the helm. Something’s changed. I can feel it. Does that even make sense?”
“I know what you’re saying. When my grandma got sick years ago, the old house took on a different feeling too,” I said. “Like the soul had been sucked from the walls.”
“That’s exactly it,” Emily agreed. “Jack and I moved in with her right after we were married. Bee insisted. At first I worried the arrangement wouldn’t work, but we came to love it. It’s funny, I think we needed Bee just as much as she needed us. Her health has declined quickly, though, and the changes frighten me. She no longer mills about at six o’clock in the morning, or comments on the sea life outside the window. The newspapers pile up in the entryway because she doesn’t read them. The New Yorkers too. I actually cried the other day when I pulled the last jar of her homemade jam from the freezer. I stood there realizing that it may be the last jar I’d ever enjoy. She’s still here, of course, but I’m starting to miss her already.”
I ached for her, because I knew the type of sadness she spoke of. “I’m not sure what’s more difficult,” I said. “Losing someone quickly or gradually, over time.”
Emily wiped away a tear on her cheek with the edge of her hand. “Bee’ll be happy to see you. She loves visitors.”
She slowed the car as we approached the house. I stared out the window at the rhododendrons in bloom along the roadside, in shades of deep red, light purple, white, and coral. The road wound its way down to the waterfront, where the old white colonial gazed out at the Puget Sound. It looked wise, with its black shutters and stately columns. Wise and a little sad.
“Here we are,” Emily said, opening the car door. I stepped out and followed her along the pathway to the front door, where an empty double jogger stroller was parked.
“Mommy’s home,” Emily cooed into the entryway. I heard a chorus of giggles from somewhere inside, and a moment later Jack appeared holding two cherubs dressed in pink.
“Hi Jack,” I said, smiling. “Look at you. You’re a natural.”
Emily rubbed his back lovingly. “He gets up every morning with the babies so I can write.”
“Did she tell you?” Jack said, turning to me.
I shook my head. “What?”
“She wrote a second novel. It’s being published this winter.”
I smiled. “That’s fantastic, Emily!”
“Well,” she said, looking out toward the water, “I owe it to this place. It’s magic. I’ve never felt so creative. Anyway, come in! I know you don’t have much time, so let’s savor every second.”
We walked to the living room, and Jack set the twins down on a blanket scattered with toys. “They’re beautiful,” I said.
“Nora is a firecracker,” Emily said, pointing to the larger of the two, who swiped a rattle from her sister’s hands. “She already argues with me.”
I laughed. “Your Mini-Me?”
Emily nodded. “I’m in for it. But Evelyn—we call her Evie—is our little peacemaker. The girls still share a crib, and when Nora wakes up crying, Evie pats her head. It’s the sweetest thing.”
“Adorable,” I said, handing Evie another toy.
Jack gestured toward the hallway. “Why don’t you take her to visit Bee?” he said to Emily. “She’s usually up from her nap about now.”
“Yes,” Emily said, “Bee would love to see you.”
I nodded and stood up, following Emily to a closed door at the end of the hallway. She knocked quietly, and moments later, we heard a feeble but friendly, “Come in.”
Bee wore a white nightgown. She lay in her bed, propped up by pillows. A stack of books and magazines sat untouched on a table to her right. She stared blankly out the open window, where waves rolled quietly onto the shore.
“Hello, dear,” Bee said, sitting up.
Emily saw the breeze rustling the curtains and ran to close the window. “Bee, you must be frozen,” she scolded, pulling an extra blanket from a nearby chair and draping it over her aunt.
“I miss the sea air,” Bee said. “I’d rather freeze to death than do without it.”
“Well,” Emily said, fiddling with the thermostat, “fair enough. But let’s at least turn the heat up a bit in here.”
Bee reached for a pair of glasses on the table. “Oh, you have company.”
“Yes,” Emily said. “You remember my old friend Claire, don’t you, Bee?”
“Of course, Claire,” she said, waving me over to her. “How are you, dear?”