CHAPTER TWELVE

 

Isabelle

 

“How’s he doing this morning?” May asked as I took a seat at the counter, wrapping my hands around the mug she slid in front of me.

“Pretty good, I think, though his lungs sound a little congested again. I put in a call to his doctor but I’m still waiting for a call back.”

May nodded. “And how’s the other man in your life?”

For a moment my heart clenched as my mind went immediately to Brant.

“He try to bite you again yesterday?”

A laugh bubbled up my throat and May gave me a confused glance. She was talking about Scout Leader, the generally pissed-off stallion I was still training. “No, I think we’re past that.”

“Well good. Onward and upward. He’ll be putty in your hands in no time at all.”

If only men of the human variety were as easy to read. I nodded distractedly, taking a sip of my coffee. I wanted to ask May if she’d heard from Brant but refused to. I was still hurt and angry—confused—about the way he’d left without saying goodbye, the way he’d snuck out like some sort of thief, leaving me two scrawled lines on a piece of printer paper. Belle, I’m sorry for not saying goodbye in person. Something came up. If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.

That was it. That was it? After the night we’d shared together? After I’d bared my heart to him, he couldn’t even be bothered to seek me out and say a proper farewell? He hadn’t even signed his name, and why that made it all the more offensive, I wasn’t sure, but it did.

Still . . . I didn’t regret sharing my tragedy with him. In fact, since I’d done so, my heart had felt . . . lighter. Stronger. And I didn’t regret sharing my body with him either. It’d been, well, truth be told, it’d been glorious. I’d never known sex could be like that.

My husband had rolled over, done his thing, a few pleasure-filled grunts, and then rolled off, all in the span of about three minutes, maybe less. But I hadn’t known to expect more. When I’d met him, the extent of my sexual knowledge had been watching the animals in the field, and they seemed to make it a pretty perfunctory experience too. It was just what sex was, I supposed. And yet, even so, I’d been . . . disappointed each time. I’d lain there in the dark, time after time, listening to him snore, my blood pulsing, a pent-up frustration coiled inside me. No wonder.

Sex with Brant had been an awakening. A revival. Brant’s pleasure had also included mine. Was that normal? Even though I was hurt and angry at Brant, a shiver of remembered pleasure rolled through my body each time I thought of that night in front of the fire. If I never had sex again, that night would see me through to my old age.

Or maybe I’d want more. Now that I knew what it could be like, why not experience it as much as possible? My upbringing had taught me that sex was there strictly to serve a purpose—the begetting of children—but now that I realized how wonderful it could be, I just couldn’t accept that. Certainly a merciful God wouldn’t make something so pleasurable and only mean us to do it every two years or so. Oh, who was I kidding? Even as wonderful as it’d been, I would never be a girl who shared my body with just anyone for the fun of it. No, the truth was, I wanted more of Brant, and that made me angry right to the tips of my hair.

So no, I didn’t regret it. I’d just thought what we’d experienced together warranted more than a scrawled note and a quick getaway.

“Earth to Belle.”

I shook my head, clearing the Brant fog I’d been in. “Sorry, May.” I let out a small laugh. “There’s a lot to do today, and I’m trying to sort through it in my mind before I get started.”

“Why don’t you take the weekend off?” she said. “You’ve been working like a dog these past couple of weeks. I could stay here this weekend in case Harrison needs anything and you take a rest. See if Paige wants to join you for a spa day or something.”

I took the last sip of coffee. “I really don’t need a rest, May. I’m fine. You know I like to stay busy, and Harrison depends on me.”

“Too much,” May mumbled.

“Oh I know,” I said. “It’s true, May, he does, but . . .” My eyes welled with sudden tears. It wouldn’t be forever. He likely wouldn’t be here at all this time next year.

The truth was, he was a persnickety, crotchety, grumpy old fool, but I loved him. I loved him like a father—maybe because I missed my own so much. Harrison Talbot had burrowed his way into my heart like one of those stubborn, cantankerous horses and remained there.

I chatted with May for a few more minutes and then bid her a good day, heading for the office. I fired up the computer and answered a few emails regarding Graystone Hill business. My finger hovered over the mouse, white arrow poised on the tiny x in the corner of the screen when I brought the cursor to the search bar and typed in Brant’s name. I knew it was a bad idea, I knew it, and yet I seemed unable to stop myself. I’d just been thinking about him and he was still tickling the edges of my mind. A quick look at his picture would remind me that he’d gone back to his life being that untouchable businessman with the distant eyes and reserved smile. I’d brush my hands—and clear my brain—of him and feel better.

