Chapter 4 #2
The drive between locations only takes five or so minutes, and when we pull up to yet another mountain mansion that’s more like its own compound, Alexander rolls down his window to enter a code into a box in front of a gate.
No way. There’s no way this is where I’ll be living.
It’s manna from heaven, like Eden on Earth. It’s beautiful, and a stupid tear wells in my eye at the sight. Pathetic, Em.
We pull up the sloping drive to park in front of a three-car garage.
Three cars. And I don’t even have a car to drive.
This is the point when I should start questioning the last 24 hours.
That I really married someone I don’t know.
Jumped headfirst into a situation with no plan and no immediate escape.
I wasn’t lying when Blanks asked if I had an exit strategy. I do. I just don’t have one I can execute yet. So, in the meantime, I’ll play nice and hope that Alexander keeps being accommodating.
“Are you okay to let yourself in? I need a couple minutes.” Alexander passes a key to me as I stand, staring in awe at the house before me.
“Yeah, but are you sure you don’t want…some company?” I ask, but he’s already backing away from me like I’m the dangerous or crazy one. Am I?
“There’s a guest suite on the first floor.
It’s yours. Really, I need to be alone, Emma…
” The end of his thought comes out rushed, like he can’t wait a second longer.
He turns around and strides away from me quickly, heading towards a small clearing on the side of the garage for what looks like chopping wood.
No problem. I wouldn’t be too aggressive in caring for a wounded pup, and I’ll treat him the same. Because I have a feeling that when Alexander bites, he bites hard. Example: me.
I’m not a complete idiot. Alexander doesn’t need a wife.
He also certainly doesn’t need to pay to find one.
I’m some sort of revenge, right? I’m the knife in the back.
I’m the final straw. Whoever he was just engaged to certainly did a number on him, and Alexander is doing his own number right back.
A shiver has goosebumps popping up along my arms. Fear about being on the receiving end of Alexander’s wrath? Or the chilly December morning? I’ll never know, to be honest.
Using the slate pavers, I walk towards the wide, solid wood front door and hesitate to enter. Do I ring the doorbell first? Or just use the key? There shouldn’t be anyone home, right? Though I wonder where Blanks is if he’s not here…
Inserting the key, I push down on the latch, and the large door opens to a massive yet relaxed space.
It’s even decorated for the holidays, adding to its coziness.
There’s garland hung from the stairwell and mistletoe hanging in the entry hall.
It smells like Christmas. He decorates for Christmas? The thought makes me smile.
The family room lights are off, but when I switch them on, the tall Christmas tree in the corner comes to life, revealing a toy train that circles the tree and has a whistle that blows when it rounds the bend.
Wow. This place was like my every childhood dream come to life.
It’s Miracle on 34th Street. Like I’m the little princess, and all those wishes I made on first stars and meteors were saved and cataloged for this exact moment in time.
Over the mantle hangs stockings, and I notice there are three. Two large and one smaller than the others.
Oh. Ohhh. The house is decorated for the family-he-should-have-had’s Christmas.
A deep sorrow builds in the back of my chest, working up into my throat. How…sad. There’s no other word.
Dropping my bag by the stairwell, I walk deeper into the family room. It seems like the perfect place to read a book with a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter day.
Furs are draped over the backs of perfectly worn leather chairs, and a deep sofa upholstered in khaki, buttery, soft fabric sits between them.
Even the ottoman is covered in fuzzy soft-as-a-baby’s-butt knit.
Who could ever leave this behind? Leave him behind?
It doesn’t make sense. It’s not adding up.
Running my hand along the real Christmas tree, I bring my fingers to my nose and inhale the spruce scent, something that had only ever come from a candle at our house.
Each branch is neatly trimmed with an array of various mercury glass ornaments and brown velvet bows.
There’s a nostalgic longing clawing at the recesses of my mind. Everything looked perfect.
I’ve never had a tree like this, much less seen a tree like this, except in movies. Even the gifts below are wrapped in matching paper with coordinating, gold-trimmed name tags.
Bending down, I flip over a tag that says, “For my love, Jess.” I suck in a sharp breath, a little bit shocked.
My cheeks burn, and I drop the tag as the train makes another loop around the tree’s base, blowing its whistle. Like a warning: This isn’t for you.
Understood.
I back away from the family room, finding the light switch that corresponds to the tree, and I turn it off, vowing not to touch it again.
Jess. The name slides around in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. Alexander and Jess, I try the thought on for size and immediately dislike it.
I wonder what she’s like, what she looks like, what she would have looked like here…opening the gift addressed to her from him. And I feel it for the first time, the pang of jealousy.
Shaking off the unwelcome feeling, I continue my self-guided house tour into an eat-in kitchen with double doors that lead to a deck with another breathtaking view of the lake.
The highchair at the eat-in table gives me chills, but I walk right past it, moving into the kitchen and circling the island.
I let my hand glide over the smooth, honed marble that looks like it hasn’t seen a day of use in its life. It’s like the house is some sort of mausoleum for the undead. Unused and pristine — perfectly preserved. Yet there are no family photos, no real signs of life…anywhere.
My stomach grumbles, and I open the fridge to see how dire the situation is, but again, I’m surprised to discover it’s well-stocked. Nothing expired.
I pull out a small bottle of orange juice and crack the seal as Blanks strides through a back door, startling when he sees me in the kitchen.
He sets down a drink carrier on the island as well as two brown paper bags. Then, without words, he takes one coffee cup from the holder and slides it in my direction.
He proceeds to unpack the rest of his goods, revealing a loaf of sticky, pull-apart rolls, several miniature quiches, and a mix-and-match dozen of pastries. I salivate. But first, I have questions.
“How long ago was it?”
Blanks looks up at me, a near-sinister glint in his eye. “Be more specific, Angel.” Angel? Feels aggressive.
Ignoring him, I ask again, “How long ago was it that Alexander and his fiancé…ended things?”
“Ahh, that. Well, a couple things. You have to stop calling him Alexander because I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about. He goes by Alex. And second, it’s been about,” he pauses to think, “three days.” I choke on the orange juice.
Three days. Instant dread strangles me.
“It’s only been three days?” I ask in a whisper.
“Well, yeah. Technically. It ended months ago, but things were officially done three days ago.” He smiles a disingenuous, toothless grin. “The same day he did all this.” Blanks uses one hand to wave around at all the decor.
My appetite is gone, washed right down the drain. Now, all I want is to go take a shower, crawl in a bed, and hide. Because what was I thinking, living with Alexander as his wife on the heels of his life’s implosion?
No wonder he wanted it all to end. If I loved someone this much, I’d want the end, too.