In less than a day the news spread. People rallied around me—making calls, bringing casseroles, stopping by for visits I made sure got cut short. This phase, too, did pass. Before long they got back to their lives, no doubt grateful theirs wasn’t filled with as much tragedy. People have stopped coming to see the girl who lives alone in the quirky old house on the cliffs. With all the heartbreak, I think they believe its occupants are cursed.

Patrick offered me some time off, but I wouldn’t take it. There’s a rumor going around about me officially becoming the manager of the Cliff’s Head in the near future. Apparently, the owner wants to open a new restaurant in Portland and have Patrick run it while I take his place here. I know I’d enjoy the role. It’s more money, and I’d be good at it, but I have to be sure I still have plenty of time to work on my pieces in the garage, and be with Ash.

I’ve decided to be completely honest with him, about everything. It’s what I should’ve done from the start. If I’d told him how I felt about him when we met, none of this would’ve happened. He’d have seen we were made for each other, so now I’m making up for that. He remembers what happened to Celine, and today’s the day I’m telling him about Kate.

“She came looking for me at the house that night,” I say as I shave his beard after securing his hands and feet to the chair. “She pretended she was out for one of her runs, which was a total lie. I knew she’d waited until she saw you leave, I’d spotted her jacket beyond the tree line. She wanted to convince me not to tell you about her sleeping with Keenan and when I refused she stomped off. I followed her along the cliffs, told her the only way I wouldn’t say anything was if she broke things off with you.”

“You...pushed...her,” Ash says, the effort of talking making his voice faint and raspy. I wish I could ease up on the benzos, but when I tried cutting down, he became agitated and aggressive, something he thinks I bring out in him, which really pisses me off.