by Davis, L. G.
In the middle of the path that separates the two buildings, she stops for a few seconds before changing her mind. I panic as I watch her change directions, moving toward the shed. What will she think when she sees what her husband is hiding?
Stop panicking. Maybe she’s going to the studio.
No such luck.
It’s not long before the light in the shed is switched on, some of it spilling through the open door, illuminating the boxwood hedges and flowers outside.
About a minute later, she’s out. The light is switched off again, so I can’t make out whether she’s holding anything.
I expect her to come to me again with more questions, but she goes to the house. I wait until the front door closes before stepping away from the window.
My hands are shaking, and my throat feels like it’s closing up.
Inside my room, I sit on the bed with Marigold at my feet, my phone in my hand. I need to talk to someone about what happened tonight, but if I call Sydney, I’ll have to do too much explaining before I get to the point. Clayton, on the other hand, already knows most of what has been going on.
I close my bedroom door and unlock my phone to read the text he had sent me.
Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Lillian told me you stopped by at Latte. Call me when you can.
I do just that.
“Just the person I was thinking about,” he says when he picks up. “How are you?”
“I’m not sure. Something happened a while ago.”
“Something good?” he asks. “Tell me everything. I’ve been hearing about Barbies and glitter all day. I’m ready for an adult conversation.”
“I have to disappoint you. There’s nothing good about what I have to say.”
“Grace, what happened?” Worry is dripping from his voice now.
“When I got home, I saw Travis entering the garden shed with an envelope. Before he went inside, he kept looking around, like he was looking to see if someone was watching. When he came out, he didn’t have it.”
“Let me guess,” he says. “You went to investigate.”
I pluck one of Marigold’s pieces of fur from the bed sheet. “Yes, I went to the shed. I found the envelope hidden under the floorboards.”
“What was inside?”
I close my eyes. “Some newspaper articles and photos. One of the articles was about Daisy Lane’s hit-and-run accident.”
“Why would Travis want to keep an article about her?”
“Not only her. The other two articles were about two other dead women. Both from Florida. One from Tallahassee and the other from Corlake.”
“The murdered women?”
“Yes. I don’t get why Travis would keep the articles. People read papers and toss them. They don’t keep them unless they’re important in some way.”
“You’re right about that. Sounds to me like something he doesn’t want his wife to know about. Why else would he feel the need to hide them?”
The baby kicks and I stroke my stomach. “There’s something else. He also had photos of me.”
“What do you mean he had photos of you?”
“We did a photo shoot a while ago. Marcia and Travis wanted to have memories of the pregnancy.”
“I have to be honest. That kind of creeps me out.” If he knew about the other photos, he’d be even more creeped out and might worry about me.
“I agreed to it. I understood why they wanted photos. They could show the child.”
“I guess, but wouldn’t that make Marcia uncomfortable? She would be showing a kid a photo of another woman.”
“That’s the thing. My face was supposed to stay out of the shots. I only agreed to have my stomach taken.”
“Right.” Clayton says the word slowly. He still doesn’t get it.
“Travis asked me to smile, though. He said it would make me feel more comfortable. I never thought—”
“Are you telling me that he included your face?”
“He did,” I say.
“You need to speak to him or Marcia about that. It’s not right.”
“Marcia might already know. She saw me going to the shed. I found her waiting at the guesthouse. I told her I went out for a walk and found the door to the shed open.”
“And you think she believed you?”
“Nope. After she left, she went straight there. I’m pretty sure she saw the photos and articles. I didn’t get a chance to put the envelope back in its hiding place.”
“You should have taken the photos. They’re yours, and Travis didn’t stick to the agreement.”
Marigold hops onto my lap and I hold her close. “I’m more concerned about the articles, especially Daisy Lane’s. Oh, my God.” My hand freezes on the cat’s body. “Do you think—” I shake my head. I’m not going down that route.
“You think he had an affair with her?” Clayton says, reading my mind.
“I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe Cora doesn’t actually despise the Thorpes. What if it’s just Travis? What if he broke her daughter’s heart?”
“Now that you say that, I did hear rumors about him having cheated on his wife. I thought they were lies, so I ignored them.”
“That’s it. He must have had an affair with her. It all makes sense. Maybe Marcia found out and fired her.”
“What if he wasn’t over her and was devastated by her death? That would explain him wanting to hold on to the article.”
Mixed thoughts and feelings surge through me. Knowing Travis might have cheated on Marcia saddens me. “But what about the other women?” I ask. “What’s he doing with their articles?”
I sense that there’s so much more going on below the surface, like I’ve stumbled upon a volcano that’s about to explode.
“I have no idea,” Clayton says. “But I do know that it’s not good for you to become entangled in whatever mess they have going on in that house, not in your condition. I think you should get out of there.”
“And go where?” Spending money on a hotel room would be a bad idea. I need to hold on to every cent I have left.
“The offer still stands. Come stay with us. We have a spare room.”
