Page 36 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

Once home, I finished the remaining beef bourguignon while doing a deep internet dive on Nash, Griffin, and Dax at the dining room table.

Of the three, information about Griffin was easiest to find, though little of it was helpful.

The scores of links and articles about him mostly related to the festival.

My search did turn up an arrest for drunk driving, though not how the case eventually turned out.

For Dax, I found links to the Mercy Center and LinkedIn, which noted his education, training, and professional background; going further back, I also found a flurry of posts on various social media sites congratulating him on his marriage to Tessa four years earlier.

Nash, on the other hand, was quoted in a few articles, which referred to him as the vice president of the Heatherington Downtown Association.

I also found a photo of him and Wren cutting a large red ribbon in front of the toy store in an article from seven years earlier.

“What are you working on?” I heard Wren call from the kitchen. Although the sound made me jump, I felt an immediate sense of deep relief.

“Nothing important,” I said, closing my laptop and turning toward her.

She was wearing another sundress, this one cream colored with a pattern of small roses, and her hair hung in waves that suggested she’d used a curling iron.

She was holding what looked like a glass of iced tea, and as she stood under the arched entry to the dining room, I thought I’d never seen anyone more beautiful. “How are you?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered with a tentative smile. “Did you ever have one of those days where everything you were doing felt wrong somehow? Like you weren’t where you were supposed to be? Or that you should be doing something else?”

“That pretty much describes every hour I spent in the hospital.”

A smile flashed across her face, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. Her eyes were dark green today, like emeralds in the shade.

“I feel like I’m in a fog,” she mused. “Like none of this is real, and if I blink, I might suddenly be somewhere else, or doing something else. I know how weird that sounds, but I can’t seem to shake it.”

I swallowed but tried to keep my expression steady. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Do you have time to sit with me?”

“Of course,” I said. I rose and followed her into the parlor, conscious of how much I’d missed her.

She took a seat on the sofa, but sensing her confusion, I decided to give her space.

I had just sat down in the chair across from her when she blinked out of sight.

Holding my breath, I counted to five before she flickered into sight again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running her fingers through her locks. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s all right,” I said, trying to project calm. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

When she lifted her eyes to mine, her expression was serious. “I’m sorry for running out on you the other day,” she said. “You caught me off guard, and I guess I got a little freaked-out.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” I said. “I shouldn’t have broken the rules.”

She nodded, as though nervous. “What were you doing this morning? I didn’t see you around.”

“I met with Oscar,” I said.

“At the site?”

“No. We were in town.”

“I was there, too.”

“You were?”

“I finally worked up the courage to speak to Nash.”

I almost flinched. “How did it go?”

“About the way I thought it would. First, he tried to deny it, and then when I showed him what I’d found, he said the money was for store expenses. Then finally, he said I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, since as co-owner, he had the authority to take out the loan.”

“Did you ever find out what he did with the money?”

“Our discussion didn’t get that far. I finally told him that unless he returned the money, I’d pursue legal action. That’s when he got really angry, and I started to get nervous, so I left. I could still hear him shouting when I was on the sidewalk.”

“What do you think he’s going to do?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “It was the first time I’d ever seen him out of control like that. It was…”

I finished for her. “Scary.”

She nodded. “After that, I needed to walk so I could clear my head.”

“I probably would have needed a sedative,” I joked, wishing I could take her hand.

She cracked a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I was hoping you would be. I really needed to see a friendly face.”

“I’m sure you know plenty of friendly faces around town,” I said.

“There used to be more.” She shrugged. “But after my grandma died, I kind of withdrew. I just couldn’t bring myself to respond to people’s calls and texts.”

“I definitely know how that can happen,” I assured her, thinking of my own slide into depression and isolation in the aftermath of Sylvia’s death.

“After that, I threw myself into work, trying to ensure that the toy store—and this place—survived the pandemic. And then, when Griffin came along, we mostly hung out with his friends, so one by one my friends drifted away. And now, it’s just hard, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Wren. You didn’t deserve to suffer alone.”

Her eyes grew a bit brighter. “You’re really good at knowing exactly what to say, did you know that?”

“I had a lot of practice at the hospital,” I said.

“Maybe I should stay at a psychiatric hospital.”

“I recommend it highly,” I said with a smile.

For the first time, she laughed, though the sound rang a little hollow. “See what I mean? If I’d said that to almost anyone else, they would have immediately jumped to the conclusion that something was deeply wrong with me.”

“Former patients tend to be kinder about such things.”

“It’s not just that,” she said. “Being with you feels so effortless, and I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our conversations over the last few days. I almost forgot what it was like.”

“Talking to people?”

“Not just talking,” she said wistfully, “but being genuine and authentic and real. Whenever I shared something with Griffin that was bothering me, he’d either make it about himself or use it against me later.

He always had a way of twisting my words to mean something I didn’t.

By the end, I felt like I couldn’t talk to him at all. ”

“So you started talking to Dax.”

“And look how that turned out,” she said with a disappointed laugh. “I should have known better. Do you remember when I told you about Brian?”

“The one in high school who moved away?”

She nodded, hesitating. “Before we became an item, Brian was seeing Tessa. They’d gone to the homecoming dance and a few parties together, but according to Brian, it wasn’t serious.

Tessa obviously didn’t see it that way. Long story short, Brian and I started going out, and Tessa told everyone at the school that I’d sabotaged them.

Fast-forward to not that long ago, and Tessa shows up at the store and begins screaming at me, accusing me of trying to steal her husband. ”

“And then he showed up here.”

