Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Sabine
Astor spends the next hour in the bedroom with Valerie. I have no idea what they’re talking about. Is he confessing his love for me? Is she demanding a divorce? Am I going to be asked to leave? Are we both going to be asked to leave?
Something isn’t as it seems, that much is clear. According to Astor, Valerie is— was —bed-ridden. Due to both the strength of her new medications and her depression. But since I’ve been here, she’s been up three times, once in the garden in the middle of the night, once standing in the window, and now standing at the bathroom door while Astor had his head between my legs.
Why didn’t she respond like most women would? Yell at us, maybe slap us both across the face?
And what’s up with her writing their deceased daughter’s name on the shower wall? Was it a message?
I know Valerie has been obsessing over their daughter recently. Is she communicating something? Is it a clue?
Or is she just messing with us and trying to freak us out? Is this her manipulative way to toy with her husband and his mistress?
I saw the look in her eyes. Her focus was on me.
Valerie is not as sick as everyone believes. I’m certain of it.
Thankfully, Brittney didn’t see what was happening. It was close—too close.
Restless, I wander into the kitchen where Brittney is washing a coffee mug in the sink. Although she's not washing it, she’s scrubbing the same spot over and over as she’s staring out the window. Her body is rigid, her shoulders up to her ears. Whatever she’s looking at is upsetting her. I slide behind the doorway and watch her for a moment.
Her long brown hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. Half the hair has almost worked its way out of the scrunchie. Her purple scrubs are at least a size too big for her body. She’s shifting from foot to foot, obviously nervous about something.
What’s she looking at outside? What does she see?
It’s not surprising Brittney would be off-kilter after the commotion earlier, but it doesn’t appear that’s what’s upsetting her.
It’s whatever’s out the window.
I think of Valerie, rocking back and forth on the dirt, her eyes locked on some inanimate object that none of us could see.
Then, the image of Chloe’s name written on the shower wall flashes behind my eyes.
A knot forms in my stomach.
What have I gotten myself into?