Page 18 of Backtrack

“Not true,” he said, though he had thought about it. Joellen had a type. Cutter had no idea who she’d dated after she divorced him, but before, she’d gone for two Miami-Dade cops, some military dudes, and at least one professional bull rider.

“How are you, anyway?” she asked out of left field, softer, like she didn’t quite hate his guts anymore.

“What? I … I’m fine. Better than fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said. “I was so sorry to hear about Barbara.”

“Thank you.”

“So … Mim,” she said, almost reverently. “I guess I should have seen that one coming.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Are we doing this? Catching up on each other’s lives?”

“You’re right. I’m an idiot for calling you.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Listen, Arliss, I really do appreciate you returning my call, but I’m fine. And anyway, I’m on the ship now. Steve can look after me.”

“Steve?”

“Minnesota guy,” she said. “Keep up, hon.”

“Cruise ships have decent security. Let someone know your concerns and—”

“I’m just tired,” Joellen said. “I truly am sorry that I bothered you.”

“When does your ship dock in Ketchikan?”

“Why?” Her laugh was kind, familiar. “That’s what I loved about you, Arliss Cutter. Still do, truth be told. Your overwhelming compulsion to save the day. You just can’t help yourself.”

“Hey now,” he said. “You were concerned enough to call me after seven years, eight months, two weeks, and three days. …”

“I also forgot about that bear-trap memory of yours.”

“When do you arrive in Ketchikan? It would make me feel better to know a couple of details.”

The sound of rattling papers came from the other end of theline, then she said, “Our itinerary shows we dock at eight thirty in the morning the day after tomorrow.”

“Be careful,” Cutter said.

“Yep,” she said. “Talk to you again in seven years, eight months and … whatever it was I said.”

“Jo—”

“Just kidding,” she said. “I’ll do us both a favor and lose your number.”

Cutter ended the call and gave a slow shake of his head. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so wobbled. So much had happened over the past few months. A reunion with his estranged mother after forty years, a sister he didn’t know existed, and a baby daughter on the way.

Now one of his ex-wives was in trouble.

After his first divorce, his grandfather, Grumpy, had told him not to fret.I was damned fortunate with your grandma, but sometimes marriages are like cooking pancakes. The first one just doesn’t quite turn out.The sentiment had made Cutter feel better at the time, but after the marriage to Joellen—pancake number three—didn’t turn out either, it was hard not to see the problem was with the cook.

Twelve hundred and fifty-eight nautical miles to the south of Anchorage, Joellen Cutter wiped salt spray off the balcony railing with the forearm of her fleece jacket, feeling the wind on her face. She sighed. It wasn’t right to be so tired this early into a trip, but Arliss Cutter was the most exhausting person she’d ever met. At first, especially when she was younger, his kind of energy was exciting. Then, their marriage had blown up in her face … and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why. She peeked over the rail at the churning ocean some fifty feet below. The water sizzled in a frothy chop as the ship slid northward into blackness.

Joellen was a tall woman, almost six feet. Her twentysomething stylist had convinced her to try something shorter with her strawberry-blond hair, something new for the cruise. This not-so-brilliant idea turned out to be kind of a wedged bob that was longer in front than it was in the back. The stylist said it made her look French. Joellen thought it made her look like one of those stereotypicalKarens on TikTok. Arliss had always described her hair as claybank, probably because his grandfather had once owned a horse with the same coloring. Claybank Karen. Not such a great handle on social media. She’d stick with strawberry blond, thank you very much. Joellen had boarded the ship with two resolutions: Get the onboard salon to fix the strawberry-blond disaster and find a new hairdresser when she got home.

The Polar Starhad left the bright glow of Vancouver in its wake while Joellen was talking with Arliss.With. What a joke. You didn’t have a conversationwithArliss Cutter. You sat back and listened while he told you how it was going to be. She pulled her fleece jacket snug around her neck and shivered at the notion. No, that wasn’t right. She was being too hard on him. If he’d been that bad, she’d never have fallen for him in the first place—or kept his surname after all these years.