“That wasn’t even the end of it. But you know what I realized? After that whole thing with the police? That in some ways, Dax was exactly like Griffin. They both used things I told them to manipulate me.”

“That’s terrible,” I said, saddened by the unhappiness that had engulfed her.

“Have you ever done that? Exploited someone’s trust to get what you wanted from them?”

“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “But in all fairness, I’m sure neither Griffin nor Dax would have characterized their actions that way. People are often blind to their motives, especially when pursuing their own goals.”

Everyone has their own agenda.

“They knew,” she said, adamant.

Looking out the window, she collected herself. After a moment, she turned back to me, changing the subject. “How did your dinner turn out?”

“It was delicious.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stick around to join you.”

“It just meant more leftovers for me,” I said. “I had some for lunch, in fact.”

“I know,” she said. “I can still smell it. Will you ever make it again?”

“I might,” I said. “But it would be more fun if you were there with me.”

Her gaze dropped, a flush rising under her golden skin. When she looked up, her eyes gleamed. “How long are you going to stay in Heatherington? I can’t remember if you already told me.”

“I’m here for another two or three weeks at least. And I’ll be back and forth, of course, until the house is completed.”

“You don’t just draw the plans?”

“Sometimes. But in this case, I’ll oversee the project from beginning to end.”

“How long will that take?”

“For a house that size? Two years minimum, more likely three.”

Her gaze was sultry as she spoke. “If you keep coming here, you’ll have to be careful or we might end up becoming even better friends.”

“I think we’re pretty close now, don’t you?” I answered, refusing to look away.

“I do,” she said, her voice husky. “It makes me wonder why you took so long to finally show up.”

Beyond the glass, the trees and leaves seemed to have gone still. I could feel the beating of my heart as I watched her deliberately raise her glass to her lips.

Had it been possible, I would have risen then and pulled her into my arms, pressing her body against my own. I longed to rewind the clock and change what had happened to her, to kiss her and confess how much she’d come to mean to me.

But I couldn’t. Instead, I felt the words clamor inside me, the words that always came so easily to Sylvia, but that I had never been able to summon.

I knew in that moment that I could never go back to living the way I once had.

Wren had changed me, and my desire for her, sharpened by the knowledge that our time together was limited, struck me to the core.

I wanted to tell her everything; I yearned to reveal the truth and find a way to be together.

But I held back, fearing that I might drive her away for good.

Instead, I heard myself ask, “Are you in the mood for a game?”

At my words, her face underwent a subtle shift. Was it disappointment I saw? When she shook her head, I realized I might have been imagining it.

“I’m too scattered to concentrate on a game. I just want to sit for a while.”

“Would you mind if I made a sketch of you?”

“I wondered if you were serious about that.”

“I was. And I am.”

“You can draw people, too?”

“That’s how I started.”

She glanced at me from beneath lowered lashes. “You’re not going to ask me to take off my clothes, are you?”

I laughed. “No. It will be a portrait, so the focus will be on your face. But if you’re too warm or uncomfortable in your clothes, of course…” I waggled my eyebrows, and she smirked.

“What do I need to do?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’ll get my sketchbook and pencils.”

“Do I have to sit still and be silent?”

“You can move, and we can visit the whole time,” I said. What I didn’t tell her was that I could probably sketch her from memory.

“Okay,” she said. “But while you’re getting your things, I’m going to get a glass of wine.”

· · ·

I went upstairs to fetch my supplies, and by the time I returned, her glass was in her hand as she sat on the sofa. I pulled out a soft pencil and opened my sketchbook.

“This feels weird,” she said, moistening her lips. “I’ve never had anyone draw me before.”

“I hope not,” I said. “That would make this way less special.”

“What do I do?”

“We’ll just sit and chat, but don’t be offended if I’m not always looking at you.”

“Will you show me what you’re doing? Or are you one of those artists who insist on waiting until the end?”

“I’ll show you whenever you’d like.”

“How do you start? If you’re drawing someone?”

“I don’t know what other people do, but I always start with the eyes.”

“Because they’re the mirror to the soul?” she quipped.

“Because unless you get them perfect, the drawing won’t be any good at all.”

With pencil in hand, I focused intently, noting the striking bone structure and honeyed skin tone of her face, as well as the dense sweeps of her lashes.

I started with a faint line, almost imperceptible, feeling myself settle into a removed yet comfortable zone.

“Talk to me about your friends growing up,” I prompted.

“Why?”

“Talking will help you feel less self-conscious,” I promised.

I’m not sure whether she believed me, but she played along. While I continued to sketch, she began to describe her childhood friends, some of whom she still considered close, despite having drifted from them in recent years.

While reminiscing, she blinked out from time to time, sometimes in the middle of a story.

Occasionally the color faded from her form until she became translucent, then invisible.

At other moments, the outline of her body, even the distinctness of her features, dissolved and became fuzzy.

A few times, she disappeared entirely for minutes.

When these episodes occurred, I ignored the sudden clenching of my stomach and continued to draw from memory, as if she were still in front of me.

The moment she returned, she would pick up her conversation where she’d left off, clearly unaware of what was happening.

Perhaps Louise had been right: Wren had cycled through friends, but to hear Wren tell it, there’d always been an explanation.

Some friends moved on as interests diverged and they all matured; later, many moved away from Heatherington.

She’d lost touch with others for less clear-cut reasons, and she observed that people sometimes changed, with which I had to concur.

How many friends from high school and college did I still speak to, after all?

What emerged was that Wren had indeed been lonely, just as she’d admitted to me. Nonetheless, I again heard Oscar’s warning: How well do you really know her?

Not as well as I wished I did, but all I could do was trust my instincts and follow where they led.