“Maybe next summer when the weather warms up,” I said. “It’s getting to be the time of year when only the most die-hard beachgoers brave the cold winds.” I hoped that was enough to put an end to the conversation of his friends invading my beach.
“Okay, next summer,” he said. “It’s a date.” His eyes showed his excitement.
I turned away to watch the waves; they were becoming larger as the clouds far off above the ocean darkened.
We walked a bit farther before he spoke. “So, you said there was an old inn?”
“Yes, that’s the reason my family lives out here in the first place and the reason our house is so big. It was built to be a hotel,” I said, hoping that would help him and others understand my grandparents didn’t build the castle we live in, that Gigi’s grandparents had, and they did so as part of their business.
“I never knew that,” he said, as if this was the first information about my family he wasn’t already aware of. “So, your family were innkeepers? How unusual,” he said with true interest.
“Gigi’s grandparents. No one since then,” I said.
“Still, that’s interesting and it’s how your family got their start,” he said.
“Sort of,” I said, deciding not to tell him about how much Gigi hated her grandparents and how she and her mom ran from this place. I was fairly certain everything I told him would, in one way or another, be repeated and the entire parish would hear it. People didn’t need to know this part of our family history.
“That’s really fascinating,” he said, stopping and turning his body back and forth. “Where is it?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing to where the inn was built against the base of the cliff on the northern part of the property. It was difficult to see from where we stood. The trees had grown thick around it.
“Oh, wow, that’s awesome!” He began striding toward it. “I love old buildings. They’re so eerie,” he said with childlike enthusiasm.
My eyes darted to him. I watched his back. He was going straight toward the inn. Spookiness appeared to attract him; this was definitely not something we shared in common.
“What’s it like inside?” he asked, barely turning to look back at me.
I picked up my pace to catch up with him, and said, “I’ve never been inside.”
He exclaimed, “How is that possible!”
“My dad says it isn’t safe.”
“Your dad isn’t here,” he said, sounding confused.
“I still believe him, even when he’s not next to me,” I said with matched confusion.
“Hmm, okay,” he said, stopping to allow me to catch up. “If he thinks it’s so dangerous, why doesn’t he have it torn down?”
I shrugged. “It’s not something we talk about. The inn has always been there and we’ve always been told not to go near it. I guess, growing up with it like that, I’ve never thought much about it.”
Not until Luca started asking about it.
Thomas stared at me. “You’ve really never been inside?”
“No,” I said, feeling like a child. Why hadn’t I been in it? I was seventeen and I came to this beach practically every day. Why had I never been interested enough in the old inn to explore it?
“Want to go in it now?” he asked, with a mischievous grin.
An image of my mom appeared in my mind, a memory I had forgotten. We were standing, facing the inn, exactly as I stood now, the sun hitting my eyes and the smell of wild roses and saltwater soothing my senses. The wind was cool, the same as it was now. She was holding my hand. Our words echoed in my mind:
“Never ever go inside the inn, Siena. Do you understand me?”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s very dangerous.”
“It doesn’t look dangerous, just old.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Trust me, sweet girl, it is very dangerous.”
“Have you been in it?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and putting an arm around me, holding me against her body as if she was afraid of letting me go.
“Then, how do you know it’s dangerous?”
“Gigi told me. You trust Gigi, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Me too. I trust her completely and her warning alone would be enough to keep me from it. But I can also feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“The danger … the darkness.” Her body shivered against mine.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” I said.
She bent down, touching her forehead to mine, and smiled lovingly, her eyes close to mine. “First of all, dear child, you are afraid of the dark and that’s just fine. You’re seven, and at seven, almost everyone is afraid of the dark. But that’s not the kind of darkness I mean. This is the kind of darkness you should fear no matter how old you are, or perhaps fear is not the right word. You should avoid it. Yes, that’s a better word. You should avoid it with all your heart, mind, and spirit. It’s the kind of darkness that exists solely to cause more darkness.”
“Does it scare you?” I asked. The thought of my mother being scared of anything was unimaginable.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “Yes, it does scare me.”
I turned my head and looked at the old building. My mother’s arms were wrapped protectively around me.
“If it’s so bad, then why doesn’t Daddy tear it down?”
“We talked about it a long time ago. He wanted to tear it down. Gigi and I said no. We decided until the darkness is gone, the building needs to remain so the darkness remains in it and does not come up to our house.”
“To our house?” I blinked up at her with fear.
“Long ago, before Daddy and I even met each other, there was darkness in our house. Gigi and Grandpa got rid of it and now it’s a lovely house, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I said tentatively, feeling suddenly afraid of my house.
“I’ve said too much. Your father always tells me I tell you too much, but—”
“But you don’t listen,” I said, and my mother laughed, hugging me tight, kissing me on the cheek.
“No, I don’t listen much about things like that. Daddy and I think differently about how to raise you and Lisieux. I think you should both know as much as you possibly can, and he—”
“He thinks we should be protected as much as we can be protected.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m almost eight,” I said, putting my hands on either side of her face.
She laughed again, her face disappearing into my mind.
“Siena?”
I blinked. The sun was in my eyes. Thomas stood a couple yards away. I wanted to return to the memory. To the time when my mother held me, laughed with me, and taught me about things she thought she needed to teach me.
“Did you hear me? I asked if you wanted to go into the inn.”
“No,” I said.
“No, you didn’t hear me, or no, you don’t want to go?”
“No, I don’t want to go,” I said, turning from the building.
“Why not?”