Instead, my heart plummeted when I saw a new picture at the top of Google images—a picture of him with the same woman he’d been in the other recent pictures with, the pictures I’d looked at before I’d ever met him. Sondra Worthington. Was she also the woman who’d answered his phone when I’d called?

I clicked on the web page and read that he’d been at some sort of celebrity fundraiser. My throat felt clogged and my skin felt prickly as I zeroed in on Brant in a tux, looking . . . completely gorgeous. And Sondra next to him, wearing a gold dress that dipped so low I could almost see her navel. Her arm was looped through Brant’s, her head tilted as she flirted with the camera.

That was his life. His life was not here. Not in an old bourbon distillery on a rainy night. Not with a bedraggled, unworldly woman who would never be the glamor girl he expected on his arm. That was not reality—only a misty dream, part of his past now. Just like me.

I shut down the computer, feeling sad, bereft, but even so, my mission had been accomplished. There was no point in pining for Brant Talbot. He was clearly not pining for me.

Had he taken her home and made love to her after the fundraiser? Had he dragged his tongue down her stomach like—

“Stop it, Isabelle,” I hissed softly to myself. A sudden knock at the front door jolted me from my masochistic thoughts, and I stood quickly, furrowing my brow. The people who worked here just let themselves in.

“I’ve got it, May,” I called before walking to the front door and pulling it open. Paige stood there. “Paige,” I greeted, pulling her in for a hug. “This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were driving out here.”

“I wasn’t sure I was, actually. I just—” Her face crumpled slightly and I pulled her into the house, shutting the door behind us.

“Paige, what’s wrong?”

“I left Aaron.”

“Oh my God. Why? What happened? Come with me.” I looped my arm with hers and led her to the office where we could have privacy.

I closed the office door behind us, gestured for her to take a seat on the small couch, then sat next to her and turned her way. There was a box of Kleenex on the side table and she grabbed a tissue, blotting at her nose.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” I asked gently. “My mother always said that tea wasn’t only good for the body, but for the soul.”

Her lips tipped up in a shaky smile but she shook her head. “No. It’s okay. I can’t stay very long, actually. I’m on my way to my sister’s. I’ll be staying with her until I can work out a plan.”

“Oh, I . . . see. Are you sure you can’t work things out with Aaron?”

She sniffled. “I’m sure. I lied to you at the picnic. Things have been bad for a while. And . . . I don’t know why I’m so ashamed about it, but Aaron he . . . well, he’s been aggressive . . . violent a couple of times.”

I stared at her, shocked and horrified. “Aaron?” Aaron had always seemed so calm, so . . . go with the flow. I just couldn’t picture him worked up into such a rage that he lashed out at his own wife. “My God, Paige, why didn’t you say anything? I would have helped. I had no idea.”

She nodded, her eyes downcast. “I know you would have done what you could. He made sure never to hit me in the face, so it was easy to cover up the bruises. I was just, God, I don’t know. At first I hoped it was just a one-time thing, you know? And then it happened again and I convinced myself I’d pushed him to it.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry to bother you about this—“

“Of course you’re not bothering me, that’s what friends are for.  You were so helpful to me after Ethan died. Let me help you now.”

She nodded. “I just can’t do it anymore.” She worried her lip for a moment, her eyes moving to my neck and lingering there for a moment. “You took off the key,” she said. “Ethan’s key.”

Ethan’s key.

Out of habit, I reached for it, my hand fluttering away when I remembered I’d taken it off before my shower that morning Brant and I had returned from spending the night in the distillery. I’d gotten out of the shower and started to put it back on and then changed my mind. Standing there, wrapped in a towel in front of my dresser, I’d realized I didn’t need it anymore—didn’t require the reassurance it’d brought. It was as though I’d purged the pain and guilt I’d held on to regarding my feelings for Ethan to Brant in the quiet darkness of that abandoned building. And I no longer needed the symbol of confusion and remorse I’d once carried. And so I’d opened the top drawer of my dresser and put it away in a small cloth bag I kept there. “Yes,” I whispered. “I did.”

Paige nodded, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it, seeming to understand the reason why I’d done so without me saying it. “How did you move past it, Isabelle?” She shook her head, blanching slightly. “I mean, not that my situation is even remotely similar to yours. Please don’t think I’m saying that or that I’d ever dare compare what I’m going through to what you endured—”

“Paige, I don’t think that. We’re not comparing circumstances here.” Hadn’t Brant and I talked about the same thing? I moved my mind away from Brant immediately, not allowing my thoughts to wander to him yet again.

