Chapter 52
I dream of Theo again. I wake up in a sweat again. And … with my hand in my knickers. This is not a life.
To my surprise, the man who refuses to follow instructions is gone. I tear the sticky note off the fridge.
Ruby,
I’m off doing some sightseeing. I’ll be back—when I’m back. Then we can talk about our living arrangements after you’ve had time to reconsider.
~Oscar
“Please be sightseeing in Alaska,” I mumble to myself as I throw the note in the bin.
After a quick shower, I juice, pack my rucksack, and bike to the Moores’. There aren’t enough miles between my flat and their mansion to work out the right thing to say to Nellie when I see her.
Oscar.
Nellie.
The loo.
There are no words.
“Good morning, Miss Stone.”
“Scarlet,” I correct her.
“Scarlet.” Sofia smiles. “Mrs. Moore is taking a bath.”
Brilliant idea. She needs to wash everything about the British bloke from yesterday clean from her body—and her mind. I wish I could do the same.
“I’m going to check on her, maybe choose something for her to wear today.”
After several unanswered knocks on her bedroom door, I open it a few inches. “Nellie? Hello?”
A crack of light peeks from the partially-shut bathroom door.
Nellie’s voice mixes with the running water.
Each butchered note of a song I’ve never heard before makes me cringe.
I give her some privacy, opting to explore her wardrobe for something that doesn’t say “crazy lady” nor “adulterous twat.” Something wholesome would be nice.
“Is it too hot for a turtle neck and cardigan?” I grin, sifting through rows of hanging clothes and drawers of jumpers, hosiery, and lingerie.
“Nellie Moore …” I whisper and shake my head, holding up a red lace teddy.
Folding the tiny and no doubt expensive bit of nothing, I return it to the drawer.
The drawer won’t close. Something seems to be behind it.
Nellie’s harmonic catastrophe continues—the nerve-grating sound of a donkey braying infused with a heavy dose of monkey screeching. It’s really the most unexpected noise coming from a woman who, on the outside, is quite stunning.
After some tedious manipulating, I manage to pull the drawer completely out. Threading my arm in the empty hole, I fish out the culprit. It’s a honey and bronze leather journal with a latching strap.
“Put it back,” I whisper, tracing the strap with the pad of my finger. Curiosity drives the discovery of new frontiers. Okay, that’s what Oscar always tells me. However, acting on it all the time is a disease—one for which I have yet to find the cure.
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I know the difference between right and wrong. I just haven’t mastered the art of giving a shit about it.
Before reason can jump in and rescue my unscrupulous impulse, I have the journal open, my eyes tracking the first sentence of the first entry.
Bell,
I was prepared to leave Harold today, but the psychiatrist declared me insane. Do you think I’m insane?
~Nel
I flip the page.
Bell,
It’s official. I’m insane. I decided not to leave Harold, assuming he would leave me, but he’s still here.
~Nel
Next page. This is so wrong.
Bell,
I can’t let that cheating bastard get away with it. Do you understand? Well, I’m sure you do.
~Nel
Bell,
I busted a seven-thousand-dollar mirror today because I couldn’t stand my reflection. Did you ever think about your mortality? Suicide isn’t always selfish. Sometimes it’s making the hard decision so other people don’t have to make it for you. It’s crazy how much I’ve envied you lately.
~Nel
There are too many entries to read them all right now, so I skip to the last one. Bell—who is Bell?
Bell,
I cheated on Harold. I had sex in a public ladies’ room with a British man who made me come with his tongue.
“Ew. No, no, no!” I slam the journal shut, wrap the leather strap around it, and slip it under the folded lingerie at the back of the drawer then fit it back into the dresser. There are more words to the final entry, but my stomach can’t bear to read them all right now—or ever.
Karma. There she goes again, punishing me for my wrong doings.
My ability to think vanishes. I grab the first outfit that matches and wait for Nellie, perching myself on the cream bench at the end of her canopy bed with spindle wood posts carved in intricate detail. I shake my head, looking over at the fireplace. Her bedroom is three times the size of my flat.
“Oh!”
My head whips around. “Good morning!”
Nellie tightens the sash on her plush white dressing gown and adjusts the towel wrapped around her head. “I didn’t know you were here. You should have said something.”
“I didn’t want to disrupt your bath. Here.” I hold up the gray trousers and white blouse.
“Maybe I should wear a dress today. Will we be seeing your father?”
No. Never again will you see Oscar or his tongue. A grimace attempts to consume my face in spite of my effort to appear neutral on this disturbing situation.
“I’m afraid he’s left.”
“Left? To go where?”
This lady has not cared about a single thing other than coupons, secondhand-clothes shopping, and talking about dead people as if they’re still alive. Now—now she’s interested?
“Just away. I’m not sure.”
Oh. My. God. Are those tears in her eyes?
She’s married and mentally not right. Why?
Why is she fighting back tears over sex in the loo with a man who is no good for her?
Nolan thought she’d be devastated if Harold left her.
This is the face of a devastated woman, but not because her husband left her.
Oscar Stone. That wanker has worked his magic again.
“Actually, I think he said something about doing some sightseeing before he leaves. It’s possible he could pop by again in a week or so.”
Relief evaporates her tears and a huge smile grows across her face. I should never have introduced them. Never. Ever. Ever.
