Remain by Nicholas Sparks & M. Night Shyamalan

Author:Nicholas Sparks & M. Night Shyamalan [Sparks, Nicholas & Shyamalan, M. Night]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2025-10-14T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

• • •

In the kitchen, I opened a bottle and poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir; when I turned, Wren was holding a glass of white wine.

I raised my glass in a silent toast and took a sip, watching as she did the same. I set my glass aside. “Okay, boss, what do I do first?”

“You’re supposed to call me ‘Chef,’ not ‘boss.’ But we’re going to peel and chop, so you’ll need the cutting board and the chef’s knife.”

She indicated where to find both, and after pulling the vegetables and herbs from the refrigerator, I got to work. There were quite a few items—an onion, a carrot, and garlic, among others—and while an expert probably could have done all of it in a few minutes, it took me closer to forty-five. I almost cut myself several times despite her unending stream of instructions on proper knife skills. Once that was done, the chopped materials neatly organized in separate ramekins and small bowls, she had me set out the other ingredients, as well as measuring cups and spoons.

As Wren instructed, I placed a Dutch oven on the stovetop and turned on the heat. I crisped the bacon, browned the cubes of brisket, and added the other ingredients including red wine; by the time I’d covered the fragrant mixture in the pot and eased it into the preheated oven, I felt like I’d accomplished quite a bit.

“What about the potatoes?” I asked.

“We’ll keep those in the refrigerator for now. We’ll peel, chop, boil, and mash them later. They’re better right off the stove than if you have to reheat them.”

“Is that it, then? For now?”

“Not quite,” she said. She was leaning casually against the counter with one leg crossed in front of the other. “You need to clean up. Cutting board, knife, spoons, counters—all of it. A cluttered kitchen is the sign of a cluttered mind.”

“Is that a real saying?”

“If it’s not, it should be.”

I put the spices away, washed and dried everything I’d used, and wiped down the countertops.

“Where to?” I asked when I’d finished and dried my hands on a dish towel. “Unless you want to stay in here.”

She wrinkled her nose. “There’s no place to sit comfortably in the kitchen. I was thinking about the porch, but it’s too wet and cold outside.”

“The parlor then?”

“It feels like we always talk in the parlor.”

“We could try the dining room.”

“That’s even less inviting.”

“I’m running out of suggestions.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I always wished the main floor was bigger and that we had a music room or a conservatory, someplace comfortable but with a different atmosphere.”

“I could probably design something for you.”

“I’m sure you could,” she said. “But that’ll be for the next owners if I decide to sell.” She paused before her voice became more determined. “When I sell.”

“You’re selling?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “You didn’t mention that.”

“Officially, I hadn’t even said those words to myself until just now.” She reached for her glass and stared into it before looking up at me again.

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