I gasp, stunned that he meant what he said that day. “I can’t believe you’re inviting me to stay with you.”
“With me and your other two biggest fans.”
“But the baby is arriving any day now. I don’t know if moving out now is a good idea.”
“That won’t be a problem. If the baby decides to come later tonight, tomorrow, or the day after, I’ll drive you to the hospital. The Thorpes can meet you there. It’s not as if you’re going out of town. If you don’t want to stay here, that’s fine too. I just want you out of there.”
He’s right. Even my instinct is telling me to leave. But how will I tell Marcia and Travis? How will they react? I could wait and leave in the morning, but Marcia was awake a few minutes ago. I doubt she’s already asleep. It might be best to bite the bullet and leave tonight.
“I could pick you up, if you like,” Clayton continues. “You only need to say the word.”
“No. I don’t want you coming to my rescue again in the middle of the night. I’ll call a cab.” I look at my watch. It’s not midnight yet.
A sound outside the room stops me from saying more. Marigold must have heard it too because she turns her head to the door, ears perked.
“Clayton, hang on. I think someone is in the house.” I get to my feet, my legs shaking.
“Do you think it’s Travis?” The note of worry in his tone is clear on the line.
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you back.” I toss the phone onto the bed and approach the door, locking it in case it’s an outside intruder.
“Grace, it’s me,” Marcia calls. “Can we talk?”
Relief gushes out of me and I leave the room.
I find her sitting on the living room couch, her face puce.
“Marcia, are you all right?” I ask nervously.
“You tell me
.” She stands up and paces the room. Her hands form fists. “Tell me if I should be fine or not.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I perch on the arm of the couch.
“I think you do. I’m not stupid, Grace. You were acting weird when I came over earlier, and you couldn’t give me a real answer about what you were doing in our garden shed in the middle of the night. And what were you thinking, wandering around in the dark? You know it’s a dangerous world out there, especially for women.”
I raise a hand to stop her. “I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.” My hand drops into my lap. “Actually, I think it’s time for me to move out.”
Her head snaps back. “Oh.” She grabs the belt of her cardigan and wraps it around her hand. Then she looks up with a smile. “Why would you want to do that, Grace?”
“Because I need my space.”
“But my mother isn’t here anymore. I sent her away so you can have your space. Why would you want to leave?” Her voice is loaded and deeper than I’m used to.
Does she even hear the words coming out of her mouth? For the second time tonight, she entered the guesthouse without my permission.
“You and Travis are going through a lot right now. You know, after Beatrice’s death… and everything. I think you also need to be alone to process what happened. I’ll go stay with a friend, and when the baby is on the way, I’ll call you.”
“Wow. That sounds simple. How could I say no to that?” Her words drip with sarcasm.
“Yes, it is that simple. I’ve made a decision. I really think it would be good for all of us.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want, we have to respect your decision.” She’s saying the words, but her tone doesn’t match. It’s a touch too cool.
“Thanks for understanding,” I say.
“Sure. But before you go, I might as well show you the painting I did for the nursery. You won’t see it if you’re gone.” She tugs tighter at the belt. “I noticed you watching the studio from time to time. You must be curious about my work. Travis can’t wait to see the painting either.”
I don’t want to see the stupid painting. I want to get out of this house. But if that’s what it will take to make her feel better about me leaving, it’s a small price to pay.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
“Great.” She lets go of the belt and I notice the pink mark it left on the back of her left hand. “Travis is still awake. I’ll get him. I want to show it to both of you at the same time.”
She leaves the guesthouse and returns five minutes later with a sleepy-looking Travis in tow. His tense expression tells me he was forced to come out.
On our way to the shed, Marcia grins at Travis over her shoulder. “Darling, you left the shed open earlier. Grace went to close it.”
Travis stops walking and looks back at me.
“Come on, silly,” Marcia says, taking his arm. “What are you stopping for? The surprise is waiting.”
He starts walking again, but his back is rigid.
In front of the studio door, Marcia pushes the key into the lock and ushers us into the dark room, where the smell of paint and turpentine meets us.
Travis doesn’t really enter. Instead, he stays in the doorway.
“Ready?” Marcia asks.
“Yes,” I mutter. I can still feel Travis’s gaze on me. Is he wondering if I found his stash?
“Surprise,” Marcia says, flicking on the lights, both inside and the ones mounted on the wall outside the structure.
My eyes land on the large painting covering one wall.
I choke back a scream, my hand clamped to my mouth.
Thirty-Two
A deep, strangled cry comes from behind me and I turn. Travis is backing out of the studio, his eyes wide with horror.
I try to force my feet to move, to get me out of this place. They refuse. My hand is still covering my mouth, holding back the bile at the back of my throat that threatens to spill out.
“I knew you’d both like it,” Marcia says behind me, her voice dripping with pride. “It’s something, isn’t it? I have to say it’s probably my best work to date.”
My hand falls to my side. I part my lips to speak, but I have no words.
