THE RIVER WAS HIS ALIBI

My husband's quickdry leggings were worn through at the crotch after every rafting trip. His latest pair even had a hole.

He said the wear came from his leggings rubbing against the inflatable raft while he sat in it for hours. But I couldn't figure it out.

How exactly did you have to sit in a raft to keep wearing through that particular spot? Chapter 1 Summer in Oregon had gotten unbearably hot.

My husband's buddies had taken him rafting a few times, and he was hooked. His work schedule was flexible and he had plenty of free time. By then, he was going several times a week.

That Friday, I had dinner ready and was waiting at home when he got back. He wore dry athletic shorts and a Tshirt, but his hair was still damp.

It looked as though he'd changed at the rafting site. He came in, dropped his bag, and headed straight for the fridge to get some water. “Babe, is dinner ready?

I'm starving.” “Almost.” I told him to wash up so we could eat. While he showered, I sorted through his gear. His quickdry leggings were neatly folded inside the bag.

I took them out to the balcony to hang them up and found a small hole in the crotch. Judging by the loose threads, it looked as though something had sliced through the fabric.

When he came out of the shower, I asked him what had happened. He hurried over, snatched the leggings off the drying rack, and threw them in the trash.

He said he'd fallen out of the raft and a rock might have cut them.

Then he grumbled that cheap stuff was never any good and he was buying a more expensive pair next time. “Sure,” I said soothingly. “We'll get you a better pair.” That evening, we curled up on the couch to watch TV.

He told me funny stories about rafting, his face animated as he talked. Seeing him so happy made me happy, too. “Babe, rafting is so much fun. Way better than hiking.

I'm thinking of getting a summer membership with the club.” “Is it expensive?” “Not bad. Seven hundred and something dollars. Gear's extra.” I nodded.

Seven hundred and something really wasn't expensive, especially when he was enjoying himself so much. “If you like it, go for it.” “Thanks, babe.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You're the best.” That night, he was unusually vigorous in bed.

Nothing like his normal self. My husband used to be a homebody. He couldn't stand the heat and never wanted to go out in summer.

I was the opposite: I hated spending weekends at home. We'd even argued about it a few times. Eventually, I gave in and stayed home to play video games with him.

I was clumsy and terrible at them. We spent every day in the airconditioning, barely moving, until neither of us had any energy at all.

Even when his doctor told him to get out and walk more, he wouldn't listen. Now he seemed so much happier.

After another rafting trip, he showered and settled onto the couch with his phone. I noticed a red bruise on his left shoulder.

It looked very much like a hickey. “What happened to your left shoulder?” He glanced down and covered it with his shirt. “Banged it when the raft flipped.” “How did you get a bruise like that from banging it?” “How should I know?

Why are you always staring at my body?” He sounded a little irritated. I didn't say anything else. That night, I lay down beside him. “Are you asleep?” I whispered. No answer.

I turned onto my side and hugged him tightly from behind. The moment I touched his skin, he pushed me away impatiently. “Stop it. I'm exhausted.

Just go to sleep.” He used to tell me he was tired, too. But back then, he'd burrow into my arms and let me pat him to sleep. He seemed like a different person now.

Lately, he had been getting home later and later from rafting. He said the stretch of river they used was farther away, so the drive back took longer.

I looked up the place he'd mentioned on my maps app. Chapter 2 It was only an hour and a half away.

The sun stopped reaching into the canyon a little after six, but he didn't get home until almost ten. How could they keep rafting that late in those dark mountains?

He told me the club had a trip planned for the weekend. On Saturday, they were going to try a newly opened, secluded rafting route in the next city over.

Before he left, he said, “There's a big group going this time. The guide's a woman who just got back from abroad. She's really good.” I didn't think much of it.

Ever since I'd brought up his late nights, he'd made time to send me photos of what he was doing. He'd even volunteered screenshots from their group chat.

It was all talk about fun places to go and things like that. I needed the car to work overtime that Saturday, so I got up early and dropped him at the meeting spot.

A few SUVs were parked along the road, inflatable rafts strapped to their roofs. More than ten men and women stood beside them, chatting enthusiastically.

One woman was very tall, with a curvy figure in an athletic tank top. My husband got out and went over to say hello to her.

