by Saks, Tessa
“What? No. Oh, Jonathan—”
“Damndest thing, I was getting my check-up and my chest tightened, then my arm went all prickly, just as if it was asleep, only worse. Doc said I was having a mild heart attack.”
“Oh darling, are you all right? I’ll be right over. What hospital?”
“I’m fine, now. Bit of a scare, though. I’m weak mostly. They gave me some nitro—want to monitor me for a few weeks. I have to take it easy—nothing strenuous—including you!” Ellen giggled, an unexpected girlish laugh. “I want to see you anyway,” he said softly. “Come to the house, I’m on my way there now. No excitement, remember? Just take a Yellow cab to 15 Woodland Boulevard, use the Horvath Industries account number 90666. There is something important we need to discuss when you get here.”
Ellen felt her stomach drop, leaving her nauseous. He wouldn’t end things now, would he? She scolded herself for thinking the thought and put her diaphragm in her bag, just in case.
As she sat waiting for the nausea to pass, she tried to imagine what she would do if he died. What would happen? Nothing would happen, that’s what. She’d be still broke and alone. She needed money. And he was by far the best bet. Could she get onto his will?
She laughed and realized this was exactly how Sam must have felt.
CHAPTER 29
The cab pulled up and Ellen got inside, giving the driver directions to her home. Home! It had been five months since she had been home. She tried to imagine how it had changed. In spite of Sam’s redecorating, it would be good to be home. She had missed her home more than she ever imagined, missed the comfort of having her own home, free from the noise and irritation caused by others, of having a patio and yard, trees and flowers and the ability to walk outside, to be part of nature. And the space—how she missed having space around her. Of course, she also missed the beautiful furniture and her luxurious décor.
As the cab exited the expressway, the scenery became more familiar with every turn. The boutiques on the corner were the same. The huge oaks and maples lining the streets were still beautiful, and all her neighbors’ homes still stately and unchanged. A warm feeling swept through her as she recounted endless trips down this road, twenty years’ worth of memories.
The cab pulled up to the gates and Ellen asked the driver to stop and speak into the speaker, requesting entrance. She stared at the stone columns and heavy ornate wrought-iron gates, giving thanks that everything looked the same. The heavy gate opened and her heart raced as she directed the driver to pull onto the driveway and drive as slow as possible, allowing her to take in every detail of her yard. As the car crept along the winding drive, Ellen stared at the garish sheets of copper and steel, hideous monstrous sculptures that littered the lawn. Rusted and decaying shards of metal aggressively contrasted the ornamental trim on her regency house. These unwelcome intruders stood guard, a vigilant metal army against the helpless captive home.
As they drove further up the drive, it was apparent that the hedges hadn’t been pruned in months. Weeds covered the lawn and her bougainvillea looked sparse and sickly. In all the pots, shriveled leaves whispered the despair they had endured as they clung to their last shreds of life. Neglect. Everywhere neglect. Where was Raoul? Manuel? How could Jonathan let this happen?
Ellen signed the receipt and stood for a few minutes, surveying the wreckage all around her. “Sorry,” she said aloud as she answered their cries of abandonment. Her eyes suddenly registered on the purple front door. Bright purple.
As she drew closer, the shiny lacquered surface greeted her. Where were the original hundred-year-old regency doors, imported from France? She shuddered as she imagined their horrific fate. Ellen stood on the landing and rang the bell, overcome with a wave of nausea.
“Carlos!” Ellen cried out. He didn’t respond. “Oh Carlos, it’s good to see you.” Ellen grabbed his hand. As she smiled at him, she realized the vacant look in his eyes, the blush of red across his cheeks. She let go of his hand. “I’m Samantha Miller, Jonathan’s expecting me.”
“Of course, Ms. Miller. Come in,” he said in the clipped tone he used for people he didn’t like. He stepped back and ushered her inside.
