Page 23 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to her.

I wanted to believe that feeling was under control, but as I drew nearer to Heatherington, it grew stronger despite all the rational arguments I recited to myself.

Remembering my earlier promise to her, I found a parking space halfway down the block from Bird’s Toys and Games.

Inside, I scanned the center aisle, thinking a word game might be just the thing given her love of books.

I considered approaching the owner for another suggestion, but he was chatting with a customer near the register, so I also scrutinized various piles and shelves without luck.

At the rear of the store, I had turned and gazed out the windows toward the street, watching passersby, when I noticed a flash of movement in my peripheral vision.

When I closed my eyes and opened them again, the movement gave way to a steady pulsing.

The compulsion to look was almost irresistible, and I heard Wren’s words from this morning.

You’ll know it when you see it.

Following my instincts, I sidled toward the subtle but persistent blinking without looking directly at it.

The flickering amplified, and I concentrated, trying to determine its exact location; I shuffled sideways again, still keeping the staccato bursts in sight.

The pattern continued, but when I moved a third time, it vanished.

I turned, scoping out the shelves, taking in games and toys and stuffed animals before noting an object that seemed misplaced.

It appeared to be a book bound between walnut covers, but when I pulled it from the shelf, I realized it was something else.

There were hinges on the spine, and in raised calligraphy on the cover was the word “Boggle.” I opened the hinged box and peeked inside, admiring the classic wooden dice and glass-covered grid exposing the letters.

I faintly remembered playing an inexpensive plastic version of the game once or twice as a kid.

I recalled that the goal was to assemble words using the displayed letters after shaking the container.

If Wren could conjure a glass of water or magically change her clothes, I suspected she’d be able to find a way to create a pen and pad of paper as well.

I wondered, too, whether she had somehow been responsible for the signals.

It felt like her handiwork, and I thought again about the rules that governed her existence.

I brought the game to the register just as the other customer was leaving.

“Back again?” the owner asked, smiling. “How’d the Charades work out?”

“It was a good recommendation,” I said, sliding the purchase toward him. His face registered surprise.

“I was wondering if this would ever sell,” he mused.

“Why?”

“It costs a lot more than the regular game,” he said. “It’s a collector’s edition; not too many of them were made. My former partner special-ordered it because she was passionate about Boggle. We don’t carry too many expensive specialty items. I was surprised she didn’t take it home for herself.”

I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. “You had a partner?”

“We were partners until a couple of years ago,” he said, scanning the item. The cost rang up on the register, to which he applied a 10 percent discount.

“Because you’re officially a regular,” he declared, flashing his too-white teeth.

“Can I ask what happened to your partner?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Unfortunately, she passed away.”

A chill ran through my body. “Wren?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, startled. “Did you know her?”

“A little.”

“It was such a tragedy,” he murmured in a voice a touch too pious for my liking.

“Yes,” I agreed. “It was.”

· · ·

When I returned to the house, I immediately saw that I was alone on the main floor.

Storing my dinner in the refrigerator, I left the game on the sofa and brought my belongings upstairs.

By the time I returned to the main floor, Wren was in the parlor, examining the game.

She was dressed as she had been earlier, though she had added the jean jacket I’d seen the day before.

“Hey there,” I said.

“I have this game in my store downtown,” she commented with a trace of wonder. “I always felt it should be displayed like art, not hidden away in a closet somewhere.” She turned toward me. “Did you get this at Bird’s Toys and Games?”

I nodded. “I found it on the shelf in the back of the store. Would you like to play?”

“Not just yet,” she demurred, the outline of her figure blurring a little around the edges, as if someone were smudging her boundaries in chalk. “I feel a little…out of sorts right now.”

I kept my eyes on her face, willing her shape to stabilize. Please don’t disappear.

“How about we relax, then? Since the house is quiet?” I offered.

To my relief, she solidified again, her limbs and the sweep of her dress regaining their usual weight and form.

