Page 9 of Remain (one-of-a-kind)

When I woke the next morning, I felt the thrum of a light headache before the dream came flooding back.

Once again, I heard the squeal of the bathroom door’s hinges and felt dread wash over me at the darkness within; I saw Paulie exit my room and approach the door as if irresistibly summoned, at once hunter and hunted…

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear away the images, but they were oddly sticky. I forced myself into a sitting position, which exacerbated the ache in my head. Checking the bedroom door, I saw that it was closed. Paulie dozed at my feet, untroubled.

Pushing back the covers, I got out of bed and found a bottle of ibuprofen in my Dopp kit, dry-swallowing two tablets before moving to the window.

The sky was overcast, and the sheen on the stone pathway to the garden indicated that it had rained overnight.

Strange that the storm hadn’t awakened me, since I was normally a light sleeper.

Hoping that a shower would help me feel better, I stood under the spray of hot water for a long while, the pipes groaning and whining as the water coursed through them.

Afterward, I dried off and caught sight of myself in the mirror, noting with irony that the hospital stay had done wonders for my physique; I was in my best shape in years.

With little else to do, I had spent the mandated morning breaks at the gym, lifting weights and running on the treadmill.

I threw on a pair of jeans, a shirt, and loafers, a little surprised that Paulie hadn’t yet stirred.

Once I started moving, she usually took it as her cue to remind me that she was in dire need of food.

She’d follow me around, meowing plaintively, to which I would inevitably respond in exasperation, “For God’s sake, Paulie, you’re not starving to death! Give me a minute!”

Cats.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, then backtracked when I realized I’d forgotten to bring my phone.

Glancing at the screen, I was surprised to see a text message from Mike, my brother-in-law.

I hadn’t heard from him since the funeral and wondered why he was reaching out.

I took a seat on the edge of the bed. Mike had sent a longish text accompanied by a video.

Ignoring the text, I clicked on the video, reaching down absently to stroke Paulie’s sleepy head.

My sister Sylvia’s face filled the screen.

“Hi, Tate,” she said. The sound of her voice made my stomach drop. In shock, I closed the screen and steadied myself on the bed, trying to stop the room from spinning.

· · ·

After a few deep breaths, I woke the phone again. This time, I clicked on Mike’s text.

Sylvia asked me to send this to you three months after she passed, but you were in the hospital then without access to your phone, so I held off.

After your discharge I figured I’d wait a few days to give you time to get back on your feet.

She told me that you were expecting the videos and that you’d let me know when to send the other two.

(I’m assuming you know more about all this than I do.) Hope you’re doing well, and let’s grab coffee when you get back to the city.

I reread the text, vaguely recalling that Sylvia had mentioned messages in that last visit in the hospital but certain she hadn’t said anything about videos.

I peered down the hallway to gather myself before playing the video.

It was a selfie taken at the hospital, my sister’s normally radiant face gaunt.

In the background, I could hear medical equipment beeping; at the periphery of the image, I spotted the bouquet of lilies I’d brought her the day before my last visit.

Hi Tate,

I know you’re surprised to hear from me but seeing you these last few days made me realize I wasn’t ready for our conversations to end just yet. I’m sure you’re struggling to maintain your stoic facade, but it makes me sad to think of you suffering now without anyone to console or support you.

I suspect you’ll lean on Oscar as you have since your school days, but we both know Oscar has other responsibilities, so he won’t always be able to be there for you.

I’m afraid now that I’m gone, you’ll withdraw even further into solitude.

But loneliness, over time, is like an acid that eats away at you.

You often teased me about my love of sunsets, but what went unsaid was that the sunsets I loved most were the ones I was able to share with people who meant something to me.

I treasured every sunset you and I watched from the dunes behind our beach house, the two of us basking in all that beauty while Mom and Dad threw parties on the rise behind us.

By the time you receive this I will have been gone for some time, and I fear that you will be living on autopilot and feeling disconnected from the world.

So I want you to do something for me. Sometime soon—maybe today, maybe later this week—I want you to strike up a conversation with a stranger.

