from a time machine that had catapulted me two years into the future. Soon, we entered our neighborhood, and passed through the security gate, as another astonishing revelation shot through my brain.

"You've been able to keep up with the mortgage payments, on your own?" I said incredulously. "How did you do that?"

"It wasn't easy," Erin allowed. "I still have my teaching job, obviously. I had to get a second job, working at a cash-out window at one of the casinos. It's been a struggle, but the payments are up to date." She showed me a smug smile, obviously quite proud of that feat, as well she should have been.

By now, we had pulled into our driveway. I was quite anxious to hear about how Erin had reacted to my disappearance, in her own words. Likewise, I knew she couldn't wait to hear my account of everything I'd been through. Fred Barton had assured me that Erin had already heard the full story from him – with the exception of one important detail which I knew I'd have to deal with on my own.

But that would have to wait, for primal urges took precedence. Once inside the house, we headed straight for the bedroom. I figured I at least needed a shower, but Erin was having none of that. We turned directly to each other, and made love in a tender, attentive manner, declaring a formal end to our long involuntary separation. If there's one thing that's better than make-up sex, it's get-reacquainted-after-two-years-apart sex. Her body had lost none of the softness and tone that I remembered. Meanwhile, she commented extensively on my well-honed build, the product of working day in and day out in the rice paddies. Although we both still were in need of some answers, we were united in the assurance that those answers would not break us.

Eventually, our conversation resumed, as Erin began to expand on why she was able to keep hoping against hope. "Right after you disappeared, I got those text messages from your phone," she began with a soft smile, "and there was no doubt in my mind that you were not the one who sent them. It was as plain as the nose on my face."

"You know that you have the cutest nose I've ever seen," I smiled, touching the tip of that particular facial feature of hers, still reveling in the afterglow. "But how could you be sure they didn't come from me?" I asked her with great curiosity.

"First of all, I know that you never use text messaging. Right?"

"Never. And you don't like it, either." Along with our mutual dislike of social media, texting was something we both shunned. An insurance salesman by trade, I greatly preferred dealing with people by phone, or better yet, in person.

"Not only that, the messages were nasty and obscene. You'd never write something like that. Plus, they were written with a lot of that text shorthand that I know you just hate."

"A pet peeve of mine," I said in agreement.

"Then, there were the phony credit card transactions," she went on. "They were all online purchases. I don't think you'd have much use for a tent, a sleeping bag, a canteen and hiking boots."

"You've gotta be kidding," I laughed. "They tried to make like I turned into a wilderness man, running off into the boonies?"

"I know how much you hate camping," giggled Erin.

"Last time I went camping was when I was twelve, in Boy Scouts. I hated it so much, I quit Scouting right afterwards."

"Then, there was the golf stuff. Tees, golf balls, and other small accessories."

"Well, golf is right down there with camping on my list of things I'm not into."

"Don't I know that," snickered my wife, shifting slightly in my arms. "Anyway, I tried telling all of that to the police. In fact, I really gave them hell about it, several times. You wouldn't believe how rude and dismissive they were. One officer told me, 'No offense, Mrs. Gustafson, but we see this kind of thing all the time. Hubby runs off, wife is in denial. You've got to face the facts here.'"

"You've gotta be kidding," I repeated, angry all of a sudden.

"They wouldn't even listen to me. Every time I complained, they blew me off."

A brief pause ensued. I mentally added 'going down to the police station and ripping someone a new asshole' to my to-do list.

"So," I put forth, leading up to a question that was weighing on my mind, "what did you think really happened to me?"

Erin didn't hesitate. "I knew you didn't run off," she replied decisively, her blue eyes gazing directly into mine. "People were telling me left and right to file for divorce. I did have ... doubts about whether you were still alive. At the same time, I had this sense that you were out there somewhere. That sense never entirely went away. I wondered if it was wishful thinking; that was my head doing the talking. But in my heart, I always maintained hope – however slim – that you'd come back to me."

"That's exactly how it was for me. There were many times when things looked bleak and hopeless, but I always found ways to stay positive." I paused and swallowed hard; the time had arrived to delve into delicate matters.

I proceeded to tell Erin about Wendy. I told her that I'd had a female roommate for the bulk of my stay in China. I explained how the triad had forced me – under the Roger Benson alias – to enter into a fraudulent marriage. I gave her all the details of the special friendship Wendy and I had shared; from the English lessons, to the sharing of the household chores, to the movies every Saturday night. I even came clean about the trip to Chengdu, when we'd hit a nightclub and gotten drunk together. I told her everything, with the exception of the time I'd accidentally fallen asleep in bed with Wendy. That, I believed, could be addressed later.

When I finished, Erin's expression was indecipherable. Then, she threw out an unexpected question that made me intensely uneasy.

"Did you love her?" she wondered, sounding like a little girl.

"No," I said right away. "But let me say this. She was one of the best friends I've ever had. I certainly had a lot of friendly affection for her, and I'll admit that I came to lean on her quite a bit. I had no one else! Sometimes, during weak moments, I would ask myself, 'What if I never see Erin again?' But then I would come back with, 'I may see Erin again, so I need to wait it out.' Wendy, by the way, knew the score here. We had a few long talks on the subject, and I told her exactly what I just told you ... as long as there was a sliver of a chance that you were waiting for me, staying true to my marriage was my number one priority. And, in the end, I was." I made silent note of the fact that I was relating this story – all of it – in the past tense.

