The neighbor shook her head, still stunned.
— Lord have mercy. I’m Tammy Reed, next door. Honey, all this time we thought Andrew’s wife was seriously ill.
Marina felt the ground shift under her.
— Seriously ill?
— That’s right, — Tammy nodded, lowering her voice. — Andrew always told folks his wife back in town was near death, some rare condition, said you couldn’t handle dust, stress, or long drives. That’s why, he said, you never came out here. We all felt sorry for him. Poor man, torn between a sick wife in town and a sick mother out here.
Marina closed her eyes for a second. The lie had spread everywhere.
— What was Eleanor sick with? — she asked in a rough voice.
Tammy’s face darkened.
— That’s the strange part. She’d been healthy enough. Used to go with me to town meetings, church socials, all that. Then about two years ago, she just disappeared, like somebody had shut her away. We neighbors tried to stop by, but Andrew was always right there with an excuse: “Mom’s resting. Doctor says no visitors. Can’t risk infection.” Always something. Then he put up that tall fence, which hadn’t been there before. Said it was for safety. Looked more like a prison wall to me.
Marina felt a cold emptiness open in her stomach.
— So she died from an illness?
Tammy sighed.
— According to Andrew, kidney trouble. But nobody ever saw her looking sick. We just suddenly heard she was gone. He handled the funeral quick and quiet. Didn’t invite many people. Said he didn’t want to tell you because you were too fragile to take the news.
Tears filled Marina’s eyes. Andrew had not only kept her from the funeral. He had used her as the excuse.
— And the famous renovation? — she asked, gesturing toward the immaculate flower beds and freshly painted walls.
Tammy gave a short, bitter laugh.
— Renovation? This place got painted maybe five years ago, and that was about it. No workers. No dust. What we did see were delivery trucks all the time. Expensive furniture. New couches, cabinets, beds. And the oddest thing… — she hesitated.
— Please tell me, — Marina said.
— The oddest thing was the toys. Boxes of toys. Little bikes, dolls, toy trucks, stuffed animals—piles of them. I asked once, and Andrew said they were donations for a children’s charity. I believed him.
Marina’s heart began pounding harder. Toys. The note about medicine.
— And at night, — Tammy added, lowering her voice to a whisper, — sometimes we heard voices. Not just Eleanor’s. Another woman’s voice. Younger. Laughing. Talking low with Andrew. And once in a while, a child talking too.
Marina went pale.
— I thought maybe I was imagining it, — Tammy said quickly. — But it happened more than once. Then by morning, silence. We just knew Eleanor was inside, and Andrew came and went in that nice car of his.
The neighbor looked at Marina with real pity.
— I had no idea you didn’t know any of this, honey.
Marina slowly shook her head. Tears were already running down her face.
— I didn’t know anything.
Tammy sighed.
— I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but this was your mother-in-law’s house. You’ve got every right to go in there. If you need help, holler. I’m right here.
She left Marina alone in front of the half-open door. Marina wiped her tears with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. It swung inward without a sound. The first thing that hit her was a rush of cold air. Too cold, as if the air-conditioning had been running nonstop. Mixed into it was a strange smell—expensive jasmine room spray, a trace of disinfectant, and the stale heaviness of a house that wasn’t aired out enough.
She stood in the living room, and it looked nothing like a country home. The pale marble floor gleamed. A huge white leather sectional sat in the center. An oversized television hung on a wall paneled in wood. Everything looked newly bought, polished, barely used. Without question, it was more luxurious than the house she and Andrew lived in.
Then her eyes landed on the main wall of the living room. Dozens of silver frames were arranged there with exacting precision. Marina walked toward them slowly, heart pounding. Every photograph featured Andrew. Andrew smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower. Andrew at a ski resort in the Alps. Andrew holding a golf trophy. Andrew posing beside a sports car she had never seen. It was like a shrine to his ego.
Not one photograph of Eleanor. That hurt more than she expected. And not one photograph of Marina. No wedding picture. No snapshot from their life together. In this house, on walls his mother was supposedly meant to enjoy, Andrew and Marina’s marriage did not exist. As if it had never happened.
Stunned, she moved through the living room into the dining area, where a flawless table for eight stood with an empty vase in the middle. Then she stepped into the kitchen. The kitchen looked straight out of a catalog. Built-in cooktop. Modern electric oven. Double-door refrigerator. Everything gleamed. But on the refrigerator door, one thing broke the perfection. A child’s drawing held up by a magnet…
