Page 40 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

The next morning, I was examining the sketch of Wren in the parlor while savoring my first cup of coffee when I noticed a flurry of movement near the kitchen.

“Wren?” I called, striding toward it. When I reached the kitchen, she was standing in front of the sink, staring out the window.

She was dressed in the same outfit as the first time I’d seen her.

Despite the rays of morning light seeping through her, I felt a surge of relief.

She turned to look over her shoulder at me.

“This doesn’t feel right,” she said, bewildered. “Does it feel right to you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Where’s my car?” she asked. “Where’s breakfast?

Where are the guests?” With every question, the colors of her clothing and hair grew duller.

“None of this makes any sense to me. I should probably go over and ask Louise what’s going on, but somehow the thought of it feels overwhelming.

” She looked at me uncertainly. “I can’t seem to mobilize myself to actually do it. ”

“I like the quiet.” I shrugged, forcing myself to respond in a steady, almost soothing tone. “Good morning, by the way.”

“I’m sorry. Good morning. And I apologize for babbling.” She frowned. “My mind is so fuzzy lately. It feels like it’s wrapped in gauze.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “We all have days when the synapses aren’t firing the way they’re supposed to.” Then, casually, I said, “Hey, I finished the drawing if you’d like to see it.”

“Maybe in a few minutes,” she said, clocking the change in subject. She tilted her head. “I hope you made me look prettier than I really am.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

At that, her appearance brightened, like a peacock flashing its feathers.

“You know what else I was thinking as I was zoning out just now?” she asked.

“Tell me.”

“I was thinking about Brian and how sad I was when he moved away.”

“Why do you suppose that came to mind?”

She wrapped her arms around her body, as if chilled. “I think it’s because I know you’re going to be leaving, too.”

“I’ve already told you that I’ll be coming back.”

“I know.” Her gaze dipped. “But what if something changes before then?”

“Like what?”

“What if you get home and realize the truth about me?”

“What truth?” I felt my heart begin to race.

“That I’m ordinary.” Her voice was so tentative, I had to strain to hear it.

“I didn’t go to Exeter or Yale or grow up in New York City. I’m a small-town girl, and when you get back to the city, you’re going to realize how different we are. I’m afraid that all of this—whatever it is to you—will be either remembered like a dream or forgotten.”

“You’re not ordinary,” I insisted. “And I promise that I’ll never forget you.”

Her eyes told me she longed to believe me. “You know what else I was wondering this morning? Before you came down?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“I was wondering about Sylvia and Mike,” she said. “When did you know they were in love?”

“When Sylvia told me.”

“Not before?”

I squinted, trying to recall the early days of their courtship.

“I think I might have begun to suspect it a few months after they started dating. I met them for dinner one night, and I noticed how she kept looking at him whenever he spoke—as if he were the most captivating human she’d ever met.

Which was a little disconcerting to me, since I’d never seen her look at a man that way before. ”

“Do you think you’ll ever look at a woman that way?”

I held her gaze. “I’m pretty sure I already have.”

She studied me, the silence crackling between us, before she offered a shy smile. “I think I’d like to see that drawing now.”

In the parlor, I retrieved the sketchbook from the sofa and held it up for her to examine.

“Ah,” she sighed. “Just what I thought. You drew the new and improved version of me.”

“I just draw what I see.”

“I’m not this beautiful.”

“Yes,” I said. “You are.”

She looked at me wordlessly. Beyond the window, a flock of starlings broke from the branches, flooding the sky with their beating wings.

Standing close, I caught the scent of her perfume, something floral and rich, like rose petals.

In that moment, I felt the weight of our shared confessions, and the carefree joy of our laughter, and wondered whether my time with Wren had somehow been preordained, every decision I’d made in my life leading me to her without my knowing it.

“Wren—” I began. But before I could say anything else, my phone rang, and the woman who’d already marked my life forever was gone.

· · ·

Reluctantly, I answered my phone. Oscar caught my tone.

“Let me guess. She’s there?”

Background noise made it difficult to hear him. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” I said. “Where are you?”

“At the diner. I was calling to see if you wanted to get breakfast, but seeing as I ruined your morning, maybe you’re not in the mood.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Figures.” He snorted. “Anyway, there’s a few things you should know.