"I'm glad Fred Barton didn't tell me about this," said my wife. "It would have sounded much different than it did just now, coming from you."

"That was a very, very good call on his part," I agreed.

"You know what," Erin said slowly, still chewing on the tale, but beginning to digest it. "Reading between the lines here, I think she had feelings for you."

I managed a slight laugh. "I don't know if that's true or not."

"I'm a woman, and I can tell about these things. And if she did have those feelings, she never acted on them, out of respect for our marriage. I have to give her a lot of credit for that."

Erin's level of understanding was simply astounding, and I was about to comment on that. However, she forestalled that by throwing out a minor bombshell of her own.

"I have a confession as well," she said deliberately. "When I started working at the casino, I became good friends with a male co-worker. He and I started to talk a lot away from the job, and I used him as a sounding board. Several months ago, he asked me out on a date; not once, but several times. I turned him down each time, letting him know that in my mind, I was still a married woman. I have to admit, though – I was lonely, and during my lowest moments, the temptation was there to accept his invitation. But just as you did, I was able to hold on to the hope that you'd come back."

Hearing this unnerved me a bit, but at the same time, I realized that it may have been a blessing in disguise. As a result of that experience, she'd gained a level of perspective that had helped her to deal with the Wendy situation.

"It all comes down to hope," I said easily. "We both were able to maintain it, and here we are."

"You really don't mind?" she asked me. "By the way, I haven't spoken to him in a long time. He didn't deal well with the repeated rejection, and at any rate, he found another job."

"I don't mind. Hell, your story doesn't involve an arranged marriage." We both laughed at that. "Anyway," I went on, "this has been an extraordinary situation. There's no blueprint out there for dealing with what we've gone through. What's important is that we got through it, and now, we have all the time we need to make it up to each other."

"All the time we need," she repeated, as I drew her in for a wet, sensuous kiss.

Transitioning back into the life I'd left behind was no trivial matter. There's that old cliche that says you can't go home again. Well, you can, but it's far from simple. Realizing the challenge I was facing, Erin immediately resigned from her casino job to maximize our time together. That made my quick return into the working world a necessity, but we believed we'd be okay in the short term.

On the domestic front, it was easy. Erin and I had already talked things through. On a lighter note, my old bicycle was waiting for me in the garage. Less than twenty-four hours after my return, my better half and I were out on the bike trail. Just as before, this became a daily thing, weather permitting. It was late September, approaching the end of rainy season in Florida. On dry evenings, we would have dinner together out on our backyard deck. In this respect, it was as if I'd never left.

I thought long and hard about trying to get in touch with Wendy somehow, to let her know I'd arrived back safely. "I don't mind if you do that," Erin had assured me. "I think it's the right thing to do. Let her know you're okay, and apologize for not saying goodbye." The problem was, Wendy had no email address or phone number that I knew of. I could have mailed a letter to our old apartment, but I considered it extremely unlikely that she was still living there. I had no way of getting in touch with her acquaintances, either. Perhaps once things settled down, I could check in with my State Department contacts, to see if they could help in some way. Even this, I knew, was a long shot.

As smooth as things were proceeding at home, getting back in the swing of things professionally was a far different matter. According to Erin, the bosses at the insurance company had reached the same conclusion that she had – there was no way that phony "resignation letter" had come from me. Still, there were a few obstacles to overcome. The company had been bought out recently, and was under new management, which meant I couldn't just walk in there and get my old job back. On top of that, my insurance license had expired. I would have to get re-licensed, and get caught up with the continuing education requirements. Luckily, most of this could be done online, but it would still take a few weeks.

The ever-helpful Fred Barton had supplied me with a wide variety of contact information: everything from career counseling organizations. to employment placement services. to mental health counselors skilled in helping victims of abduction. For now, I merely filed that information away, confident I could handle everything on my own.

One morning, a week or so after my return, I dropped Erin off at her school; I had an important matter to attend to. Until I got back to work, we'd have to deal with having one car between us. I headed straight to my old workplace. I pulled into the parking lot, and noticed with a start I'd selected the same parking spot where I'd left the car the night I was abducted. I took in the view of the office, the old familiar office, and realized it didn't look so familiar. There was new lettering on the front window, the current name of the firm, reflecting the change in management. A chill came over me as I glanced at the lot three doors down, the one which formerly housed the massage parlor. The chill intensified when I saw that the lot was vacant, with a "For Rent" sign attached to the padlocked front door.

Inside the insurance office, I encountered a receptionist whom I didn't recognize. I explained who I was, and that I was a former employee. I mentioned the names of a few former co-workers of mine, until I hit on one the receptionist recognized. The slight look of suspicion on her face vanished at that point.

"Steve Robertson," she smiled professionally. "Yes, he still works here."

"Who's that?" came a familiar male voice emanating from a nearby office, whose owner had obviously been eavesdropping. He hasn't changed, I noted wryly. He came shuffling out of his office, and his jaw promptly hit the floor.

"Jake!" he bellowed, greeting me with a bone-crushing handshake. "I heard through the grapevine that you were back in town, but ... damn!" Steve's on-the-job demeanor was, at times, somewhat less than professional. However, he was one of those guys with a larger-than-life personality, and he could get away with the occasional breach of propriety. In fact, he greatly enjoyed testing the limits of what he could get away with. He and I chatted briefly, but he had a lot on his plate at the moment, and we agreed to get together after he finished work.