Glory sighs, long and deep. When she speaks again, her voice shakes.

“From the beginning, people were talking. Saying that the sea had lured her to her death. The whispering. You’ve probably heard the stories. And they said she’d tried to take you with her. Now, that’s a bunch of nonsense, obviously. Because Nicki never would have hurt you.” There’s something fierce in her voice. “I want you to know that. Not ever.” I’m relieved to hear her say it. Cole’s been getting to me, I guess. “But—”

“But now you have questions.”

Glory shakes her head. “It’s not about me. Not anymore.” She reaches out. Touches my cheek with one trembling hand. “I just thought you might need answers.” The expression on her face looks an awful lot like regret. “I don’t know what’s in there.” She nods toward the green notebook in my hand. “Probably nothing. I was never able to look. It felt like such an invasion of privacy. You should look, though. Whenever you feel ready.”

Glory says she needs to get back to her desk, so we stand up and shake the sand out of her blanket. We move toward the boardwalk. But I stumble over something. There are wide, flat stones buried in the sand. My foot catches the edge of one.

“Careful,” Glory warns me. “There are pieces of the past buried all over Whisper Cove. It’s easy to get tripped up.” We head back up to the mansion. It’s a long walk, along the boardwalk, over the dunes, across the marsh, and up the great lawn. And I think about what Glory said. How George ran that distance screaming for help. With me in his arms.

“I’m glad I’m getting to know you,” Glory says, and she reaches over to take my hand. “It’s good to know you’re okay.” She hesitates. Almost like she’s holding her breath. “You have been happy, haven’t you? I’ve wondered that so often over the years. I’ve hoped for it.”

“Yeah,” I tell her, and she looks so relieved that I almost cry. “I’ve been happy. I’ve got a good life.”

I don’t tell her that sometimes I feel like I’m mostly made of holes.

“I’m so glad,” she says, and it hits me hard that she’s been thinking about me all these years, and I’ve never even known she existed. Never would have known if I hadn’t come here this summer. So maybe I’ve already accomplished something.

“Thanks again for the sweater,” I tell her. “And the notebook.”

She nods. “If you find anything in there, you let me know. Okay?”

There’s something about the way she says it that makes me uneasy. “What do you think’s in there?” I ask her.