Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
C huck couldn’t get Estelle out the door fast enough. It seemed as though there was no end to the number of questions she wanted to ask—about his health, about his past, about whether he knew about the shipwreck of 1982. Chuck had already made up his mind to pretend to fall asleep to get her out of there when she yawned, stretched her arms, and said she’d better head out. Chuck breathed a sigh of relief and said, “That’s too bad. I hope you’ll come back soon.”
It was rare that Estelle came to the retirement facility by herself. Chuck knew she was after his stories, that she wanted to leech from him and put everything in her book. But his past was sacred. He wouldn’t give her anything.
Chuck insisted on walking Estelle to the foyer to see her off. He kept his stride brisk because he wanted to prove just how spry and healthy he remained despite his age. But when they entered the living room, he spotted the young woman again—the sixty-something in a wheelchair named Mrs. Knight—and something clicked in his brain. He nearly toppled over.
“Are you all right?” Estelle sounded frantic. She grabbed his elbow.
Chuck forced his eyes away from Mrs. Knight and swallowed several times as the room spun. He filled his lungs. “I’m fine,” he breathed.
But he’d just realized something that had rocked the foundation of his world.
“Rest up!” Estelle insisted before she sped into the cold. “Love you!”
Chuck stood at the edge of the living room, wringing his hands and watching Mrs. Knight. It was clear she wasn’t entirely focused on the film someone had set up for her. But she didn’t look unhappy, either. Chuck wondered how many of her mental faculties remained. Would she be able to talk to him at all? Maybe that first night was a fluke; perhaps she’d been medicated and unable to speak.
Chuck approached Mrs. Knight. “Good evening,” he said.
A few other people watching the film glared at him for interrupting. Chuck wanted to roll his eyes.
But Mrs. Knight didn’t give any indication that she’d heard him.
Chuck stood there as curiosity ebbed and flowed through him. If he was right—and when was he ever wrong? —Mrs. Knight’s return brought many questions.
But first, he had to make sure.
Chuck walked slowly around the retirement facility. He didn’t want it to seem as though he was looking for her. But when he spotted Claire down a side hallway, he raised a hand in greeting, grateful it hadn’t taken more than fifteen minutes to track her down. As usual, she flashed him that friendly smile. She was wearing a pink nurse’s outfit.
“Evening, Chuck!” she said. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” he said, smiling. “My daughter-in-law swung by to say hello. She’s a dear.”
“Roland’s wife? Or Grant’s?” Claire was well-versed in the drama of Chuck’s family life, but she didn’t make a big deal about it.
“Roland’s,” Chuck said. “She’s the novelist.”
Claire snapped her fingers. “I keep meaning to read one of her books! Wow. Did she tell you what she’s working on right now?”
“She’s a little secretive,” Chuck said.
“She has to protect her creative ideas, I guess,” Claire agreed.
Chuck snapped his fingers as though something had just occurred to him. “I just walked by Mrs. Knight in the living room. The younger woman you brought in a few days ago?”
Claire continued to smile. “She’s just so sweet, isn’t she?”
“She is! She is, indeed. But I can’t shake the feeling that I know her from somewhere,” Chuck said. “What is her first name?”
“Vivian,” Claire said without skipping a beat.
Chuck nearly had a heart attack, but he didn’t let his shock spread to his face. “Of course! Vivian. I met her years ago. She couldn’t speak more than a few words of English when I first met her, if you can believe it.”
Claire’s smile was a little sad. “She must have been a beautiful young woman.”
“She was,” Chuck remembered. He blinked rapidly. He didn’t want to start crying.
Suddenly, he could hear himself—deep in the past, out on the dark water, crying and crying Vivian’s name. Vivian! And there she’d been, thrashing in the waves, nearly drowned.
“Are you all right, Chuck?” Claire asked timidly.
“I’m just fine,” Chuck said. He searched his mind for a lie. And then he asked, “Does Mrs. Knight have any family in the area? Who brought her in?”
He didn’t normally pry like this. He hoped Claire wouldn’t be alarmed.
Claire pressed her lips together. “I can’t really share private details about her family,” she said after a pause. “I’m sorry, Chuck.”
Chuck spread his hands out in front of him. “Not a problem at all, Claire! I’m sorry for prying.”
He felt foolish.
“It’s possible she’ll be able to speak a little bit more, sooner rather than later,” Claire said. “The doctors are doing numerous tests. She’s still partially there—somewhere back there.”
Chuck’s heart thudded. “That’s good to hear,” he said although he didn’t let himself hope for more.
Claire said she had to head off to tend to another patient. Chuck thanked her and moseyed back toward the living room, where he stood in the corner, looking at Vivian Knight. It was hard to believe it’d been more than forty-two years since the fateful night when she’d nearly drowned. She’d been seventeen. It meant she was only fifty-nine years old now.
She was only a little bit older than Chuck had been the night he’d looked for her in the waves.
But already, she was here in the retirement facility.
It wasn’t fair.
Chuck returned to his suite and closed the door behind him. After a dramatic pause, during which he stood, heavy with thought, his hand still on the doorknob, he checked his phone to find numerous texts from loved ones. Oriana had, of course, sent him the most.
But Estelle had messaged him, too.
Estelle: Thank you for letting me crash for a little while. I hope you haven’t been bothered by all my prying. I promise I’ll leave you alone from here on out. You don’t want to talk about your lighthouse keeper friend, and I don’t really want to talk about my writing process, either. It’s good that we can respect each other’s privacy. Have a wonderful rest of your night.
Chuck’s heart slammed in his chest. He didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, he wanted to let sleeping dogs lie. On the other hand, Estelle was opening her heart to him. And maybe she had the research skills to get to the bottom of this.
He certainly couldn’t do it himself.