Page 50 of Bitter House

Nothing.

I begin to check the carpet, searching for any loose or bumpy parts. When Cole is done checking the wall, we move to the bedroom, checking underneath her mattress and behind her nightstand.

But still, we find nothing. I pull at random books on her bookshelves, thinking it might be like the movies where touching the right book reveals a secret passageway, but nothing opens up. There is nothing, not even a hint at what Vera might be talking about.

Eventually, Cole sighs. “We should read more. Maybe she eventually tells where it’s hidden. Otherwise, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”

I agree, but as my eyes fall on the clock, I gasp. It’s just past noon.

Shoot.

“We need to install the camera,” I tell him. “It came at some point last night, and if anyone drops off a letter midday like they did yesterday, I want to be sure we catch them. Especially if there’s a chance they might go to the police. You were right before. This all affects your mom now, too.”

He nods. “Okay, how about this: I’ll work on installing it, and you keep reading the journal. Deal?”

“Deal.” I follow him out of the room and down to the dining room. He’s solemn as he opens the camera box and begins evaluating the pieces. I know there must be a million things running through his head, thoughts and emotions I can hardly fathom, but he’s clearly trying not to show it. I reach forward and squeeze his hand just once, and he squeezes mine back, not looking up, before I take a seat and open the journal.

I wonder where in the house Vera wrote the most? Did she ever sit in this exact spot? I can’t imagine so, with people always around, but maybe. I try to recall ever seeing this book, but I can’t.

This was another piece of her life she kept hidden from me.

Turning the pages, I search for the last entry I read, and my heart sinks. “There are only two more entries,” I tell him softly. “Then she stopped writing.”

“What?” He pauses what he’s doing, staring at me. “Are you sure?”

I flip through the back of the journal so he can see what I can. Most of the pages here are still blank. Without saying another word, I start reading, stopping only when I’ve finished the first entry.

“She sent us away to protect us,” I whisper, clutching my heart. Tears brim my eyes.

“Read it to me,” Cole says, unscrewing the back of the camera.

I clear my throat and begin reading Vera’s words aloud, choking up several times and having to stop to compose myself. When I’m done rereading the entry, I look up at him. “She sent me away to protect me. It was never because she…” I can’t finish the sentence, though I do in my mind.

Because she didn’t love me.

Because she didn’t want me.

Because she wished I’d never moved in.

Because she finally didn’t have to pretend anymore.

He nods, seeming to understand without the words, but he doesn’t push me to fill in any more. “What’s the last entry say?”

“Right. Here we go.” I turn the page and begin to read.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

VERA BITTER

I’m back again. I know, I know, it’s been a while. Six years, give or take. Sue me. I’ve been busy. It’s strange how much time I don’t seem to have anymore. After Harold died, it felt like the days were endless, like I could sleep for hours or weeks and mere minutes had passed.

Now, it seems I wake up and then, before I know it, it’s dinner time and the day is ending. Having a child in the house again will do that to you, I suppose. Well, two children, really.

Edna and I are on our toes with those two, though Bridget is a good child. I don’t worry about her as much as I worry about Cole. He’s got young women parading through here all the time, but he doesn’t fool me a bit. I’ve seen the way he looks at Bridget. There’s something there, even if they don’t see it yet. And god knows, I’ll be grateful if they don’t see it until they’re much, much older.

He’s a good boy, though. Protective. He’s saved me twice. I never thought I’d rely on a man again, but I have to admit, I’ll be sad when he’s gone. When they both are.

I don’t want to think about that just yet, so I’ll think about something happier. The nights he saved me.

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