Chapter Twenty-One Savannah #2
She looked around the room again, and her eyes rested on the bed.
She hated imagining Poppy and Bennett in it.
The bed was the first thing she would replace.
She walked over to the nightstand on Bennett’s side.
There was only a lamp and an iPad on top.
Her own nightstand always had a huge pile of books on it.
It struck her suddenly that there were no photos on any of the walls in the bedroom, or the rest of the house for that matter.
It seemed strange. Maybe he’d put all the pictures of Poppy and him away, not wanting to upset her.
Although he hadn’t minded keeping her artwork around, if that was what you could call it.
She pulled open the top drawer of his nightstand.
Reading glasses, a notebook and pen. Curious, she opened the notebook.
It looked like a page had been ripped out.
She flipped through it. Nothing. She opened the second drawer.
An upside-down frame. She walked over to the door and looked out, checking to make sure Bennett wasn’t on his way back upstairs, then went back and pulled out the picture.
She swallowed. It was a picture of him and Poppy in front of a church.
She’d read that they had had a religious ceremony.
Bennett had his arm around her, and she had a hand on his chest, looking up at him adoringly.
Poppy looked absolutely stunning in a white silk suit.
Savannah’s stomach churned. She returned the picture to the drawer and shut it.
At the other end of the room were two walk-in closets.
She opened the first. It was massive. Clearly Bennett’s.
Suits, shirts, ties, shoes all organized methodically.
One wall had custom shelving where his shoes, shined to a high polish, were displayed.
For someone known to be somewhat of a recluse, he certainly had a lot of clothes.
She walked over to the other closet that would be hers.
She gasped. It was like a small apartment!
One wall was lined entirely in shelves of different sizes where she assumed either shoes or purses would go.
A lighted vanity with two chairs against another wall, and a small bar area behind it with a sink, a small fridge, and an assortment of crystal glasses.
And an entire wall dedicated to hanging clothes.
Her belongings wouldn’t even fill a quarter of this room.
You couldn’t even call it a closet. Empty beige garment bags hung waiting to be filled by designer clothes, most likely.
She opened one of a set of drawers and was surprised to see lingerie there.
She picked up a black bustier. No tag on it. Was it Poppy’s?
“I see you’ve found your closet.” Bennett’s voice startled her, and she dropped the item.
“It’s overwhelming.” She pointed to the drawer. “Did you forget to clean this out?”
He shook his head. “No, I picked up some things for you. Thought you’d look amazing in that.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Oh. I didn’t see any tags.”
He frowned. “I cut them off. Is everything all right? I thought you’d be excited.”
She made her voice bright. “I am. Just taking it all in. There’s no way I can fill this…closet.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already ordered some things to get you started. Size seven shoe, right?”
“Um, yes.”
“And I guessed a size six dress?”
She was a size eight, but she nodded. She would work at dropping those extra ten pounds.
“I thought you didn’t like socializing. Do I really need a wardrobe to fill this space?”
“I still go to awards dinners and some social events. And we have a month in Paris. You’ll want to have some nice clothes for that.”
“Right. Thanks. So, what did Marion want?”
“Just letting me know about another foreign sale. Before we go to lunch, let me show you where your office will be. It’s over the garage.”
She followed him outside and up the narrow stairs to the loft that had once served as Poppy’s studio.
As soon as they ascended the steps and crossed the threshold, the air changed.
A sharp smell of oil and metal assaulted her, undercut with something sweetly stale, like old paper.
Dust motes drifted in the angled light from the dormer window, swirling as if the room itself had stirred at their arrival.
A large, scarred workbench sat in the center, littered with cutting mats, jars of brushes, heaps of fabric scraps, and assorted other household items. Savannah leaned closer to look into the bins on one end of the table.
Old photos, newspaper clippings, keys, chipped mugs, all sorted into their respective categories.
Metal shelves lined the wall and were neatly labeled with the items they held. Along the other wall was a row of pedestals holding half-finished sculptures. All looked strange and haunting to Savannah.
“It’s got great light. I was thinking we could put your desk there.” He pointed to one wall. “And we can replace those metal shelves with wooden ones for all your books.”
She nodded distractedly, overwhelmed by everything surrounding her.
A large photograph caught her eye. Poppy standing in front of a display of her sculptures.
A blown-up article about her upcoming exhibition.
Savannah stared at the photo, her stomach roiling.
Poppy was captivating in the picture. The camera loved her.
Her long hair, like flames, flawless skin, full lips, and piercing green eyes made her allure came through.
It was like that Dolly Parton song, “Jolene.” Savannah knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t compare and that if Poppy were still here, Bennett would never have looked twice at Savannah.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Suddenly she felt like she was suffocating.
This was like a shrine. She needed to get out of here.
She hated that Bennett had left it exactly as it was.
Why hadn’t he cleared it out? Was he still carrying a torch for Poppy?
She swallowed, her throat dry. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, play second fiddle to a dead woman.