Love Song(136)

“Her cancer was no secret,” Dolly says. “And she died at our house, looking out at the lake, surrounded by her family and Raymond.”

Sorrow tugs at my heart. “They were still engaged before she died?”

“Of course. They loved each other very much.”

How did you end up with him? I almost blurt out, but I resist the urge.

She must read my thoughts, because she laughs again. “If you’re wondering about me and Ray, I’m afraid it’s not very scandalous what happened after. We grieved together. Darlie’s death brought us closer together, and eventually the grief faded and turned into love. But it was too painful to stay in the place my sister loved so deeply, so we moved to the East Coast after we got married.”

“Why isn’t there a grave for her in Tahoe?” I ask curiously. That was another strikeout for me, trying to locate a headstone for Darlie in all the local cemeteries.

“She wanted to be cremated. We spread her ashes over the lake.” Dolly giggles. “Which probably contributes to the ghost story.”

I marvel at her. “It doesn’t bother you that everyone believes your sister is a ghost who was betrayed by her sister and fiancé? That people think you and Darlie were both sleeping with Raymond all over Tahoe? Meeting up in lighthouses? Secret tree trysts?”

“Oh, the tree was real.” Dolly’s eyes twinkle. “I used to cover for her when she snuck out to meet Ray. I’d stuff pillows under her blanket so it looked like she was asleep in bed. She and Raymond were quite the wild ones. He still has some of that wild streak, even now. I never did, but I believe that might be a good thing. Every relationship needs that balance.”

“One person is the storm, and the other is the lighthouse,” I murmur, and my heart clenches as Wyatt’s lyrics echo in the kitchen.

She smiles. “Yes. I like that. And no, it doesn’t bother me. My sister died at the lake surrounded by her family. Her fiancé found a second chance at love. And this legend… Well, it keeps her memory alive. To be honest, Darlie would love this.”

“She would?”

“Oh yes. She was fun-loving, mischievous, always causing trouble. The fact that everybody is still talking about her fifty years later? Spreading the story that she’s a ghost who loves love? All that attention? It would delight her.”

I sip my tea, letting everything sink in.

No ghost.

No plot twist that makes you gasp.

Just a boring, run-of-the-mill ending. Someone died, two people got married, and now they garden together in New Jersey.

And yet I’m not disappointed. Although it would’ve been cool if it turned out there really was a ghost—it would make the Spencers happy anyway—I realize I care more about the journey it took to reach the end of this story rather than the ending itself. I don’t need to solve crimes and take down killers. I don’t need shocking plot twists. I loved the research. I loved the digging. And yes, I loved sending emails to county records offices.

Not to mention the episode I recorded with Little Spencer is at almost two million views now. Two million people enjoyed it, and that is incredibly validating. So maybe my hobby is dorky and dumb, but Wyatt’s right. I shouldn’t be embarrassed of it. I might not possess a flashy talent or supermodel looks, but I have something I’m good at, something I enjoy. And that’s not nothing.

I stay a while longer, chatting with Dolly. We drink a second cup of tea. She tells me about her and Raymond, how they never wanted children, how they’ve enjoyed every second of their life together. I tell her about school and how much I dislike it. How I feel destined for a boring job and that maybe I shouldn’t even bother doing the podcast.

At that, she shakes her head in rebuke. “Do it. It’s not as if you can’t still work your tedious nine-to-five while you do the podcast. If you want this old lady’s advice, Ms. Blake Logan, here it is: Life is short. If I’d done what was expected of me, I wouldn’t have married Raymond. My parents weren’t thrilled with the idea—they worried he was trying to replace one Gallagher fiancée with another. But I knew he loved me for me, and I know I made the right decision. But there are also some things I didn’t do, and once you reach my age, you tend to look back and think, well, shit, that was a missed opportunity.”

I bite my lip, more affected than I thought I’d be by her words.

“You’re twenty-one. Your life is swimming with opportunities. Don’t squander them.”

I gulp down the lump in my throat. “I’ll try not to. And I appreciate you inviting me in and talking to me. You have no idea how much it means to me. With that said, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

If I leave now, I can make it back to the station in time to catch the five o’clock train. I could be in Hastings by midnight. This was a quick trip, but I don’t regret it. I got everything I was hoping for.

“Come back and visit anytime,” Dolly says, and we exchange phone numbers, because she does have a phone, and email addresses, because she has one of those too.

As she walks me to the door, I promise to send her a link to our podcast on Darlie.

“Are you going to record a follow-up now that you know what happened?” she asks curiously.

I shake my head, which surprises her.

“But you solved your mystery.”