Silence falls over the room, and then one by one, Roxy, Amelia, and finally Jamie nod in agreement. I should make them sign something, I suppose, or do a finger-prick blood oath, but there isn’t time.
“Beth, you are giving me more mercy than I deserve,” Jamie says. “Thank you.”
Roxy smiles at me. “I’m impressed, Beth. Maybe there’s more Theta Gamma Mu in you than I thought.”
I shake my head and smile. “God, I hope not.” I’m only partially kidding.
And now, my final question of the night. “Have any of you felt at all threatened since you arrived at Gentry House? Anything weird happen? Any unexplainable situations?”
Roxy looks at me and tilts her head. “You mean other than my marriage imploding, my houseguest dying, my roof caving in, and my deepest darkest secrets exposed to people I’m not sure I can trust? I’d say that’s enough weirdness for one weekend, thank you very much.” Something on my face must tell her I’m not kidding, because her expression sobers. “Why do you ask, Beth? What’s happened?”
“I found a letter, just now, typed but signed with Sunny’s signature. Sunny’s handwriting! I recognize it now, all these years later. It was taped to my bathroom mirror. She told me she missed me but that I should let go now and leave this place,” I say, swallowing the fear rising in my throat.
“What? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Roxy asks. “Can you show me the letter?”
“It’s in my room. But Ryan is in there, too, with the kids, so I left it there,” I say. “It was the same writing as the postcard in my bedside table. It disappeared the same day it arrived,” I say.
Amelia says, “What postcard? You never mentioned that.”
“I know, I should have. I opened the drawer of the bedside table and found a postcard. The photo on it was of a woman, shot from behind, dangling her legs in the pool. She had long blond hair. She wore a green bathing suit,” I say.
“Oh my God,” Roxy says. “How creepy.”
“This isn’t right,” Jamie says.
“And then there was the newspaper hidden beneath a coffee table book,” I say, a chill rolling down my spine. “The newspaper story, the one from thePalm Springs Registerabout Sunny’s death.”
“What? Why didn’t you say something?” Amelia asks. “Do you still have it?”
“No, it’s gone, disappeared,” I say. “I mean, I figured maybe Ryan had kept it as a memento or something, but then it vanished.”
“I want to get out of here,” Jamie says. “Roxy, you need to leave too. We all do.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Roxy says, smoothing her hair, removing a twig.
“Roxy, have you been receiving any of these notes or cards or anything?” I ask.
Roxy takes a deep breath. “Everything is strange. It’s like this whole house is a monument to her, to Sunny,” she says, cradling her bandaged arm. Her lavender dress is streaked with dirt and her own blood. She looks like an actor in a horror movie. Maybe she is.
“This is creepy,” Jamie says, her eyes darting to Brett’s body and back to us. “All of it.”
“I know. You’re right. I felt it from the minute we pulled in the driveway,” I say. “And Roxy, I’m afraid Ryan bought this place for Sunny. To remember Sunny. To enshrine her in the lastplace she was alive. He won’t admit it, though, not even to himself, if I had to guess.”
Roxy nods. “He did it on purpose. He knows what he’s done. It’s been his obsession since he bought the place. She’s been his obsession since she died. I tried to ignore it, to deny the truth. But I can’t any longer.”
“Oh God, a husband obsessed with a dead college girlfriend. That’s a lot,” Amelia says.
“The worst of it, though,” Roxy says, “is I’ve seen her here. She’s here.”
45
Roxy
The three women stare at me now, clearly waiting for me to explain. But I can’t. It doesn’t make any sense, but yet, she’s here. She has been since we arrived, and I suppose she will be here long after we leave this place. I cannot wait to get out of here. Ryan can have Gentry House, and all the ghosts he’s conjured to fill it. He’s right. It is time for a divorce. I’ll be a lonely woman who’s staring down the wrong side of fifty, but at least I’m not living with a ghost.
“To be clear, until this weekend, I would tell you I don’t believe in ghosts,” I say. “But I’ve seen Sunny, several times now. The first time was right after we arrived, before you got here. She was on the driveway, some distance from me, and walking in the opposite direction. She had the same long blond hair, the same green dress she always loved wearing.”
“What? It can’t be Sunny,” Amelia says. “We all knowwhat happened to her. Read the paper, for heaven’s sake. I need another drink.”