Ellen stepped through the doorway and froze. Any hope she held that her doors were safe and installed elsewhere was instantly shattered as she took in the updated interior surrounding her. Garish colored walls clashed with gaudy patterned furniture. Her stomach buckled.
“Mr. Horvath is upstairs. I will take you to him.”
Ellen smiled and removed her coat, handing it to Carlos. “I know the way. Thank you.”
Ellen surveyed the additional casualties. The front giltwood console table, a Louis XVI piece, one of three ever made, replaced with a clear yellow Lucite Parson’s table. Ellen hated Parson’s tables as much as she hated modern sculpture. The pair of Empire parcel-gilt chairs, bought at auction in London, from the estate sale of Lord Grey IV and his lover, rumored to be from Napoleon’s private study—gone.
She walked toward the parlor entrance. Her late seventeenth century framed silk and metal-thread embroidered panels, replaced by a very large and quite hideous drippy splattered canvas. The Empire mahogany regulateur clock, its grand pendulum signed LS Tavernier, 1808. Gone. Her pastel, silk Louis XV Aubusson carpet—whose soft tones perfectly accented the cream silk drapes and gold furniture—all of it, gone.
Ellen took a deep breath to cool the fire in her blood. All her beautiful treasures, replaced with hideous modern rubbish. Jonathan would never have allowed these priceless and irreplaceable pieces to go—they must be somewhere. He knew how many years it took to find them, all the money and research required to obtain such valuable and highly collectable pieces. He stored them to protect them from Samantha’s destructive decorating addiction. Yes, they were stored. They were safe. They had to be.
She looked up, then slowly ascended the once-familiar staircase. As her hand slid along the new chrome railing, her heart longed for the feel of mahogany and the patina of eighty years of hands, big and small, wearing away the wood as they slid up and down its top rail. The original railing, an eternal piece of beauty and grace, now replaced by harsh metal, with its wires and bolts—an insignificant, worthless piece of junk. How could anyone compare them? One was timeless—a legacy, full of history and character that improved with age, the other—loud, obnoxious and completely replaceable. Doesn’t that idiot know wood like that doesn’t exist anymore? That once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. She shook her head as her hand slid further along the metal impostor.
Along the stairs, all the family portraits had conveniently vanished as well, replaced with very large, chrome frames filled with black and white photos. What exactly are they photos of? She stopped and leaned closer. Back alleys, and tattoos … skin and …is this a …? Ellen turned away, unable to enjoy the offensive art that callously replaced her children’s smiling faces.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway appeared the same. She was about to peek into her bedroom when she heard Jonathan coughing. “Sam, in here,” his voice called out.
Ellen let go of the doorknob to her bedroom and walked toward his bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she let out a big sigh of relief—every piece, still in the same location as before. Every beautiful treasure, still as it was when she left, or rather, disappeared.
She walked over to him and held his hand. “How are you?” she asked, kissing his cheek.
“Fine, just fine.”
Ellen pulled up the Empire parcel-gilt chair, running her hand against the silk damask and engraved edges. “I’m surprised you kept your room the same.”
“Hmm … yes. Ellen went mad redecorating the house—I didn’t want to stop her, as the good doctor said it was excellent therapy. But I couldn’t let her change this room, not after I saw what she did with the rest of it.”
“Where are all the antiques? In storage?”
“Gone.”
Ellen choked on his word. “Gone! Not all of them?”
Ellen’s heart seized as she tried to grasp the reality of his words. Impossible! It hurt just to think about what that depraved woman had done.
“All of them, every last one—except these …” His hand circled the room.
“She couldn’t—they’re irreplaceable. They took years to find—you can’t just replace them like that.” Ellen’s chest tightened. She closed her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to calm herself. That stupid, stupid girl. Her heart raced faster. “What on earth was she thinking?”
Jonathan shook his head. “I know—I paid for the damn things. I know very well what I paid to get them and what I paid to have them hauled away—then I paid for the bloody replacements.”
“They’re atrocious.”
Jonathan laughed. “They are, aren’t they?”
