Chapter 10 - The Night Lucy DisappearedThe storm arrived without warning.
At nine in the evening, lightning flashed over the estate.
Rain hammered the windows.
The power flickered once.
Then twice.
Lucy hated thunderstorms.
Sarah knew that.
Alexander knew it too.
He checked her bedroom after the second flash.
She was asleep.
Or he thought she was.
At ten-thirty, the power went out for thirty seconds.
The backup generator activated.
Alexander returned to his study.
Sarah was downstairs preparing materials for her new job.
At eleven, Henry appeared at the kitchen doorway.
“Where’s Lucy?”
Sarah looked up.
“In bed.”
“No.”
“She’s not.”
Sarah stood immediately.
They checked.
Empty.
The teddy bear was gone too.
Alexander was upstairs within seconds.
“Lucy?”
No answer.
The house staff began searching.
Every room.
Every bathroom.
The playroom.
The conservatory.
The indoor pool.
Alexander’s face became pale.
Sarah forced herself to think.
“Did she say anything today?”
Henry shook his head.
“She was sad.”
“About what?”
“Mom.”
Sarah turned.
“Why?”
Henry looked guilty.
“We listened to the recording again.”
Alexander stared.
“Without asking?”
Henry lowered his eyes.
“It was in the blue box.”
Alexander took a breath.
“Later.”
Sarah looked at him.
“She may have gone somewhere connected to Emily.”
Alexander thought.
Then ran.
They followed him to the old art studio.
The room had been locked for two years.
Alexander opened it.
Dust.
Covered canvases.
No Lucy.
His breathing became harder.
“Where else?”
Sarah looked around.
A photograph sat beneath a cloth.
Emily and the children.
Behind them was a small gazebo near the lake at the edge of the property.
Sarah looked at Alexander.
“The gazebo.”
His face changed.
“It’s outside.”
They ran.
Rain soaked them instantly.
Alexander did not stop.
Sarah followed with a flashlight.
The path was slick.
Lightning flashed.
At the lake, the gazebo appeared through the rain.
A tiny figure sat inside.
“Lucy!”
Alexander reached her first.
Lucy was curled on the bench holding the teddy bear.
She was crying.
Alexander dropped to his knees.
“What were you thinking?”
His voice came out sharper than intended.
Lucy flinched.
Sarah saw it.
Alexander did too.
He immediately softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled her close.
“You scared me.”
Lucy cried against him.
“I wanted Mom.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
Sarah stood nearby.
Rain hit the roof.
Henry arrived with Mrs. Doyle under an umbrella.
Lucy looked at her father.
“Mom liked this place.”
“Yes.”
“You never bring us here.”
Alexander swallowed.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
Lucy looked confused.
“Of the lake?”
Alexander almost laughed.
“No.”
“Of remembering.”
Lucy wiped her face.
“I remember anyway.”
The sentence broke something open.
Alexander hugged her again.
“I know.”
Sarah looked away to give them privacy.
Then Lucy reached for her.
Sarah stepped closer.
“I thought if I came here, maybe I’d feel her.”
“Did you?” Sarah asked.
Lucy nodded.
“A little.”
Alexander looked toward the dark lake.
“This was her favorite place.”
Henry sat beside him.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Alexander stared at the water.
“Because every time I came here, I missed her so much I thought I couldn’t breathe.”
Henry leaned against him.
Sarah sat on the opposite side.
Nobody spoke for a while.
The storm slowly moved east.
The rain softened.
Alexander looked at Sarah.
“I almost did it again.”
“What?”
“Turned fear into anger.”
Sarah nodded.
“You caught yourself.”
“Barely.”
“That counts.”
He looked at Lucy.
“She could have gotten hurt.”
“Yes.”
“So what do I do?”
Sarah smiled faintly.
“Be scared.”
“And still teach her what to do next time.”
Alexander nodded.
He looked at Lucy.
“Next time you want to come here, you wake me.”
“Even if it’s night?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it rains?”
Alexander hesitated.
Sarah watched him.
He sighed.
“Even if it rains.”
Lucy smiled.
“Okay.”
The next morning, Alexander made a decision.
He reopened Emily’s studio.
Not as a memorial.
As a room.
They uncovered the paintings.
Henry found old brushes.
Lucy found a box of photographs.
Sarah discovered a painting of Alexander asleep on a couch with baby Henry on his chest.
She laughed for nearly a minute.
Alexander looked offended.
“She promised nobody would see that.”
“She painted it.”
“That was betrayal.”
Lucy smiled.
“Mom was funny.”
“Yes,” Alexander said.
“She was.”
Later, Eleanor arrived.
She saw the studio open.
Her eyes filled.
Alexander looked at her.
“I should have done this sooner.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“You did it when you could.”
It was the kindest thing she had said to him in years.
That afternoon, Sarah hung one of Emily’s paintings in the breakfast room.
Alexander helped.
It was imperfect.
Slightly crooked.
Sarah adjusted it.
Alexander stopped her.
“Leave it.”
“It’s crooked.”
“She hated straight lines.”
Sarah looked at him.
“You’re making that up.”
“Possibly.”
She smiled.
Across the room, Henry and Lucy were painting paper crowns.
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The house was no longer afraid of memory.
And because of that, memory stopped feeling like a ghost.
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