And as silly as it may sound, I want you to be open to the idea that the encounter happened for a reason.

Every human interaction, after all, is seeded with infinite potential.

You may recall that I met Mike in my friends’ coffee shop, but this conversation could just as easily arise at the gym or in the aisle of a grocery store. Sometimes the most mundane interactions create ripple effects downstream that we only decipher later.

I know your first instinct will be to ignore my request. You may not think you need anyone, but I promise you that there are people out there who need you. And being needed is often one of the most rewarding experiences of all.

Please, Tate. Trust me on this.

· · ·

I watched the video two more times, trying and failing to hold back tears.

The sight of Sylvia’s depleted figure on screen instantly collapsed the months since her death, making her loss new and fresh again.

As if sensing my distress, Paulie roused herself and climbed into my lap.

I stroked her cheek, breathing raggedly, before finally wiping my eyes.

I left the room, descending the stairs on shaky legs. I was about to turn toward the kitchen when I glanced into the parlor and did a double take. I took in the scene, disoriented by the sight of a woman doing yoga in front of the fireplace.

I guessed she was in her late twenties, with long dark hair fastened into a messy ponytail, and wearing gray yoga pants paired with a loose pink athletic top.

She was barefoot on the mat with one leg extended straight behind her, her body horizontal to the floor; a battered water bottle and a pair of shoes were set next to a white hoodie just off the mat.

As I watched, she exhaled and slowly came out of the pose, lowering the extended leg to the floor, straightening upright, and bringing her feet together, her arms at her sides.

Confused, I remained in place, trying to figure out what her presence meant.

Was she another guest that Reece and Louise had neglected to tell me about?

I’d assumed that I’d have the house to myself, but maybe there’d been a miscommunication.

All I knew for sure was that she seemed at home, her ease in the common room evident.

She must have heard me because she turned, her face brightening.

“Hey,” she called out. “Good morning.”

“Uh…hi,” I managed, trying to hide my confusion. I hesitated before entering the sunlit parlor.

“I’m almost done here,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early. I’ll only be a few more minutes.”

Again, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She obviously knew that I was staying here, even if I hadn’t known about her, so I said nothing. Instead, I watched as she slowly bent forward to place her palms on the floor, her hamstrings straight and fully extended.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you arrived,” I heard her say, her face pressed almost into her knees. “I must have been taking a nap.”

I blinked, feeling even more confused, before she went on.

“Have you ever done yoga?” she asked, straightening up, her cheeks flushed from being upside down.

“Once or twice,” I said. “But I’m not very good at it.”

“It takes practice,” she conceded. “But it’s a great way to start your day.”

She lifted one knee and took hold of her ankle before extending that leg behind her, her back arched and her toes pointing toward the ceiling. With her free arm extended, she balanced on one leg, the entire movement smooth and improbably graceful.

“If you’re curious, this is called Natarajasana,” she said. “Isn’t that a beautiful word?”

“I guess so.”

After holding the pose for a minute, she repeated the position with the other leg.

“Is that your cat?” she asked, nodding toward the foyer behind me.

Over my shoulder, I saw Paulie pause, taking in the new arrival, before slowly ambling toward her.

When Paulie was close, I watched as the woman lowered her hand to allow Paulie to sniff while continuing to hold her pose.

Satisfied, Paulie made a beeline for the woman’s hoodie and lay down on top of it, looking content.

“That’s Paulie,” I said.

“I love her coloring,” she said. “For what it’s worth, guys who like cats get the automatic green flag. I mean, you’ve never heard of a serial killer owning a cat, right?”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about it.”

“It’s because they’re more independent and harder to control than dogs. Serial killers are all about control.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s what all those true crime shows on TV say.” She shrugged, lowering her leg to the floor. Exhaling, she stepped off the mat and started rolling it up.

I shifted awkwardly, deciding to ask the obvious.

“Sorry if I missed the memo, but can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Yoga,” she said, squinting up to me as if to say, Duh.

“No. I mean what are you doing here, at the house?”