“But how could she?”
“There are a lot of things about Ellen I don’t understand. I never knew what made her tick before, but now—now, God help her.”
“What do you mean you never knew what made her tick?”
“Everything. All this stuff—the house, the furniture, the yard—it all mattered so damn much to her. Hell, she cared more about what the house looked like than what it felt like to live in it. It was a bloody museum—cold, uncomfortable, uninhabitable.”
Ellen let go of his hand. “You don’t mean that, it was our—your home.”
“Home is people, she never got that. Home is what you do inside a house.”
Ellen sat back and resisted her strong urge to hit him. “All those years, she made it a home,” Ellen said. “She tried. I bet she tried to make it wonderful for everyone.”
“Yes, she tried all right. She wanted it to be perfect. At first it was fun—buying this house, our dream house.”
Ellen smiled at the memories brought back to life, the day they found it and Jonathan surprising her when he bought it right away.
“I had a lot of dreams with this house,” he said with a smile.
Me too, Ellen thought, fondly revisiting those dreams.
“Then, I don’t remember when exactly, it happened.”
“What happened?” Ellen said, wincing.
“Little by little, room by room … she decorated. She planned. She perfected everything until she squeezed all the life out of this house—all the fun—all the memories.”
“Well, Sa—Ellen has certainly undone whatever memories were left.”
“Yes, but I didn’t care. I also wanted to erase them. I was actually glad she changed things—”
“Glad?—to look like this? This horror—are you mad?”
“Sweetie, why does it bother you so much?” he said, reaching over and stroking her cheek. “You can redo it, you know.”
“Redo your house? I hardly think she’d approve.”
“She won’t have to.” A smile spread across Jonathan’s face. “I’m leaving her, I’ve decided once and for all. I’ll tell her just as soon as I can get out of bed to see her. I’ve already told the kids.”
“I’m shocked, happy, but—”
“But nothing. I love you. I want to be with you. I hate this house. I hate my life here. I want to start fresh. We could buy our own house—you can decorate it however you want.”
“I … oh, Jonathan.” Ellen leaned over and kissed him. “What about Ellen? What will happen to her? I thought—”
“Poor Ellen. She’s not going anywhere. She’s had a couple of breakdowns at the hospital. Dr. Sutton thinks she’s extremely far gone. She needs to accept this—us. I see that now. I’ve kept her from moving past everything with my fear that she would try to kill herself again. They will help her now—and I want us to move forward. This heart attack scared me and reminded me of what is important. My life may not be long, but I want it to be happy. I want to be with you.”
He kissed her hand. “I don’t love her, so why pretend? I feel bad for her, but that’s not a reason to stay. She needs help and I’ll help her, but I won’t play the loving husband anymore.”
Ellen kissed him again. “How will she react when she hears this?”
“She’ll fall apart. She’s already so far gone—no longer herself. I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve been understanding, but the fact is …” He pulled her hands next to his heart. “I’m happy.” He kissed her hands again. “You make me so happy.”
“Jonathan, you mean more to me than I ever realized.”
“I do, do I?” he said with a sly twist in his smile. “Why don’t you show me?”
Ellen sat back. “Show you? Here? But the doctor said—”
“Come on,” he said. “A little taste. I’ve missed you so much.”
She sat motionless, about to protest. Ellen stood and closed the door. This was part of the package—do what Sam would do. She walked over and lifted the sheet, unsure why she felt cheated—this was, after all, everything she had desperately wanted.
***
Sam stared at the large clock on the wall. It seemed frozen. Time was never moving forward. Minutes seemed like hours, hours were days, and days seemed eternal. One whole week of entire misery. How did all this happen? How did she end up trapped in this wretched place? And her, of all people. She was smart. She walked right into this trap, in fact, created the stupid thing, and now had only herself to blame.
