Page 3 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

At the picnic table, I turned to the first page of my notebook.

“You and Lorena have discussed the basics of what you want, right?”

“Somewhat,” Oscar answered. “We’ve always dreamed about having a summer house, and the kids love the beach.”

I cocked my head. “Do you two have a style in mind? Like a traditional Cape Cod? Or something more modern?”

“We were going to wait to see what you might recommend.”

I nodded, unfazed. Many of my previous clients—all of them highly successful in all sorts of ways—had difficulty at the concept stage of the process.

The challenge usually lay in their desire to build something recognizably better and different and more attention getting than their equally wealthy neighbors’ houses, but I knew that neither Oscar nor Lorena thought in those terms. They were less interested in building a status symbol than in having a place that would truly feel like a home.

“Do you want to wait until she gets back? Before we start getting into it?”

“Nah. She won’t mind if we go ahead.”

“All right,” I said. “But before we jump in, I wanted to take a minute to thank you.”

“For what?” Oscar looked puzzled.

“For giving me the opportunity to design and oversee the building of this house.”

“Tate—”

I held up my hand. “I know that you threw me this project because you felt like I needed something concrete to get me back on my feet, especially because I left my firm. And I’m in a better place now—thanks in large part to you.

I’m excited to start working for myself.

” I faced him squarely. “But I want you to know that I’m determined to build you and Lorena the most beautiful house imaginable. ”

Oscar smiled. “I know you will.”

· · ·

After hashing out some basics—among other things, Oscar guessed they’d need twelve bedrooms to accommodate not only the kids but extended family members, in-laws, and friends they intended to host—we walked toward the bluff.

The sun had begun to warm the air, making the sea breeze feel almost balmy.

The Cooper’s hawk continued to circle, tracking our progress across the property.

At the edge, the bluff sloped gently toward the sandy beach below.

“The property stretches halfway down,” Oscar said, pointing. “It’s public land from there to the beach, but as you can see, there’s really no way for the public to access it except by boat. And the view is unbeatable.”

“You’re going to love it here.”

“Is it anything like your place in the Hamptons?” he asked, referring to the house I’d inherited from my parents.

“No,” I answered, “but it’s just as beautiful.”

As I continued to study the rhythm of the waves below, I noticed movement off to the left, near my car, a familiar flickering at the very edge of my peripheral vision.

These flickering “visions,” referred to as peripheral oscillopsia, had begun shortly after my sister died.

Neurologists at New York-Presbyterian had checked me, wanting to rule out possible congenital defects, disease, or injury unrelated to my depression.

They’d run every test imaginable, no matter how expensive or time-consuming, before concluding there was nothing physically wrong with me.

They’d theorized instead, as Dr. Rollins later would, that it was a symptom of stress associated with the loss of my sister and that the incidents would subside over time.

But they hadn’t, and as the oscillopsia continued, I felt a sudden tension in my neck and shoulders. No, I thought, not again. I reminded myself that there was nothing off to the left. And yet…

The movement intensified, insistent in its urge that I find the source.

Unable to resist and knowing there was only one way to stop the flickers, I finally turned and searched for a possible cause.

A swaying branch, for instance, or a hiker who’d lost his way, or even a squirrel bounding across the earth.

The scene, however, was perfectly still.

“You okay, Tate?” Oscar asked, interrupting my thoughts. “You just went pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said with a forced smile, but when I faced the ocean again, the flickering resumed, bringing with it a nagging sense of unease.

I tried to ignore it, but again, wanting the movement to stop, I finally turned and saw nothing that could have caused it.

Oscar followed my line of sight before glancing at me.

“Did you see something?” he asked, frowning in concern. “That flickering thing you told me about?”

“I’m probably just tired from the drive,” I said, not wanting to answer his question. “I’m sure I’ll feel better after a nap.”