“And you also run the museum. Isn’t that right?” Jane asked, while a sudden chill from Jeremy cooled the warmth in the room.
Gwen cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Yes. I like to consider myself the guardian of her memory.”
Jeremy spoke gruffly. “I need to check on the chicken pie.” He stood up and walked out.
“Don’t mind him,” Jane said, waving a hand. “He also considers himself the guardian of Scarlett’s memory. He’s kept her secret for more than fifty years.”
Gwen was grateful for Jane’s understanding—although the wordsecretraised her curiosity to new heights. “I’m sure she was very appreciative of that.”
“I believe she was,” Jane replied. “But I also think he’s kept his promise long enough, and it’s time for the world to know what Scarlett went through in Alaska.”
Gwen was fully aware that her desire to know the truth went far beyond professional curiosity. There was a hole in her own heart, a place of emptiness and sorrow, a void that had been left behind by Lily when she’d departed this world. Then Eric had left too, and the hole had only grown deeper. For a full year, Gwen had wanted Eric to come back and fill that hole—at least part of it—but perhaps that wasn’t possible. Perhaps it could never be filled, only accepted and endured.
“I agree,” she replied, putting her own issues away for the time being and thinking of Scarlett and the museum. “It sheds new light on her song lyrics and makes them worthy of an academic study, in my opinion.”
“She deserves that,” Jane said.
Gwen heard Jeremy puttering about in the kitchen. “I should go and talk to him. Would you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Jane replied.
Gwen stood, went to the kitchen, and found Jeremy at the counter, tossing a salad.
“Hey there,” she softly said. “You walked out on me again.”
He kept his back to her while he poured bottled dressing onto the salad. “I told you I didn’t want to talk to the press.”
“Peter’s not the press,” she assured him. “He’s a writer who cares about good research. And he’s a decent person. I wasn’t sure at first. I was skeptical, like you, because I know how much Valerie valued her privacy, especially at the end of her life. But I swear to you that Peter has good intentions. He recognizes her artistic talents. And I, for one, think Valerie deserves to be remembered not just as a fashion icon. She was so much more than that.”
Jeremy set down the salad tongs. “She was.”
“I assume you heard us talking out there,” Gwen added, taking a seat at the table. “I believe her song lyrics will mean more to the world if people understand who she really was. The true meaning of her art can’t die with her, Jeremy. It needs to be studied and celebrated.”
He nodded. “She deserves that kind of recognition. That kind of respect.”
“Yes. And I believe Peter’s book will shine a light on her true genius. It’s an incredible discovery, really, when you think about it.”
Jeremy gazed out the window at the hemlocks blowing in the wind. “You probably want to know what happened that day, after the docks collapsed.”
“I do,” Gwen said. “We both do.”
The timer beeped on the stove, and Jeremy moved to silence it. He donned a pair of oven mitts, removed the chicken potpie from the oven, and examined the golden pastry. “Looks done, but it needs to rest a bit.” He pulled off the oven mitts, tossed them onto the counter, and turned to her. “Let’s go back to the living room.”
Gwen followed him and returned to the sofa, next to Peter. He looked up at Jeremy, who nodded. It was enough, between men, to communicate that the situation was resolved.
“I should tell you what happened to Angie,” Jeremy said, and Jane rubbed his back supportively. “On the day the earthquake struck, I was sitting in my skiff, a long way out when the shaking started. I didn’t know what it was at first until I heard it—the roar, like a freight train coming straight at me. I’ll never forget the sound of the church bell clanging across the water. Then the trees started whipping back and forth. By the time I looked back toward town, the docks were breaking apart, and I was stunned, I tell ya. TheChenarose up on a wave that came out of nowhere.” He used his arm to show the angle of the ship. “The stern was pointing straight up until it came crashing down on whatever was floating in the water, including the people.”
He paused for a moment, and Jane rubbed his back again. When he was ready to continue, he bowed his head. “I sped back to town, but the retreating wave carried me out further and tossed my boat around. It wasn’t easy to get control of it. I thought I was done for, and I was worried about Angie. By the time I made it back, theChenawasbeing carried out on the backwash, along with everything else—cars and buildings and wood pilings. It was an absolute horror show. I don’t know how else to describe it. I looked for survivors but couldn’t find anyone. And the water was freezing. No way anyone could have survived for long. But when the docks collapsed, people were sucked down into whirlpools and never surfaced.”
Jeremy stopped. He took a few sips of soda before continuing. “I never felt misery like that.”
“What about Angie?” Gwen gently inquired.
He shook his head and looked away, working hard to keep his emotions in check.
Gwen closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded and leaned back. A vein pulsed at his temple. They all sat in silence.