“Grace, say something.” Marcia comes to stand next to me. “Travis, what do you think?”
She lied. It’s not for the nursery. It’s painted straight on the wall.
I don’t respond to her comment or the gagging sound Travis is making behind me. My watery eyes are still transfixed on the painting, the big surprise.
From a craft perspective, it’s a true masterpiece, well-executed and so captivating I can’t look away. The strokes, lines, and vibrant colors breathe so much life into it that the line between it and reality blurs into nothingness.
I knew Marcia is a talented artist. I saw her pieces of art displayed on the walls in the main house. Internet searches also led me to more art she has created and sold for top dollar. I just never thought she was capable of creating something so grotesque and disturbing.
A pregnant woman in white is lying in a pink satin-lined casket with a bullet hole in her chest, a naked baby curled up next to her. Both their eyes are closed.
The most disturbing thing of all is that the woman is me. She has captured my features to perfection.
“What is this?” I manage to croak, my arm around my abdomen.
Marcia approaches the painting. “It’s you and the baby, of course.” Her finger traces the lines of the baby’s face before touching every drop of blood on the white dress of the woman.
“What are you doing, Marcia?” Travis finds his voice as well, but he doesn’t reenter the studio. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, no, you don’t like it?” Marcia turns to face him. “That hurts my feelings, Travis. I put so much sweat and blood into this piece of artwork.”
“What has gotten into you? How could you create something so… so abhorrent?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is honest.” She faces her art again. I shift a few steps away from her. “This painting is a prediction of the future.” She turns to look from me to Travis, eyes glinting with excitement.
“What the hell are you talking about, Marcia?” Travis shouts.
“Sweetheart,” Marcia says. “I know you’re not ready for this. I wasn’t either. I didn’t plan for the reveal to happen tonight, but there are things in life we can’t plan. Since we’re here now, we might as well lay the cards on the table.”
She reaches into one large pocket of her cardigan. Her hand comes out holding a bunch of glossy photos. They’re the photos of me from the shed.
She studies the first photo for a while, then looks back at her husband.
Travis has gone pale and his hands are buried in his armpits. “Marcia, it’s not—”
“Not what I think?” She nails Travis with a look. “Tell me, what exactly should I be thinking right now?”
What’s happening? Who are these people? I don’t recognize either of them.
“I’m confused, Travis,” Marcia continues in an eerily calm voice. “I thought we agreed that Grace’s face was not going to be photographed.”
“Yes, but…” Travis’s voice drifts off, then he clears his throat. “I thought it would be nice to have the complete picture.”
“Don’t you dare lie to me!” She tosses the photos to the floor, where they fan out. “The truth is, you wanted to see her face for the rest of your life. You wanted to look at your child and see the mother who gave birth to it.”
“I’m not… I’m not the baby’s mother, Marcia. You are.”
Even as I say the words, I know there’s no way I’m giving the child I’m carrying to these people. As soon as I saw the painting, I made my decision. The moment I step out of Marcia’s horror studio, I’m leaving for good.
My comment is met with laughter. “Grace, I never planned on being the mother of that child. That’s why I d
idn’t push for a pre-birth order of parentage.” Her face hardens again, and she jabs a finger in the direction of my belly. Then she stops talking and studies my face. “Poor, Grace. You must be so confused. I guess I should fill you in on a few little truths.”
“Don’t do this,” Travis begs, but she ignores him.
“It was Travis’s idea to get a surrogate. I couldn’t give him the child he so desperately wanted, so he decided that another woman should do it.”
“I…” Travis starts but doesn’t finish. His words transform into sobs. “I did it for you. You were suicidal, Marcia. I wanted to give you a baby, and you didn’t want to adopt.”
“I went along with it,” Marcia continues as if he hasn’t said anything. “Oops, I forgot to tell you something important. I had a perfectly healthy pregnancy once. It was shortly after Travis and I met. But Travis didn’t want the child. Apparently, he was at the height of his career and didn’t want to be distracted.”
“That’s not what I said. I said—”
“You told me to get rid of it. You said we’d have more kids.” Marcia is speaking to him, but her eyes are still on me. “I believed him. I was so naïve and in love that I did what he asked. I killed my baby.” Her voice is thick with tears now and that triggers the tears in my own eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say because that’s what she wants to hear. What I want is to get away from her, from both of them. But I sense she has so much more to say and a part of me is desperate to hear it, to try to understand where the hate came from that drove her to create this horrible painting.
“Two years later, we got married, and he immediately wanted to try for a baby. You know why, Grace? Because according to our prenuptial agreement, in the event we got divorced, Travis would get a substantial amount of money—but only if we shared a child. It didn’t matter whether that child was biologically ours or not. See, I never expected us to get divorced. At the time, I thought my husband loved me, not just my money.” She pauses. “By the way, he only found out about my family’s fortune after he asked me to marry him.” She turns to Travis. “Darling, if you had known before then, would you still have asked me to kill our child?”