Then he waved to me and said a friend would drive him home that evening, so I didn't need to pick him up. I nodded and drove away.

In the rearview mirror, I saw him laughing and talking with the tall woman. They looked close. At work that Saturday, my coworker Taryn came over to show me a short video.

It was a rafting clip. A woman in skintight clothing and stockings sat at the front of a raft. As it rounded a bend in the fastmoving water, she got soaked from head to toe.

The camera focused on her body. Something about it felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. “Whitney, you said your husband's been rafting lately.

He's not going on one of these trips that offer adult companionship, is he?” I'd never heard the term. I asked her what she meant.

Taryn said, with an air of secrecy, that those rafting groups weren't exactly on the upandup. What?

Seeing that I didn't understand, she explained that some groups arranged for women to accompany men on the river. A lot of men loved it.

It was like those recent scandals in the cycling scene. Some of those little groups were a mess. I knew about the cycling scandals. But people were doing that on rafting trips, too?

Taryn checked that no one else was nearby, then leaned in to explain. Those groups deliberately chose lesstraveled routes, with two people to a raft.

Some were bold enough to do it right there on the raft. On a raft? One of those tiny inflatables? “Whitney, don't look so skeptical.

Men come up with some pretty weird ideas when it comes to sex.” I still couldn't quite believe it. How were you supposed to have sex on an inflatable raft in the water?

Taryn gestured to show me how easy it was if they tore an opening in the crotch of their clothes. If nothing else, they could stop somewhere deserted and pitch a tent.

My expression turned grim. What she'd said brought all my husband's recent odd behavior back to mind. He got home at eight that night, right on time.

His cheeks were a little pink from the sun, and he looked well. “How was it today?” I asked. “Amazing!” He was positively beaming as he changed his shoes. “That secluded stretch of river was such a rush!

Rapids the whole way, and I didn't flip once. A bunch of other people did!” “Oh. Who drove you home?” “Our guide, Donnelly.

I'm telling you, she really knows her stuff.” “Okay.” He went to shower, and I unpacked his things. This time, I made a point of checking the quickdry leggings he'd changed out of.

There was no damage to the crotch at all. I smiled at my own foolishness. I was getting suspicious over nothing.

Those women Taryn had mentioned were probably providing a paid service. My husband was just out having fun with a small circle of friends. Why would he do anything like that?

Once I'd finished unpacking, he called from the bathroom for me to bring him some clothes. Chapter 3 While I was getting his clothes, I saw his phone light up beside the closet.

There was a Messenger notification from Donnelly Rafting Guide. [You did great today.

I'm giving you a perfect score.] I stared at it for a long time, until my husband started calling for me to hurry up.

When he came out of the shower, I tried to keep my voice even. “Someone sent you a message.” He picked up his phone without any change in his expression. “Oh, it's our guide.

She's giving me a compliment.” “You two chat privately on Messenger?” “There are dozens of people in the rafting group.

We all added each other.” He kept tapping at his phone without looking up. Then he set it facedown on the table and turned to the mirror to blowdry his hair.

That night, I had a nightmare. I dreamed my husband was having sex outdoors with the tall woman. When I jolted awake, he wasn't lying beside me.

He was sitting at the foot of the bed, head bowed over his glowing phone, typing rapidly. I coughed. He was clearly startled and turned around. “Did I wake you?” “No.

Who are you talking to?” He turned the phone facedown on his thigh. “The group. They're sharing videos from today. I'm saving a few to post on Facebook.” “Go to sleep.

You can look at them tomorrow.” “Yeah. In a minute.” He typed for a little longer, then put the phone back on the nightstand, lay down, and pulled me into his arms.

After a while, he fell sound asleep, snoring softly. I couldn't sleep. I waited a long time, then got up quietly and took his phone into the bathroom.

We knew each other's passcodes, but we'd never snooped before. The suspicions and the dream kept churning together, leaving me restless. I opened Messenger.

The recent conversations looked normal. I found Donnelly Rafting Guide. Their chat history had been cleared. I kept looking.

My husband and Donnelly were both in a group called Summer Crest. The latest message was only a few minutes old. Someone had posted a video.

It looked as though it had been filmed with a chestmounted action camera. A raft shot through the water, spray flying everywhere.

