Candy had guessed something like this was coming, but even so it made the little hairs on the nape of her neck prickle to hear Norma say it.

"He died in this room?" Candy said softly.

"Yes."

"How? A heart attack?"

Norma shook her head.

"Oh, no…" said Candy, beginning to put the pieces together. "He killed himself?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

The room suddenly felt a little smaller, if that were possible, the corners—despite the sun that found its way through the dirtied glass—a little darker.

"That's horrible," Candy said.

"You'll learn, honey," Norma said. "Love can be the best thing in life. And it can be the worst. The absolute worst."

Candy kept her silence. For the first time she saw how sad Norma's face had become in the years since they'd last met. How the corners of her mouth were drawn down and her brow deeply etched with lines.

"But it wasn't just love that broke Henry Murkitt's heart," Norma said. "It was—"

"—the fact that they changed the name of the town?" Candy said.

"Yes. That's right. After all it was his family name. His name. His claim to a little bit of immortality, if you like. When that was gone, I guess he didn't think he had anything left to live for."

"Poor man," Candy said, echoing Norma's earlier sentiments. "Did he leave a note? I mean, a suicide note?"

"Yes. Of a kind. As far as I can gather he said something about waiting for his ship to come in."

"What did he mean by that?" Candy said, jotting the phrase down.

"Well, he was probably drunk, and a little crazy. But he had something in the back of his head about ships and the sea."