Page 15 of The Liar I Married
NOW
I’ve read and reread the same paragraph in the romance novel for the last hour or so. I keep nodding off and come awake suddenly. The day has exhausted me but my mind is working well. Lying back in the pillows, I close my eyes but they snap open at the sound of giggling. I roll over and stare at the rose garden. The endless beds move slightly in the breeze and send delightful aromas through the open window. I blink as two identical girls run along the pathway and, behind them, I see the smiling face of my mother. Her arms are filled with roses. I push up, gaping at the window. I must make her hear me. “Mom, girls.”
I struggle from the bed and grab my walker and then move so slowly across the floor. My mother and the girls have moved out of sight. I scream her name from the top of my voice. “Mom.”
Nothing.
I’m desperate now and fling myself at the open window. “Emily, Olivia.” Tears stream down my cheeks. I recall some words that alert people more than others. “Help! Fire!”
“What on earth is happening in here?” Dolly comes running into the room. “What’s on fire?”
I turn to look at her. “My mother and twins are in the garden. I need to see them.”
“That’s impossible, I only spoke to your mother recently and told her the restrictions of your visitors at this time.” Dolly grips me by the arm and leads me back to the bed.
I dig in my heels. “I saw them outside in the rose garden. Please go outside and check. Perhaps she came by with my girls to see me after all?”
“I will if you get back into bed.” Dolly opens a drawer and takes out a prepared needle.
I don’t have time to object as she jabs me in the thigh. Seconds later the room moves in and out of focus. I try to fight the drug but it’s useless.
Darkness envelops me, thick and suffocating. It’s as if a thick curtain is drawn across my mind and I can’t reach out and push it back. The drug clings like a heavy fog to my thoughts blurring reality into dreams.
I open my eyes. How long have I been asleep? Darkness presses against the windows and the house is silent. I blink rapidly, struggling to piece together what had happened. Did I really hear my children’s laughter and catch a glimpse of their faces or had I been dreaming? I can still see them so clearly in my mind’s eye and the way their long blonde hair bounced across their shoulders. The giggles were as familiar as breathing. Were they really here?
A sound pulls me from the murky haze. The persistent ringing of a phone is coming from the direction of the office. The phone in that room doesn’t work. I try to rise but my limbs are sluggish. It’s as if each one is carrying a great weight. I fight with all my strength to sit up and throw my legs over the edge of the bed. By the time I grasp my walker, my breath is ragged and mybody slick with sweat. I move on trembling legs, the ringing a beacon in the distance. Panic grips me, and I push my shaking legs harder. Imustanswer the phone. It’s my one chance to reach the outside world. Each step is an agonizing effort but finally I stumble through the shadowed room and head for the desk. The receiver is slippery against my soaking palms. “Hello?”
The phone is dead.
Shadows close in around me, and my heart pounds as I clutch the receiver. I replace it in the cradle and stare at it, willing it to ring again but the silence is deafening. Questions race through my mind. Was it real? Was anything that happened today real? Am I living in my own alternate reality? What am I going to do? The anonymous warning echoes through my mind.Don’t trust anyone.
I grip the edge of the desk and take a few deep breaths before moving slowly along the passageway and back to my prison. As I struggle to climb back into the bed, the first rays of sunlight break through the gloom, spreading gold across the roses, their petals sparkling with dew. The suffocating silence is broken with the early morning birdsong. It gives me hope as I struggle to stay awake and stay sane. The only one I can trust is myself.
SIXTEEN
6 MONTHS BEFORE THE ACCIDENT
I’ve been spending far too much time searching through the diary. It’s becoming an obsession. The private detective has been evasive. He completely refused to discuss the case with me and share any findings he had given to my grandmother. I offered him a substantial retainer for the information and even showed him the letter but he made it abundantly clear that he would not help me discover the truth. I’ve since placed the investigation into the hands of my own private investigator but my funds are limited until the estate goes through probate. As my grandmother’s concerns have been consuming my waking moments, I’m glad Michael encouraged me to join the art classes. It’s been great to get out of the house and meet new people. I hadn’t realized so many of the residents of our gated community are in my age bracket.
I went one day and now I go three or four times a week to work on my mess-terpiece. I admit it is a mess, although I find the process strangely compelling or perhaps it’s the people and being able to talk about anything other than work and children. The man who works beside me is incredibly creative. The landscape evolving from under his brush needs no instruction from anyone. Me? Well, I’m constantly asking the teacher ifshe will offer me advice on how to do this or that. It will take time but I’m getting the hang of it. The handsome man working beside me is Alex, a published author and working on his next bestseller. He claims to use his time at the art studio as his thinking time. Immersing himself into his art is a creative process that relaxes his mind.
I find him fascinating; not in a physical attraction way, but because he’s so different from anyone else I’ve ever met. His views of the world are simplistic and not dominated by money. Living in a family of stockbrokers my entire life means conversation is about business and it’s refreshing to talk about other things like his trips overseas. I’ve been going to lunch with him after our sessions and it’s totally innocent. I laugh a lot at his antics. He listens to me and remembers everything I’ve told him. It’s like having a second brother. My time at the art studio is giving my life meaning again. I’ve enjoyed myself so much I’ve completely forgotten it’s my birthday. I arrive home and discover a red SUV parked in the driveway with a big blue bow. I climb out of my old GMC and stare at it in disbelief.
The front door is flung open and John steps out. I don’t ever recall him coming home at lunchtime. I smile at him. “What are you doing home? Has the office burned down or something?”
“I wanted to be here when your birthday present arrived. I can’t stay too long.” John comes to my side and slips an arm around my shoulder. “Happy birthday, Jessie.” He hands me a set of keys and then presses a kiss to my cheek.
I’ve never liked the color red and John is aware of this, so I’m a little confused about his choice but not wanting to appear ungrateful I turn and give him a bright smile. “It’s wonderful, thank you.”
“Where have you been all day?” John flicks a gaze over me and his nose wrinkles. “Have you been dumpster diving orsomething? Or do I need to increase your allowance to buy some decent clothes?”
My allowance. Yes, I know it sounds terrible for a wife to have an allowance but it’s something that a husband intent on controlling every cent insists on. It’s not as if we’re short of money; in fact, we’re considered wealthy. It’s just something he has inside him. I recall when we first married, he told me to make every cent count. I had no idea at the time how controlling he would be. I nod, agreeing to his question. “Yes, an increase of my allowance would be good. There are a few things I need extra this month. I’ve been taking art classes. It helps pass the time when you’re working and I get to speak to other people rather than sit at home alone all the time.”
“You have friends at the tennis club, and it means you get plenty of exercise.” John examines my face. “They’re the sort of people that you need to mix with. I don’t know any of the people at the art class. If you require lessons, you should be getting them from a professional not a local society.”
I move the car keys from hand to hand. They’re still warm from John’s pocket. “John, it’s just a bit of fun, a break from the monotony of life. You should try it sometime.” I walk toward the vehicle and I’m suddenly nervous. It’s way more powerful than my old one. I open the door and peer inside. It has that new car smell. “Everyone is driving these at the moment, they’re very popular.”
“I’m glad you like it.” John has a satisfied look on his face. “I need to get back to the office. I’ll see you tonight. Don’t wait up.”