As the camera shook, it caught someone from behind on a raft ahead. A woman was on her hands and knees at the front, soaked through, her clothes clinging to the curves of her body.

Beside her, a man had a firm grip on her thigh. I couldn't make out his face, but he looked a lot like my husband, Brendan Adams. Someone had replied with a voice message.

I played it. “How'd she feel, Brendan?” A string of suggestive reaction images followed. I understood that rafting could involve some physical contact.

But I was growing more and more suspicious. On Friday, before I left for work, he asked me, “The club's doing a rafting and camping trip at Pineveil Creek this weekend.

Two days, one night. Family can come along. Why don't you skip overtime tomorrow and join us?” I was taken aback. I'd asked to go with him before.

He'd brushed me off with, “The water's too rough, and you're such a clean freak.

You hate getting dirty.” Now he was inviting me out of the blue, but happiness wasn't my first reaction. “Why do you suddenly want me to come?” He sounded a little impatient. “You're always asking who I'm with.

Then you get mad if I don't tell you.” Was I really overthinking this? If something were going on, wouldn't he be doing everything he could to hide it? I thought it over. “Okay.

I'll come with you tomorrow.” Chapter 4 He looked a little surprised. I'd turned down invitations from him before, preferring to go clothes shopping with my girlfriends.

Then he smiled and pinched my cheek. “Just don't slow me down. It's a beginner route.

Really easy.” When I got home from work, I found he'd bought me a whole pile of gear: quickdry clothes, a sleeping bag, and more.

He even took the trouble to show me how to use everything. He explained it all so carefully, smiling as he told me not to panic if I fell in. He'd fish me out.

He was helping me pack and talking about introducing me to his friends. And I'd been going through his phone behind his back. For a moment, I felt guilty.

Again, I wondered if I really had been overthinking things. On Saturday morning, we packed together.

Dry bags, quickdry clothes, compressed towels, collapsible cups… and several bottles of lube. “What's that for?” “You put it on your legs.

These leggings stick to your skin when they're wet. It's really uncomfortable.” “Oh. Okay.” We finished packing and set off, reaching the meeting spot early.

The men and women in quickdry clothing all greeted me warmly. A young woman with short hair said hello to my husband, then smiled. “Hey, Brendan.

Brought your wife along?” He pretended to be annoyed. “What choice did I have? She'd keep getting mad at me otherwise.” Everyone laughed.

Only the shorthaired woman gave me a meaningful look. The tall woman I'd seen last time stepped out from behind a car, greeted me, and introduced herself.

She was Donnelly Rafting Guide, the woman in my husband's Messenger contacts. She handed me a life jacket and carefully explained what to do in different emergencies.

She seemed easygoing. Once everything was ready, we got into rafts, four people to each one.

I was assigned the front seat, with my husband behind me and another married couple behind him. “Don't panic if you fall in!” Donnelly called. “I'll be bringing up the rear and fishing people out!” Our raft drifted slowly downstream.

The water was gentle at first. It was my first time, and I was having a wonderful time. Soon, the river narrowed and the water grew louder.

After a sharp bend, the whole raft plunged nosefirst. Water hit us in the face and poured over our heads, soaking all four of us.

My husband held me tightly, telling me to make sure I didn't fall out. I told him to stop worrying about me and hold on himself. “I've done this plenty of times.

You think I'm going to fall out?” he said dismissively. “You're the one who needs to hang on!” The sharp turns kept coming. I shouted and screamed with nervous excitement.

I hadn't felt that relaxed in a long time. The raft went over a drop, plunging straight down before pitching back up. It felt as if my whole body were underwater.

When the raft steadied and continued downstream, I realized my husband was gone. I turned and saw him floating in his life jacket.

I wanted to go back for him, but the couple behind me said the current was too strong. We couldn't paddle back upstream.

They assured me we were almost at the takeout and the guide behind us would get him. Frantic, I shouted for him to hold on to a rock by the bank.

We soon reached the takeout, where I waited anxiously on shore. Before long, my husband came into view on Donnelly's raft. When I got a good look, I felt deeply uncomfortable.

Donnelly sat in front of him. He was gripping her life jacket and leaning forward, looking as though he had his arms around her.

Donnelly leaned against his chest, her head tipped back. They were laughing, looking so happy