Page 28 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

Sleep was all but impossible that night, even though Nighttime Wren didn’t appear.

I finally dozed off not long before dawn, and I was startled awake midmorning to the sound of thunder, a long, low rumble that reverberated through the house.

At sundown yesterday I had watched Wren begin her ascent of the stairs, her shape fading in the deepening shadows until she vanished completely.

Trying to shake off a distinct pang of loss, I’d gone to the butcher shop and the grocery store to procure the ingredients she’d had me write down.

As I’d walked the aisles and loaded the cart, I wondered where she went when she vanished, and if, in that netherworld, she daydreamed about me in the same way I did about her.

I wondered if that place resembled a dream or a memory of a favorite place, or if she simply faded into a dark, empty void, from which her alter ego, Nighttime Wren, eventually emerged.

I reflected on the crises she’d been grappling with in the last months of her life and wondered if she’d had a confidant, someone unequivocally on her side.

She’d mentioned friends that had moved away and people who had disappointed her, but she hadn’t talked about finding solace or understanding from anyone.

Though she might have simply omitted it, for some reason I got the feeling there’d been no one she could really turn to.

I’d had the benefit of a psychiatrist and numerous social workers, as well as patients who were working through their own crises alongside me, but how had Wren managed?

Had she cried in solitude, or tossed and turned all night, or taken long walks, wishing for someone to talk to?

I was pained by all she’d endured and wondered whether her loneliness had somehow complicated her passing.

She was wonderful in so many ways. I adored her wide, unguarded smile and the way she ribbed me while also poking fun at herself; I loved the way her eyes glittered with competitive energy when we played games.

I was falling for her, which made no sense, since she was no longer of this world.

I knew there was no hope for a future between us, but in the short time I’d come to know her, it felt as though she’d already become part of me, and it was already hard to imagine my life without her.

I showered and dressed before gathering my phone and computer and heading downstairs to start coffee.

Because the heavy clouds made the house darker than usual, I switched on the lights in the parlor, as well as the dining room and kitchen.

I fed and watered Paulie, and bringing my toast to the dining room table, I opened my laptop and started reviewing emails.

I immediately noticed that Oscar and Lorena had emailed me back.

Clicking through the images they’d starred and reading through their directions made me think I had enough to begin the initial schematic designs, or even limited 3D renderings.

After that we would progress to the design development phase, where Oscar and Lorena would decide on materials, finishes, and a thousand other practical and aesthetic details, and HVAC, plumbing, and electrical plans would come together.

I knew they’d love the renderings, which I would create with specialized digital software that would show with incredible realism what their future home would look like.

But I couldn’t bring myself to embark on the work.

Instead, my thoughts drifted once more to Wren.

The house seemed too quiet and empty without her.

It was clear there was nothing but heartbreak ahead for me, but the truth was, I didn’t care.

I wanted to spend as much time together as we could, no matter what the future held.

And just like before, as though I had summoned her, I suddenly heard her in the parlor talking to Paulie. Her voice was playful and affectionate, and it brought an instant smile to my face.

· · ·

I found Wren on the sofa, bending over Paulie. She’d paired baggy faded jeans with a wide-necked green sweater, and when she glanced toward me, her eyes were the vibrant color of new spring leaves.

“Hey there,” she said. “I’m sorry I slept so late. I think I was exhausted.”

“It’s all good.”

“How did you sleep?”

“So-so,” I admitted. “But I feel good now that I’ve had coffee.”

“I wonder how you’d sleep if you gave up coffee for good.”

“I’m not sure that’s a life worth living.”

She laughed before nodding toward the window. “I can’t believe the storm didn’t wake me. It’s really coming down out there.”

Following her gaze, I saw that the view was entirely opaque, as though the house was immersed in a cloud. In the dense shroud beyond the glass, I saw lightning flash and a few seconds later heard the low rumble of thunder. At the sound, Wren shimmered and blinked out briefly before reappearing.

“I kind of like it,” I said, trying not to dwell on her increasing pattern of disappearances. “It gave me an excuse to skip my run this morning.”

