Page 39 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)
“I didn’t go to Wren’s, if that’s what you’re implying.”
I studied him. “Did you know that the medical examiner considered Wren’s death suspicious, not accidental?”
Dax gave an impatient snort. “All that means is that the accident couldn’t be perfectly reconstructed. Many deaths are regarded as suspicious before the investigation is concluded.”
“You sound very well versed in the police investigation,” I noted.
He sighed. “I already told you, my dad is a criminal defense lawyer.”
“What if I told you that someone spotted your car in the area that night?” I bluffed.
“I’d say you’re lying.”
We stared at each other before a smirk slowly spread across his face.
“We’re done here,” he said, sounding almost bored.
“Then I’ll be bringing this letter to the police.”
He cocked his head, seemingly unperturbed. “And I’ll tell them that I didn’t write it.”
I raised an eyebrow at his brazenness. “Did you just think of that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“I wonder if your wife will agree once she sees the handwriting.”
At this, Dax stiffened. “The fact that you’re trying to sabotage all the hard work we’ve put into our marriage is beyond contemptible.”
“Tell us something we don’t know about Wren’s murder, or I’m going to show the police and Tessa the letter next week. And I’ll make sure your boss and the state licensing board receive copies as well.”
We stood and left the center, the doorbell chiming behind us.
As we approached his Escalade, Oscar whistled and said, “That guy was as slippery as they come.”
“You think his dad prepped his story for the cops?”
“Could be.” Oscar shrugged. “In any case, it’s clear that he’s willing to lie, and if he lies about one thing…”
He didn’t finish, but then again, he didn’t have to.
· · ·
That evening, I settled down at my computer to commence the schematic designs for Oscar and Lorena’s house.
I worked steadily for a couple of hours but found myself distracted, my senses constantly attuned to any signals heralding Wren’s appearance, even though it was long past sunset.
I wasn’t surprised when she never showed up.
Restless, I eventually texted Mike, asking him to forward the final video from my sister.
It arrived within ten minutes, and after a quick exchange of texts, I poured myself a glass of wine before settling down to watch. My sister’s face appeared in the hospital setting that was by now all too familiar.
Hi Tate,
This is my last message to you, and I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I want to talk about love. I know I’ve told you that if you truly open yourself up to someone, anything is possible. But I never mentioned the corollary to that truth: that love can also be frightening.
Let me tell you a story. You know that Mike proposed to me while we were in Positano.
I texted you the photos right after it happened, and I still use one of them as my screen saver, because it remains one of the happiest days of my life.
What you don’t know is that it was the third time Mike had proposed to me, because I’d said no the first two times.
Until now, I’ve kept that part of the story to myself, not because I was embarrassed, but because of my love for Mike.
I didn’t want people to think I considered him unworthy, or that my instincts were telling me I was making a mistake—I couldn’t do that to the man I loved.
So why did I say no, not once but twice?
All relationships entail risk because happy endings are never guaranteed.
But marrying me? A tragic ending, sooner rather than later, was all but a certainty, and because I loved him, I was afraid for him.
I didn’t want him to experience the pain of losing his wife.
He accepted both my rejections with astounding humility and grace.
But when he asked me the third time, just as the sun was setting over the Mediterranean, he said this:
I’d rather be married to you for a single day than live a hundred lifetimes without you.
Well, we both know how that story ends. We had some blissful years together, but now I have only a handful of days left, and the prospect of being separated from this good man, who loves me with every fiber of his soul, devastates me more than the loss of my own life.
Thinking about his grief and suffering in the aftermath of my passing fills me with anguish.
But listen when I say this to you, Tate: despite all the pain we’re facing, and the terror I feel at the loss of our life together, it is infinitely scarier to go through life never having loved at all.
Because without him, what would my life have meant?
I love you fiercely, little brother. Someday, like all of us, you’ll face your own end.
And more than anything, I hope that you will look back, as I am now, on a life made worthy by the only thing that matters: love.
Take care of yourself, and believe me when I tell you that I’m going to be watching over you from the other side.
She ended the video by blowing me a kiss.
I watched it over and over, missing Sylvia more with every viewing.
It also left me with an unexpected feeling of kinship with Mike.
Like me, he’d given himself fully to love, despite the knowledge that it would end all too soon.
But I now understood that the limited time he spent with Sylvia only distilled and intensified his feelings into something more precious, because he’d loved her knowing that every moment together could be their last.