To make matters worse, she felt sick, not just, ‘I hate my life’ sick, but nauseous and weak. She tried telling the nurses but they seemed more interested in medicating her into oblivion than helping her. Their first reaction to anything was “Here, take this pill.” It was probably all the damn pills that were making her sick in the first place. Sam lay back and stared at the ceiling. What could she do? She tried the letters and failed. What about escape? She ran through the entire scenario, right up to the point where she gets caught and locked up on a higher security floor. No, that would only guarantee she never got out of here, ever.
But she had to do something. Her only hope was to convince Jonathan to let her out. To convince him it was safe now. Sam pulled the sheets closer to her chest and lay on her side. Her heart was heavy, weighed down with sadness and fear. Which was worse? She would take fear over sadness any day. At least in the big house she could have friends over, go shopping, throw parties. She clenched her teeth as another cramp stabbed her fragile stomach.
What had she done? Ruined everything, that’s what. Her fuzzy, incoherent brain struggled as she tried to unravel all that had happened these past months. She wished she would wake up and be back at the big house. She wished she could undo all the mistakes she made, including the big ones with all the society ladies, and be able to try harder to have them like her. She wished Jonathan would love her again and make her feel special and adored, sexy and desirable. She wished she could see Rory again, touch him, hear his laughter, and have him hold her.
She wished. She wished hard. Sam fell asleep wishing for everything and anything, except staying in this hellhole.
***
Sunlight filtered in through the small apartment window as Ellen sat sipping her tea on the sofa. She reflected on the night before, her night with Jonathan. With his confirmation that he was serious about being with her and committed to marrying her, she was finally able to relax.
But when would that be? He still hasn’t actually proposed.
Ellen tried to picture their wedding, the grand cathedral, the ballroom, the guests. A chill flashed through her bones as she thought about her children. They detested Samantha Miller and they would never come to their wedding. Would they ever warm up to Samantha? No. They would never want to see me. And if they did, could she endure their hatred cast toward her? Ellen’s heart crumbled as tried to imagine a life with her children deeply hating her. She missed them far more than she imagined she would. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the phone.
“Sammy?”
Ellen recognized the husky, hoarse voice. It was Mom. “Hello, Mother, how are you?”
“Sick, and in pain, but that’s nothing new,” she crac
kled. “Been that way so long now.”
“I was hoping you were feeling better,” Ellen sighed.
“Nah. Doc says to cut back on the medi’s. I told him that’s the only thing holding me together. You cut that and I’m done. ‘Cept for you, of course. How is he?”
“Who?”
“That rich man of yours, Mr. H?”
“Horvath,” Ellen closed her eyes. Should she say?
“Oh, yah, right. His wife, she’s mad now, huh? Just ask’n, cause I got a phone call. Kinda strange one, it was. Somebody phoned pretending to be you.”
Damn her! Ellen knew exactly who would phone, that sneaky little tramp. “Ellen?”
“Dunno. She tried to be you but I’m no dummy, so I busted her, then she goes on and says she’s afraid for you. I got suspicious, so I hung up.”
“So who was it?”
“Never figured it out. His wife’s Ellen, right?”
Ellen paused, “Yes, why?”
“We should talk. It’s somethin’ important. Seems we need to clear up a few things.”
Ellen waited as Mom’s hacking continued for several minutes. “Is it true what they are saying?” Ellen finally asked.
“What who is saying? The police? Did they ask you anything? You didn’t say nothing, did you?” her mom asked, in between hacking up her lungs.
“What’s going on?”
“Let’s not talk over the phone.”
“Why not? I don’t have time—”
“You best make time, little missy. Things can get real bad, real fast. I won’t say nothing more till we meet.”
“You’re sounding paranoid and crazy.”
“I am crazy,” she laughed. “You know that, all right.”
Ellen shook her head. “Okay, where do you want to meet?”
“Somewhere besides your place—could be bugged.”
“Bugged? What have you done?”
“Let’s meet at Bud’s Tavern. Wednesday okay?”
“Yes, say seven?” Where was this Bud’s? Ellen was about to ask and stopped—better that she figured it out herself.