“Speaking of the storm, where is everyone? Why’s it so quiet down here?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, playing along. “No one was here when I came down, but then again, I haven’t been up that long. I’m guessing they’re out doing whatever they came to Heatherington to do.”

“Who would want to go out in weather like this?”

“Tourists,” I answered.

“Festival people.” She snorted. “They can be relentless for sure. Over the years, we’ve repeatedly had out-of-towners try to camp illegally on the property.”

Wren’s image faded out again for a few seconds. When she returned, she didn’t seem to notice that any time had elapsed, although the green of her sweater had become a dusty gray. She ran a partially translucent hand through her hair, whose normal luster was now a bit muted.

“I heard,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Reece mentioned it.”

She nodded, surveying the room before noticing the fireplace. A slight frown crossed her face. “I’m surprised that Reece hasn’t gotten the fire going yet. He usually does that whenever it rains. It’s kind of chilly, don’t you think?”

“Would you like me to get it going?” I offered.

She peered up at me with a skeptical air. “Do you even know how to start a fire?”

“There’s wood and a lighter. How hard can it be?”

“It might be easier with some old newspapers, don’t you think? Crumpled up beneath the grate?”

“Of course,” I said, wishing that part had been in the note, too.

My discomfiture must have been obvious because she giggled. “There’s a pile in the cellar we keep for just this purpose,” she said. “In the back corner.”

As I turned in the direction of the kitchen, I noticed Wren vanish and reappear out of the corner of my eye, her figure transmitting unsteadily, like an old TV broadcast. Don’t stare, I told myself. Act normal. But when I returned with a small stack of newspapers, Wren was nowhere to be found.

· · ·

I spent the next twenty minutes pacing from the parlor to the kitchen to the dining room, pausing in each of them, willing her to appear and growing ever more worried that she wouldn’t. Or even worse, couldn’t.

“Where’d you go?” I finally heard her say.

I sighed with relief as I left the dining room and spotted her where I’d last left her. On the coffee table in front of her sat a small plate of fruit.

“Just refilling Paulie’s water bowl,” I lied.

I crossed the room and squatted down in front of the fireplace before beginning to tear pages of the newspaper in half.

I crumpled them into balls and slid them beneath the grate, but because I wasn’t sure how many to use, I opted for a lot.

Just in case. When I glanced at Wren, she stifled a laugh.

“You’re doing great,” she said with an encouraging wave. “And though I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you, since you’re obviously a pro at this, you might want to add some kindling beneath the logs.”

“You’re forgetting to remind me to open the damper.”

“I was just about to say that.”

When the kindling was in place and the damper open, I lit the newspaper, watching as it began to flame, hoping I’d done everything right.

The fire grew, snapping as the kindling began to catch; a minute or two later, I was pleased to note that one of the logs had caught as well.

I turned toward her, relieved she was still there and feeling undeniably proud of myself, despite how ludicrous it was.

A man really should know how to light a fire.

Wren quietly clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling.

“Let me guess,” she said. “First time?”

“Yes.”

“Because your staff used to do it? Like the laundry?”

“Yes.”

Amused, she reached for a grape. “Even though you’ve described it to me, I still have trouble imagining your childhood.”

“I may not have known how to start a fire, but I can immediately spot the difference between demitasse, coffee, grapefruit, and dessert spoons.”

“There’s a grapefruit spoon?”

“It has a serrated tip, so you can more easily scoop out the segments of grapefruit.”

“And I repeat: I find myself having trouble imagining your childhood.”

I grinned before nodding toward her plate. “How’s the fruit?”

“Fresh and delicious,” she said. “Do you want some?”

“I had breakfast with Paulie.”

Her gaze lingered affectionately on my cat. “Any chance you’d accidentally forget her when you leave? Because if you do, I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

“I appreciate that, but she’s my little buddy,” I said.

“A girl can try,” she said. “And now, are you ready to learn how to cook a classic French meal? It takes a while, so we should probably get started soon if you want to eat by midafternoon.”

“And if I’d rather have it for dinner?”

“Then we have plenty of time.”

“Good. I’m feeling lazy,” I said, flopping down next to her on the sofa. “Is it your recipe?”