Chapter 6
Wes and Beatrice returned home from the hospital and sat on the back porch with a pitcher of iced tea and their books. Beatrice was heavily into mysteries set in island locations like the Florida Keys or Orcas Island, and Wes liked to pretend to be a Sherlock Holmes’s type and speak in an English accent to say, “Elementary, my dear Watson!” Beatrice had told him several times that the mysteries she read were nothing like Sherlock Holmes, but he didn’t care. It made her laugh every time.
But they were too distracted to read this afternoon. Wes’s head was filled with questions about the secret room, and he scanned through his available memories for some clue from his grandmother. She’d died so long ago, and there was so much Wes didn’t know about her. As far as he knew, she’d kept no diaries. She’d been born in the early 1890s, had married his grandfather, had been instrumental in the building of the Sunrise Cove Inn after the fire, had had four children, and had died at the healthy age of eighty-two. She’d baked the very best chocolate chip cookies and played the flute. But what else did Wes really know about her? He’d been such a foolish boy. He should have asked her more questions.
“What are you thinking about?” Beatrice asked.
“What a foolish boy I was.”
Beatrice laughed and laced her fingers through his over the tabletop. “All boys are foolish.”
“No doubt.”
“What do you really think is behind that wall downstairs?” Beatrice asked.
Wes raised his shoulders. “It could be storage from the house that was there before the fire. Maybe I’ll learn more about my great-grandparents or the ones before them. But I keep trying to mentally prepare myself for it to be a whole lot of nothing. Maybe it used to have something that’s since been destroyed by time.”
Beatrice removed her reading glasses and studied him tenderly. “Or maybe it will be something incredible.”
One of the last cardinals of the year landed on a tree branch near the porch. Wes perked up and nodded so that Beatrice could see its sleek red coat before it flew away. They’d initially bonded over their love of birds, and they went birding all the time, engaging in the mysticisms of the natural world. Sometimes Wes still went with Kellan, Susan’s stepson. But Kellan attended college these days and didn’t have much time.
Wes opened his ledger to recount what had happened at the hospital today. To do this, he would probably have to look up how to spell Genevieve’s name again.
When he opened it, he saw the words: FRANK - YES - WEDDING.
“Oh! Frank Fish says he can come to the wedding,” Wes said.
Beatrice smiled. “I wondered about him. Did you get his RSVP?”
“He told me himself.”
Beatrice removed her phone and marked Frank as “yes” on the wedding app Charlotte had shown her how to use. Wes hated new-fangled technology, but Beatrice tended to welcome it. It was proof of her well-oiled brain working just fine compared to his.
“I showed you the plates Charlotte and I picked out, didn’t I?” Beatrice flipped her phone around to show off beautiful floral china and silverware with ornate details along the edges.
Wes took the phone and paid special attention to why Beatrice liked these particular plates; why they mattered. He’d been alone for too long not to understand that you had to care about what people you loved cared about. It was part of being in love.
“I’m sorry if I talk about it too much,” Beatrice said. “I’m just a blushing bride.”
“You’re a gorgeous bride. And you can talk about it as much as you want.”
“How did I get so lucky?”
Wes and Beatrice went to bed around nine thirty every night. Sometimes Wes struggled to get to sleep immediately, but he always stayed still and stared through the darkness so as not to wake Beatrice. Gusts of wind flattened against the house and shook the windowpanes. He did his best to let go and fade into sleep. He flattened his palms across the mattress and breathed slowly.
But all at once, he was in the middle of a nightmare.
Violent images came to him, and terror ripped through his heart. He only woke up because he was painfully, horribly cold, and wet. That, and someone was shaking him by his shoulders.
“Wes! Wes!” An old woman held his shoulders. Winds smashed against his chest and through his hair as rain splattered his shirt. He was barefoot in the sand at the edge of a violent ocean. It could only be the sound.
And then Wes realized this wasn’t any old woman. This was his grandmother. She was here.
“Wes!” his grandmother cried. “Wake up! Come back inside!”
Wes blinked. “What are you doing here?” he croaked.
“Wes, you’re sleepwalking,” his grandmother said. “Come back in with me. We have to get you out of these wet clothes.”
Wes shuddered from the chill. He realized he was only steps away from the frothing waves. It was like the ocean was hungry for him and wanted to swallow him whole.
As his consciousness returned, he realized that the old woman wasn’t his grandmother at all.
“Beatrice?” Wes rasped.
Beatrice threw her arms around him and cradled him. She was crying but trying not to show it. Wes’s shame crashed into him. He held her gently, then took her hand and led her inside rather than the other way around.
“What happened?” Wes asked once they were in the foyer.
“You got up and walked into the hallway. I was awake and followed you, thinking you were getting a cup of tea or something. But you just walked outside. I realized you were asleep and wanted to gently guide you back to bed. But you just kept going toward the water. I panicked and shook you awake.” Beatrice tugged at her wet hair. “I know you’re not supposed to wake up sleepwalkers. But the water was right there, and I was just so scared.”
Wes ached with guilt. He slowly removed his wet pajamas and underwear and got in the shower. Beatrice remained close to him, waiting her turn. The way she looked at him terrified him. It was like she was waiting for him to have a complete mental break.
Wes had been doing so well lately. The ledger had worked for him. He’d hardly forgotten anything. He’d hardly been confused.
But wandering out into the night was the stuff of madmen.
When they were finally back in bed, Wes whispered into the darkness, “I’m sorry.”
Beatrice took his hand under the sheets and squeezed it. “You’re safe now. I won’t let you get anywhere too far.”
But Wes was too terrified to fall back asleep. Beatrice hadn’t been Beatrice in his waking nightmare. She’d been his grandmother. It had been clear as anything in his mind’s eye. Whatever had brought that on couldn’t be trusted.