“Would you mind?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

She took a seat on the sofa while I sank into the armchair opposite her. I watched as she leaned forward, reaching for a half-filled glass of wine. “There’s more wine in the refrigerator if you’d like a glass.”

“I’m okay,” I said, knowing that even if she could drink the wine she imagined was there, I would be unable to. “I had plenty yesterday.”

She smiled. “How did your meetings go?”

“They went well,” I said. “I think any of the three contractors will do an excellent job, but it’ll be up to Oscar and Lorena. And they have good instincts when it comes to hiring the right people. Oscar’s a bit of a genius that way.”

“Did you tell them about the window boxes?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “But I will.”

“You don’t have to,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you what to do with the house. You’re the expert.”

“I don’t always get everything right.” I shrugged.

“I like that you’re willing to admit it. A lot of men can’t.”

I glanced toward the window, noting that there was still a little time until dusk. “So, you own a toy and game store, huh?”

“Once the vet thing didn’t work out, I had to do something. Maybe because of my grandma, I felt like starting my own business was something I was supposed to do.”

“When did you open?”

“Five years ago,” she answered. “In the spring of 2018.”

Doing the math, I confirmed that she did indeed think it was still 2023. “Why toys and games?”

“Aside from my love of games, you mean?” she asked.

“Vacationing families like to buy things for their kids, but because Heatherington is too small to support any of the big-box stores, the only place you could buy games or toys was the drugstore, which had an extremely limited selection.” She tilted her head.

“At the time, it seemed like a good idea.”

I studied her. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“Even though I love games, running a store wasn’t my bucket-list dream,” she said.

“You mean, like culinary school? Working at a fancy restaurant in Europe?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wish I could go back to the younger version of me, so I could undo some of the wrong turns I made.”

“I think everyone feels that way at times.”

“It’s different with me,” she said, her voice pensive. “I don’t know why, but I can’t shake this feeling that it’s too late for me to ever change anything.”

Unable to think of a response that would be both compassionate and honest, I remained silent.

“Was Nash in the store?” she finally asked, coming back to me, an edge to her voice. “When you were there?”

“I didn’t get his name, but he said he was the owner. He seemed friendly.”

“That’s Nash,” she confirmed. “He’s all about projecting the right image. He volunteers for the historical society, he’s an officer in the Heatherington Downtown Association, he’s a deacon at his church, and he drives a Prius so that other people know how much he cares about the environment.”

“Those are good things.”

“They are…” she said, hesitating. After a tense moment, she expelled a sigh. “I just found out he’s been stealing from me, which is why I haven’t gone into the store lately. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Why do you have to say anything? Why don’t you call the police?”

“I don’t think they’d be able to charge him with anything,” she said.

“We’re both authorized to access the line of credit we set up, so technically, he didn’t do anything illegal.

He faked some invoices, too, but that was minor compared to the ‘business loan’ he took out, using the store as collateral.

I made copies of all the documents and have them in a file.

But…” She ran an impatient hand through her hair.

“It is a lot of money, but it’s the betrayal that hurts the most. I’ve known him since high school, and I loved him like a brother. ”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I’m going to show him the information I’ve collected, talk to him, and try to get him to return the money.

” She crossed her arms, bitterness clouding her face.

“To think that he persuaded me to borrow money from my grandma to finance the opening of the store. Grandma Joyce was reluctant—she’d always had her doubts about Nash—but he convinced me. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”

Her voice was bleak as she went on. “If that doesn’t work, I guess I’ll get my attorney to file suit and it’ll probably get ugly.

I’ve known his wife, Sheila, ever since I was in kindergarten, and she’s still one of the nicest people I know.

I’m sure that she’s in the dark about all this.

Which means she’s an innocent victim, too, as are their kids.

And when lawyers get involved, their lives are going to become a living hell. ”

“Sounds painful,” I said.

“Yes,” she agreed. She put down her wineglass before offering a half smile. “I probably shouldn’t have told you any of that. I’d rather no one know anything about it just yet.”