First, I just found out I have Zoom meetings all day tomorrow, so you’ll be on your own.

Today, though, we’ll be meeting Griffin at eleven at the fairground, and I’ll be picking you up, so be ready.

I also found out that Griffin was arrested seven months ago for—get this—being too rough with a woman he’s dating.

Her name is Sandra Hall. Supposedly, he used her as a punching bag one night, but Sandra decided not to press charges. ”

“Who told you that?”

“The waitress,” he said. “She remembered seeing me talking to Griffin the other day, and Sandra is one of her friends. Apparently, Sandra and Griffin have been seeing each other on and off for years.”

“Even when he was married to Wren?”

“Before the marriage and again after Wren died,” Oscar said. “According to the waitress, Sandra is stunning and could get any man she wants, but she has this weird addiction to Griffin.”

“She told you all of this?”

“Why not? I’m a friendly guy. I also finally received a call back from Aldrich.

He’s at a conference in Boston, and he wasn’t comfortable discussing the trust on the phone, but he promised to touch base as soon as he gets back tomorrow night.

I should be done with my meetings by then, so I’ll keep you informed. ”

“He’s getting back on the opening night of the festival.”

“I doubt he’ll be going. He’s not the type.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know you were thinking about Wren,” he said. “It feels like things are coming to a head, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It does.”

· · ·

I worked a bit more on the schematics for the house, mainly to kill time, and while I was hunched over the computer, I heard a knock at the door.

I opened it to find Louise and Reece standing on the porch.

As earlier in the week, Louise carried a basket of cleaning supplies and a laundry bag of clean linens. Beside her, Reece gripped his toolbox.

“The parts I ordered came in,” Reece said. “Would it be okay to repair the fuses now? Some of them are overloaded, and I don’t want to continue straining the system any longer than I have to.”

“I figured I might as well clean at the same time,” Louise added.

“Of course. I’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes anyway.”

Reece edged past me, toward the cellar. Meanwhile, Louise eyed her surroundings, her gaze settling on the sketchbook, which still lay open on the parlor sofa.

Without a word, I went over and brought it to her. She set the basket and linen bag on the floor. She bit her lip as she stared at the drawing of Wren.

“When did you last see her?”

“This morning.”

“I still don’t understand.” She took a step back, as if eager to put distance between herself and Wren’s image. “I’ve thought and thought about what you told me, but you’re wrong about what happened to her. She was alone in the house that night.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“Reece and I were in the cottage. Wren came home around half past eight, but no one else arrived until well after midnight. We would have seen any cars pull up because the headlights flash right through our living room window.”

“Maybe you fell asleep.”

“We didn’t,” she said, expelling a breath.

“People who come for the festival are not always the most conscientious of guests. They’ll throw parties after they return in the middle of the night, or they’ve been drinking and they damage things.

Sometimes they get wild ideas, like starting a bonfire out back.

We always keep a close eye on the place, but especially during that weekend. ”

I considered what she’d said. “Maybe whoever killed her parked on the road and walked up to the house.”

“He would have needed a room key to get in the front door.”

“Is it possible that someone could have made a copy?”

“I guess,” she said, sounding skeptical. “It’s true that we haven’t changed the locks as often as we should. But what’s going to happen if Mr. Aldrich keeps the house open? Are other guests going to see her, too? Or what if word gets out, and loony ghost hunters start to show up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does Mr. Aldrich know what’s going on in the house?”

“I haven’t said anything to him.”

“Should I?”

“That’s up to you.”

“But I haven’t seen her,” she protested. “No one’s seen her but you.”

There was nothing I could say to that. Instead I asked, “Why are the photos of Wren in the shed?”

Louise looked startled. “How do you know about that?”

“They were in a cardboard box of her belongings, and I’m just curious why you didn’t keep any of them.”

“We did keep them.” She shrugged. “Obviously, you found them.”

I said nothing, watching as she picked up the bag of linens.

“They were in Wren’s room,” she said, “along with the rest of her things. Mr. Aldrich suggested we box up everything because at that time, he hadn’t yet decided what he was going to do about the bed-and-breakfast, and it wasn’t appropriate to keep them in the room if he intended to rent it out. Why were you in the shed?”