“Do you work out?” She tugs the towel from her head and dries her matted hair some more.
“Sorry?”
“Jogging? Pilates? Swimming?”
“Um … I used to run quite a bit. Now I enjoy walking and sometimes yoga and meditation.”
Nellie frowns. “I think I’m going to need a bit more than that to whip this saggy body back into shape.”
“You look perfect. You’re not a bit over weight.”
“Thank you, sweetie, but I really need to firm things up. I didn’t realize how loose everything was until …”
No, no, no … Why is she blushing? Stop blushing. Stop implying things that make me nauseous.
“So, how did you and Harold meet?” He’s a total arsebadger, and I really don’t care, but I can’t sit idle while this whole thing turns into a clusterfuck under my supervision.
The house, the money, everything is Nellie’s.
If she doesn’t love him, then cut the weasel off at his bollocks and send him packing.
The frown reappears. “My Debutante Ball. He was one of my two escorts. Carlton was bred just for me.” She rolls her eyes.
I’ve never seen her roll her eyes.
“I told my parents I wouldn’t go unless I could also invite a boy from school, Harry Moore. I only invited him to piss them off. That’s the same reason I gave him my virginity.”
The Nellie Moore before me, sharing her past with complete lucidness, is not the Nellie with whom I’ve been spending my time with over the past few weeks.
“Is that also why you married him?”
She laughs. Not a crazy, childish laugh—an evil laugh laced with a bit of sarcasm. “I married him because I gave him my virginity. The pissing off my parents was just a bonus, much like the baby we had months after our shotgun wedding.”
My lips form into an O as I nod. Every bit of understanding raises fifty new questions.
My curiosity level flies off the meter. I can’t ask her, and it’s killing me.
If her past is connected to some sort of trigger, I don’t want to be the one to push the damn button.
She needs to discover it on her own—with maybe a nudge from me.
“These are nice clothes.” I hold up the trousers and blouse, perfectly-pressed, expensive fabric hanging from wood hangers. “Where did you get them?”
“Probably one of the stores we’ve been at over the past few weeks.” Her gaze diverts to her wedding ring, like she’s admiring it for the first time.
“Do you feel guilty about Oscar?” I can’t help it. The truth is right there. I can feel it with the tips of my fingers, but I can’t quite grasp it. Her sanity. It feels like her sanity.
“What do you mean?” Just like that. She flips on me.
“Nothing. Let’s get you dressed and do your hair and makeup.”
*
That journal holds the answers. I need to steal it, but she still writes in it, so I can’t take it.
She’ll know. More than anything, I need to meditate—try to meditate.
I haven’t forgotten that I have cancer. It would suck to die before I solve this mystery, before I make peace with the part of myself that wants for the bearded man from Tybee, before I ride a real horse, or unravel the true wonder of being someone’s song.
“Wow, so much for giving me space.” I’m too exhausted to even be that exasperated with Oscar lounging on his bed, the bed that should be gone, next to the chair that should be gone. I shut the door.
He glances at his watch. “I’ve given you a solid ten hours, Ruby. You’re usually much more efficient with your time. What’s wrong?”
“Nice watch.” I continue to the kitchen.
“It’s new.” He follows me.
“It’s stolen.”
“Borrowed.”
I grab a drink of water and turn toward him. “Really? You’re going to return it?”
“Swap it. Yes.”
“Whatever.” I gulp down the whole glass of water.
“Aren’t you going to ask me whose watch it is?”
“No.” I put the empty glass down and give him the piss-off look because I’m really not interested in playing his games.
He sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side. “It’s Harold’s. I swapped it for an exact replica that has a tracking chip embedded in it.”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“I thought you’d be proud of me. Now, I’ll know where he is at all times so we won’t get caught.”
“We? Really? Now you and Nellie are a ‘we?’”
“Alright, Ruby, tell me what’s bugging you.”
“You’re bugging me. Missing Theo is bugging me. Having cancer is bugging me. Nellie’s secret journal is bugging me. Living in this tiny flat instead of my house on the beach is bugging me. Needing me time but not getting it is bugging me!”
“Nellie has a secret journal.”
Yes. I said that. Why did I say that? “Yes.”
“Did you take it?”
There’s nothing left to offer but a painful laugh. “No. I can’t take a journal she still writes in every day.”
“Why is it bugging you?”
“Because it’s filled with cryptic stuff that doesn’t make any sense yet something tells me if I could read the whole thing it might make perfect sense.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“Sorry? No! You’re not going anywhere near her. Watch or no watch. Were you not listening to me? She still writes in it. If it shows up missing, there’s a short list of people who could be accused, and I’m on that list.”
Oscar nods—but it’s not a nod that I like. It’s a nod that tells me he’s planning something.
“Promise me you won’t steal it.”
His gaze shifts to mine. “I promise.”
“Oscar.”
“What? I said I promise. What more do you want?”
“Time. I need you to leave for real this time. I need some time to focus on me and do what’s best for me.
Nellie already knows I’m taking a few days or maybe even a few weeks off.
Go home. Please. I’m going to look for that place I was at before everything ended.
” Minus Theodore. Can that place exist without him? I hope so.
Oscar pushes off the worktop and brings me into his embrace. “As you wish, Ruby.”