Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Erotic reasons.
Closing her lids, she remembered the first time Daniel had kissed her in the kitchen of her little rented house. She could picture him so clearly, leaning into her, their mouths meeting for that electric moment, the contact soft and explosive.
She had known then, deep inside, that he was going to change her life. And she’d been right. It had just not been in the ways she’d expected at the start.
Standing naked over their bed of chaos, she thought back to the way they’d spent the night together. The black satin sheets were in disarray because he’d been sick twice, both of them scrambling for the bathroom each time, him because he was worried he wouldn’t make it, her because she was worried that it was so much more than vomiting.
He’d always had side effects that were worse than the cancer, the symptoms draining and distressing, the unknowns and complications slipping underneath the umbrella of doom to rain on their heads. It was a constant scramble, and so of course their relationship had become all about his health. They were always on the front lines of his body and what was going on inside of it, always monitoring and assessing every twinge and each grand mal issue—and then, on top of that, were all the protocols, the scans, the plans. The failures.
Dear God, always the failures.
Turning away, she went to the pile of clothes that she’d taken off before she’d left. She’d folded them carefully, even though they weren’t worth much, because establishing even a small amount of order seemed important. The layers went back on sequentially: underwear, socks, pants, shirt, sweater, down-filled vest. That last one was probably unnecessary. She had no idea where she thought she was going.
The next thing she knew, she was making the bed as if she expected some agent from the Federal Bureau of Mattress Control to assess the effort and decide if she should be put in jail for felonious sheeting. When everything was smoothed and tucked, and the pillows back at the headboard, and the extra duvet folded at the foot, she stepped away and double-checked that things were even on both sides.
Then she marched into the en suite loo, got her Clorox wipes container out from under the sink, and began yanking the damp white sheets out of the top. As she returned to the bedroom proper, the fresh linen scent blooming in the overheated, stuffy space was fresh air’s poor relation, but it was better than nothing. With Daniel’s neuropathy, he was always cold, so they’d been running the furnace in this part of the house since before Labor Day—something she didn’t like, but was more than willing to put up with for his comfort.
But the fragrance wasn’t the point. She had to disinfect surfaces that were not infected.
Because… reasons.
Moving throughout the black-and-white room, Lydia wiped everything down, from the lacquered chests of drawers, bed stands, and seating area, to the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, to the framed mirror and the jambs around the doors. She left the oil paintings alone, the abstracts that matched the black paneling covered with glass that she was worried the wipes would leave a fog on. And anything that had fabric she also gave a pass to.
After all the effort… she felt little satisfaction and needed something else to do.
Closet. Walk-in closet.
Even if her wipes were fairly useless, surely there had to be something to fold in there. Put in a drawer. Hang up, stuff in the laundry bag, line up shoe-to-shoe.
Emerging into the windowless enclave, she ran out of steam as the motion-activated lights came on. At a good thirty-by-fifteen feet, the closet seemed as big as the house she’d rented in Walters, and the space was kitted out with custom-made black-lacquered cubbies, bureaus, and compartments. There was also a section of shelves to put shoes on, and a center built-in with enough drawers to stash a dozen wardrobes the size of Lydia’s. Overhead, a pair of rock crystal chandeliers provided glowing illumination, and under her feet, the black carpet was plush as a mattress—
And there it was.
All the way in the back, tucked in as if it were a dirty little secret, her single suitcase was a narrow, bright blue panel that reminded her she was a guest in this massive mansion—and that her stay was going to terminate when Daniel… terminated.
“So are you going to put that luggage to use?”
At the sound of his voice, she closed her eyes. And before she could think of anything to say, or even turn around, his harsh breathing registered. Pivoting, she looked at him in alarm. His knit hat was off-kilter, his face bright red, his mouth open, the wheezing so pronounced that she snapped into nurse mode, even though she wasn’t one.