I stood up, flung the stupid blanket on the floor, and then made my way to the bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, I love palm trees. Real ones, outside, where they belong with their leaves swaying in the wind. Planted, not printed loudly all over some cheap blanket.
I’ll tell you, David has the worst taste in decor. I was beyond thankful when he asked me to help him decorate the place. I could not wait to replace most of the tacky-looking items he had purchased. He blamed his choices on limited selection, but I had no problem finding plain white towels and earth-toned curtains. You just had to look a little harder to find the good stuff. You had to go to more than one store and refuse to settle for less.
While I didn’t remember falling asleep on the futon, I did remember my dream. Similar to the one I had had when I first arrived sans the dead body on the ground. Another dream of being trapped inside a house with no way out. This time, though, it felt so real. It was more vivid. It wasn’t a dingy old shack but a quaint little house painted bright blue. The house sat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by tall, dense trees.
After a quick shower, I changed into some clean clothes and made my way to the kitchen. The smell of coffee wafted in the air and I spied a half pot on the coffee maker. As I reached for a mug, I noticed a piece of paper on the counter. It was folded in half with my name on it scribbled in blue ink. I opened it.
Hello Darling,
I hope you slept well. I missed you in our bed last night. I am out running a few errands and will be home in time for dinner.
Love you lots, David
Tossing the note aside, I filled my mug and padded toward the bedroom.
David’s little note, the folded piece of paper, reminded me of another piece of paper I had found… in the box with the insurance papers. That one, however, was folded into squares. I prayed it was safely tucked away in the place I had stashed it.
I opened the clothes hamper, pulled out my jeans, shoving my hand in the back pocket. Voila! Perfecto! Thank goodness it was still there.
I carefully unfolded the paper, smoothing out the lines. After taking a sip of coffee, I placed the mug back on the nightstand and sat up in bed to reread it.
D,
I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. All we ever do is argue and fight. Your promises, one after another, all broken and never kept. Why make a commitment you never intended to keep?
You built this house to be our oasis. You said it would be our safe haven. But it didn’t turn out that way. Instead, it turned into a nightmare… a living hell.
Everything you brought into this house perished—flowers, plants, even my poor little fish. I swear it’s the reason you brought me here. To trap me, to watch me shrivel up and fade away. To watch me suffer… to watch me die.
But know this.
I am not her. I never will be.
Therefore, it’s time for me to leave.
I tried to make it work. I thought you would change. I actually thought I could change you. But who was I kidding? The only person being fooled was me.
When we first met, I was blinded. I had fallen madly in love… crazy, head-over-heels in love. I gave you my heart, but you tore it to pieces and stomped all over it.
“Trust me,” you said. “You'll have to learn to trust me.”
That’s the thing about trust — it takes years to build and mere seconds to shatter.
You don't hurt the ones you love. You don't keep deep, dark secrets.
I’m sorry it has to end this way, but I’ve made my decision. Today is the day, the beginning of the end. My beginning and your end.
Today is the day I will be bound to you no more.
G
My hands shook slightly but not quite as bad as when I first read the letter. I’d had time to process things, to put two and two together. It was that moment when I knew. G was his ex-wife. And the box buried in the garden had something to do with her.
Was it a memory box? A collection of keepsakes? Or was it something else, something more sinister? Maybe he tried to stop her from leaving? Maybe something happened? Maybe he hurt her?
As my mind searched for answers, I couldn’t help wonder. I wondered if she had been burnt and buried inside that box.
28
David
I pick up Val’s phone and scroll through her contact list. A handful of names, mostly female, pass under my fingers, but I’m only looking for one. Ahh, there she is. I stop to study the number below her name. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I tap out the number and place it to my ear. She picks up on the third ring.
“Hello,” she answers in a breathy tone.
“Hey, Cindy, it’s David,” I say, nonchalantly, not wanting to raise concern.
“David? David who?” she snips.
“Val’s David, I am calling about Val.”
“What’s wrong? What happened? Is she okay?” She rapid-fires questions at me.
“Yes, she’s okay. Listen, I’m a little concerned about a few things and wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“What exactly are you concerned about?” she snaps. I picture her placing a hand on her hip.
“Well, she hasn’t been herself lately,” I rub the back of my neck, pausing for a second. “She seems sort of anxious and depressed.”
“That doesn’t sound like my Val,” Cindy emphasizes the word ‘my.’
“Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m projecting. I thought by now she’d be relaxed
