Chapter 6
SIX
PRESENT TIME
Willow
Needing to find a bedroom on the ocean side but not too close to the children’s rooms, I make my way to the opposite wing.
I walk along the carpet running down the center of the hallway, the floor either side is polished to a high shine.
It’s darker here than I expect, with only one light glimmering high above.
I search the wood paneling for the light switch but the one I find only controls the single light.
The row of highly decorative chandeliers must be controlled somewhere else. I make a note to ask in the morning.
Moving on, I open doors until I find a large room.
It’s perfect but more of a sitting room than a bedroom.
It must be part of a suite as the first door I open contains a lavish bathroom.
I pause at the window. The view of the ocean will be spectacular in daylight.
The glimpse of waves crashing on the sand under a witch’s moon is a delight.
I turn away and look at the huge double doors with a small vestibule outside.
The bedroom must lie behind the splendidly carved wooden doors.
I move to the door, aware of the lack of light.
Shadows cloak the area as I close my hand around the doorknob but it doesn’t turn.
Sue’s words come to mind. This must be a restricted area for the kids.
Why would a bedroom be restricted? It makes no sense to me.
Maybe it has a balcony and Jack is concerned they might fall to their deaths.
I dig out the keys from my pocket and try each one.
The last key slides inside and turns with ease.
I’m not sure what to expect, perhaps another empty room, but my heart pounds as the door swings open.
The air is thick, musty but with a lingering hint of perfume.
I swallow hard and fumble for the light switch.
As light floods a magnificent bedroom, I feel like an intruder.
The bed is unmade, headmarks crease the pillow.
A champagne bottle and a glass sit on a tray beside the bed.
A red negligee lies in a pile on the rug as if someone just stepped out of it. This must be Laura’s bedroom.
Across the room, windows mirroring the family room below give a panoramic view of the beach.
I turn slowly, unable to understand why Jack has left this shrine to Laura.
It’s been seven years and he hasn’t gotten on with his life at all.
I move to the bathroom, and the same untouched condition greets me.
The next door leads to a dressing room as big as our current bedroom.
Clothes line the racks. Dresses with labels I have only seen in glossy magazines or on red carpets.
It’s messy, with discarded clothes tossed around.
The dressing table spans the width of the room.
Open drawers display glittering gold and diamond jewelry, watches and bracelets in a statement of wealth.
This woman flaunted her fortune and held a total disregard for her staff expecting them to pick up after her.
I look around in dismay. I’d be too embarrassed to leave a room in this mess.
I turn on lights and notice Jack’s clothes are there as well but covered in plastic.
I venture inside and find a second door.
I turn the handle, peer inside and find a light switch.
It’s a bedroom covered in dust cloths. I stand in a desolate lonely room and try the door to the hallway.
It’s locked. They had separate bedrooms?
How strange, when Jack spends every second of his night with me and hates leaving me each morning.
When his wife died was it too painful for him to return here?
I can almost piece together the night before she died.
Had they left the house after a night of passion and only one returned?
I close the door, leaving the sadness behind, and move around the dressing room.
I see my footprints evident in the dust and a sudden chill lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.
It’s as if Laura is watching me, judging me to see if I’m good enough for her husband.
I shake my head, dispelling the thoughts.
No one has been in this room since Laura died—and no wonder—the room is depression incarnate.
The dressing table is untidy with discarded makeup and dirty tissues all over.
The laundry basket is full with items hanging over the edge.
Clothes are piled over the backs of chairs as if Laura had been deciding what to wear.
My heart pounds. It’s as if she walked out and time stopped, freezing this moment.
I hear a slight sound and glance over my shoulder just as the door whines and shuts me inside.
Fear grips me, I don’t want to be trapped inside this mausoleum.
Breathing heavily, I drag it open, push it wide and peer outside.
No one is there. I’m acting like a fool.
I ignore the overpowering feeling that I’m being watched and I walk to a closet and slide open the door.
Inside, Laura’s clothes are hanging neatly, covered in plastic.
I run my hand along them, seeing an overindulgence of expensive designer clothes from casual dresses to fur coats.
Everything she wore is preserved. The shoes number at least fifty pairs.
I walk along the rack and feel the silk of an uncovered gold blouse.
Why isn’t it dusty? Dust coats the bedroom but not here.
How strange. Does Jack come here to be close to his wife?
I throw open another closet door and cry out in shock.
Inside is a mannequin in a wedding dress complete with long lacy veil.
I swallow hard. I need to get out of here and slam the door shut.
Rushing from the dressing room, I close the door behind me.
I stand in the bedroom leaning against the door, my heart pounding.
This isn’t keeping a loved one’s memory alive—this is an obsession.