Paige nodded. “How did you go on, Isabelle? Because if I’m going to grieve the loss of a marriage…” Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

I inhaled a deep breath and let it move slowly through me. “You don’t wake up one day and feel beyond the grief. It’s a process. In some ways, I’ll always be grieving, always finding strategies to cope. The pain will never be completely gone but it becomes less sharp over time.” Paige nodded, seeming resigned. “I hate that you’re going through this, Paige.”

She smiled sadly at me. “What I’m dealing with isn’t even comparable to what you endured, but your strength gives me courage. I’m so proud of you.”

She reached forward and hugged me and I hugged her back, laughing softly. “Hey, I’m proud of you too. I know you’re in the middle of this, but you will be okay. And you’ve taken the most important step. You got out of there.”

Paige swiped at her eyes, bringing the tissue to her nose and dabbing before offering a smile that looked hopeful. “I really should get going. But I felt I needed to tell you this in person, not over a text or a call. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

“I’m so glad you did. Please, Paige, call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. And I’ll probably need some girl time soon.”

“Sure. Call me and we’ll make plans. Anything you feel up to.”

“I will.”

I opened the office door, walking Paige back to the front door and giving her another hug goodbye. Then I watched her as she got in her red BMW and backed out of the driveway.

Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, thinking about what Paige had told me, wondering if all this had stemmed from the money problems Paige had mentioned at the grill-out the month before. I remembered the unreadable expression that passed over her face as she looked at him that day, and I understood now. I never would have guessed she was going through something like this though. It was just so shocking. 

I wondered if the company had been experiencing financial instability before Ethan was killed, or if the company began declining after that. Ethan and I had spoken so little about his career. Each time I’d asked, he’d seemed annoyed as if it wasn’t any of my business, and so after a while I’d ceased asking. If he wanted to talk about it, I figured, he would. And he never had . . .

Thinking about Ethan had me once again reaching for the key that had so recently hung around my neck. I sighed. There would be nothing there to grip between my fingers. I’d taken it off. And it was another step. A good one.

Still, I wondered what Ethan had been doing with a key to a storage unit that must have shut down more than ten years before? After Brant left Graystone Hill, I’d looked online and no businesses off Legendary Run had a logo that matched the one almost completely chipped off the key.

Another possibility occurred to me. What if it was a storage facility that was currently in business, but had changed its logo?

I pulled up the information on the four storage facilities on the list and picked up the phone on the desk, dialing the first one, Deering Storage. A young woman answered the phone.

“Yes, hello, um, this is going to seem like a strange question”—I let out a small, self-conscious laugh—“but by any chance did your logo used to be two horses, one standing in front of the other?”

There was a short pause.

“No. I haven’t worked here long, but David Deering, Sr. started the company in 1978, and they’ve had the same logo since it started. And if you ask me”—it sounded like she cupped her hand over her mouth and the phone as she suddenly sounded muffled—“it could use an update.”

I let out a laugh on a breath. “Okay, well thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Have a great day. If you have any storage needs in the future, be sure to call us.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The second one I called was a dead end as well. But when I called the third business on the list, an older-sounding woman answered, and when I posed my question, she paused and then said, “Oh yes, actually. We had our logo redone in 2000. People kept mistaking us for an equine storage facility, barns for shows and whatnot.” She clicked her tongue as my heart leapt with the success of the call. “It was a dumb choice in the first place if you ask me but—”

“That’s great,” I said excitedly. “I mean, not that the logo was a bad pick, but you see I have a key and I’ve been trying to figure out what it goes to.” I paused shortly. “It must be from a unit rented a long time ago, though. It still has the horse logo on it.”

“Oh no. They never reprinted their keys. Everything else was changed, but they didn’t bother with those, I suppose. Most of them are completely rubbed off at this point anyway. You said you didn’t know what it’s to? Did you find it somewhere?”

“No, actually, it was my now-deceased husband’s. He died three years ago.”

“Oh I see. I’m terribly sorry. Do you know which unit it’s for?”

“No. Is there a way to look that up? I mean, if I came by?”

The woman paused. “That’s usually not . . . that is, we’re not generally allowed to give out that information.” She paused again as I held my breath. “But under the circumstances, dear, if you’re able to show some identification that was his, I can help you. I’m here until five. My name is Donna.”

