Chapter 25 #2
I look around the room and wonder if Tommy could have been watching me.
He installed a lock after that first night—could he have put in a camera as well?
It doesn’t take but a minute of looking to spot the small device in the flower arrangement.
In fact, I’m a little put out with myself for not noticing before, though I was rather distracted with life and death matters. Still.
As a touch of indignation takes hold, I search the bathroom, ready to pitch a serious fit if he installed a camera in there, but I don’t find anything. Unless he has something behind a mirror or hiding in a socket, it was just the one.
In here. What about the rest of the house?
Does he watch me when I’m alone? I get his worry at first. He didn’t know me at all. But this man has decided he wants to marry me now. He can’t be ready to commit himself to a life with me while simultaneously not trusting me in his home.
Our home. He told me this was our home.
Exactly! Our home, and if that’s really true, I have just as much of a right to know what’s here as he does.
Between my bruised ego after meeting Carmen and the discovery of the camera, I decide to embark on an exploratory expedition. Unpacking can wait.
I take a quick spin around the living room, but I’m not comfortable snooping in front of Sante, so I wind my way back to the primary bedroom. If I still have the guts to keep looking when I’m done in here, I’ll take a peek at Tommy’s office, but for now, that feels especially taboo.
I go for the nightstand first because that’s usually a place for personal things, right?
Journals or old letters. Not that I would read something quite so personal, but you get my drift.
Aside from the gun, extra bullets in a box, a ChapStick, and a few odds and ends, there’s nothing of interest. I head to the drawers in the primary closet.
My things went into the bedroom dresser because it was still empty since the closet has a whole chest of drawers within. That’s where Tommy keeps his things.
I open the top drawer. Socks in rolled bundles and a swatch of shiny pink fabric that catches my eye.
My heart lodges in my throat before I even have a chance to see what it is—I’ve already told myself it’s undies left by another woman. Carmen, perhaps?
Pain lances through my chest.
Why does this hurt so bad? How? We’ve only known one another for a little over a week, yet I feel so betrayed. It must be my emotions already on edge because of Gran. Surely, that’s it.
I can feel the slightest tremble of my fingers as I pull the item out from beneath his dark dress socks and realize it’s not lingerie at all.
Not only that, but it’s familiar. It looks just like the pink scrunchie I keep in my purse.
What are the odds he has the same pink scrunchie stashed away in his drawer?
I go out to the entry where I left my bag on a table and dig through it, trying to look casual.
No scrunchie. The hair tie in Tommy’s drawer has to be mine, but why would he have it?
And when did he take it? He could have taken just about anything of mine since I got here, but there’d be no reason.
It’s all here already. But if it happened that very first time we met—the day I ran into him outside the police station—he would have had no idea we’d meet again.
Did he take a piece of me home with him? Why? I can’t fathom hanging on to something totally useless to me that a stranger left behind. He saw my address—had he planned to find me?
I’m not sure there’s any way to know without asking him, and then I’d have to admit to snooping. I’ll have to think it over. I put the hair tie back in his drawer, my rebellious impulse drying up. It’s best if I stick to my paints—something much more cathartic and healthy.
Paints that Tommy brought for me to a room he’s selflessly surrendered to me.
And not just that, I’ve taken over his space in so many little ways, and he hasn’t complained once.
I know it has to bother him on some level.
I’ve never seen a pantry in such perfect order.
The clothes in his closet are hung in color groups.
He’s a man of habit who thrives on order, and I’ve upended all of it.
He’s so incredibly different than I expected. He’s a little crazy but sweet, too.
Such a complex web of contradictions.
I suddenly feel a surge of inspiration—an impulse of colors and shapes that need to come to life. How better to help me understand my confusing feelings for a confusing man than to paint them?
I go to the stack of canvases to find something I can use and see he’s brought one painting I didn’t expect to see. My white lilies on black that I painted for Gran. Seeing it winds me a little.
I set it on the dresser, leaning against the mirror, and worry flutters in my chest. I’m not sure I could ever forgive myself if something happened to her because of me.
I know Mom and Gran encouraged me to run, but now I’m facing the reality of those consequences.
I have to wonder if I shouldn’t have gone to the police from the very beginning.