Silver is for Secrets (25 page)

Sincerely,

Maureen Brown

Dr. Atwood: Tell me, Stacey, do you normally feel you can sense danger the way you did with Clara?

SB: Sometimes I dream about danger. I was dreaming about her death.

Dr. Atwood: Hmmm . . . Interesting.

SB: Why?

Dr. Atwood: Because you told me last time that Jacob was dreaming about death as well——about your death, his own death . . . and yet, according to you, nobody is dead.

SB: Just me.

Dr. Atwood: You feel like you‟re dead, Stacey?

SB: Inside, I do.

[End tape]

Dear Jacob,

My therapist told me that I should write to you. She said it would be an opportunity to say goodbye. But I‟l never say that. I miss you, Jacob. I can‟t even tel you how much.

I‟ve decided to stay here, at the cottage. Amber is staying with me, deferring her admission as wel . I just can‟t leave you here. I mean, what if you came back and I‟d already left? I‟l never leave you, Jacob.

I got your journal. Your mother gave it to me. She and your dad flew in from Colorado almost immediately. When your mother was cleaning your stuff from the cottage, she found it lying out on your bed. She saw the dedication—to Stacey, forever, with love—and gave it to me. I stil haven‟t been able to go into your room.

I read your entries from cover to cover. I wish you would have told me about your nightmares. I wish you would have asked me for help.

I wish a lot of things.

I go over and over in my mind everything that happened that night, everything I could have done differently. If only I had identified that stressful feeling I kept getting in my heart, nearly cutting off my breath. If only I had taken another route up to the main deck when I saw Clara‟s note—maybe we wouldn‟t have missed each other. If only I recognized the railing pin earlier—maybe I could have warned you.

If only.

I haven‟t told anyone this, but sometimes I can stil feel you. It‟s like you‟re somewhere out there, trying to get to me, sending me vibes that you‟re still alive.

Sometimes when I‟m asleep, I have to force myself to wake up because I can feel you inside me. I can feel my nerves pulsing beneath my skin, my blood boiling up, and my breath quickening. I roll over in bed, feeling your fingers kneading down my back, your breath on my neck, and your lips at my shoulder.

Just like that night.

I‟ve been sitting out on the beach a lot, looking out at the ocean as it rol s up to meet me, hoping to see you walking up the beach, greeting me with a kiss, telling me how much you love me.

And me telling you how much I love you back. Sometimes I see the rescue team go out. They tel me it‟s just a matter of time before they find it—your body. That‟s what they‟re cal ing you now. But maybe I don‟t want them to find you. Maybe somewhere deep inside me I believe you aren‟t in this sea—that by some miracle of miracles you got away, that you didn‟t drown, that you got saved by some fishermen or floated away on some magical piece of driftwood.

I light a thick white candle, just like we did that night last November when we silently declared our love for one another. I place the candle beside me in the sand.

The flame represents you. I know that if my grandmother were here she‟d tel me that as long as I keep your memory alive, your spirit will be with me always.

I know in my heart that‟s true.

Always and forever, Stacey