I stood. “Thank you, Donna. I’ll be there within the hour.”

 

**********

 

The storage facility—now named Ace Storage—was directly off Legendary Run, just as Brant had remembered. There was nothing unusual about it as far as storage facilities went. The large lot was filled with rows and rows of units, each featuring a silver metal rolling door locked with a padlock. I pulled in front of the rental office and went inside. An older woman with a blonde up-do and too much makeup looked up from the desk, her bubblegum-pink lips turning up into a kind smile. “May I help you?”

“Donna? We spoke on the phone about an hour ago. My name is Isabelle Farris and my husband apparently rented a unit here?” I pulled Ethan’s driver’s license out of my purse. “This was my husband.” I handed it to her and she pulled on her glasses, looking at the license. I held my breath for a moment, hoping she didn’t recognize his name. Our story had been all over the news three years before. It was the main reason I’d gone back to my maiden name. It was easier to heal if I was anonymous, easier to move on without experiencing the looks of pity every time someone recognized my name . . . recalled the horror that had been flashed all over the news for months.

“Let me see here,” Donna said, tapping the keys on the computer and apparently pulling up a rental list. I released the breath I’d held in my lungs. If the name seemed familiar, she apparently hadn’t placed it. “This would have been rented three years ago, you say?”

“At least. Maybe more.”

“Hmm. Okay, this might take a minute. Hold on.” I waited as she tapped at keys for a minute or two, finally looking up and saying, “Aha! Here we go. It’s locker number two twelve. And you’re in luck because he took out a five-year lease that runs out in two months. That locker would have gone up for auction. Two twelve is only two rows over from here. You should find it easily.” She took the key I’d set on the counter and quickly peeled a small, round sticker from a sheet on her desk and wrote the number on it, handing the key back to me.

“Thank you so much, Donna. Truly, I couldn’t be more appreciative.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”

“Thank you.”

I left the rental office, getting back in my car and driving two rows over as Donna had instructed, moving slowly as I craned my neck to look for two twelve. “What did you need to rent a locker to store, Ethan?” I murmured as I pulled up in front of the unit belonging to my dead husband. Five years. He’d rented this unit five years ago, two years before he’d died. Elise had been two years old . . . I’d known I didn’t love him anymore, if I ever really had at all. And I’d known he didn’t love me back. But the idea that he was hiding something from me, something he knew he’d need a five-year lease for, was hard to swallow. I hadn’t realized we’d kept so many secrets, and it made me sad as I recalled my utter loneliness during that time.

My pulse quickened as I got out of my car, gripping the key, and walking to the door of the unit. For a moment I just stood there, semi-frozen, wondering if I really even wanted to know what was inside this large silver box and why my husband had kept it from me.

But no, I had to know. Fate had led me here and I would not turn back now. Steeling myself, I inserted the key in the lock and turned it. Despite the amount of time it’d been left unopened, the key turned easily, and the door rose smoothly.

The afternoon sun illuminated the space, glinting off the silver sports car parked inside. For a moment I simply stared, baffled. Ethan had bought a car without me knowing? How? He’d made good money, as his investment business had done well. He and Aaron were accumulating more clients every year. We’d lived a comfortable life, but we hadn’t been able to afford a . . . I stepped closer, squinting at the make . . . a Porsche. It was a silver convertible Porsche. I couldn’t even begin to guess how much a car like that cost, but I guessed a whole helluva lot. “What in the world, Ethan?”

Feeling shell-shocked, nervous, and like I was snooping somewhere I didn’t belong, I glanced backward as if something else unexpected might sneak up on me.

I trailed a finger along the car, walking around it, peering inside. The upholstery was light gray leather, and when I reached in and touched it, found that it felt just as soft and buttery as it looked. There was nothing inside the car except a thin layer of dust, built up since its owner had been buried in a cemetery only a few miles from here.

I had no idea what to think. Had Ethan been ashamed that he’d bought a car we really couldn’t afford and hidden it from me here? Had he taken it out sometimes and driven around town? Was that why he’d come home late so many nights saying he was at the office when I suspected he was lying? And who had been in this car with him?

I reached out and tried the trunk, figuring it would be locked, and took in a startled breath when it clicked open beneath my fingers, lifting into the air.

Three suitcases? As if in a trance, I reached forward, pulling the zipper open on the one closest to me.

It was filled to the top with cash.