Page 13 of The Liar I Married

ELEVEN

NOW

I’ve got to get away. I’m sure someone is trying to drive me insane.

I know there were photographs of my girls in the family room.

I can remember clearly going to buy the frames and giving them to Grandma to put on her dresser.

Is this all part of a plan to take Stonebridge Manor away from me?

It takes an effort for me to push the walker through the door and along the passageway to the library.

This is one of my favorite rooms in the house.

As a child, I would sit on my grandma’s lap in the big comfy chair beside the fire and listen to her read stories.

Now, as I cross the threshold, cold seeps into my bones, like a warning from the past. I scan the room although nothing has changed; it’s empty because Grandma is no longer there to greet me with a smile.

I’m exhausted and sweat runs down between my shoulder blades but I’m determined to keep going.

Pushing the walker is easier in this room as the floors are highly polished wood, the color of rich mahogany from many years of polishing.

The walker makes a soft rumbling sound with a slight squeak as I make my way to the bookshelves and the line of photo albums. All have been leatherbound and have the years on the spine in gold lettering.

I look along the line and select the books from the date my daughters were born.

I place them on the seat of my walker and take them to a desk beneath a window overlooking the rose garden.

I start turning the pages slowly and speed up when all the photographs I know should be there are missing.

I scream in frustration, throwing one of the books against the wall.

It crashes to the ground, spilling photographs across the floor.

I tear at my hair, trying to force my muddled brain to think straight.

The photographs should be there. Where are they?

Footsteps thunder along the passageway and Dolly arrives, a frown wrinkling her brow.

I need an excuse or she’ll figure I’m losing it again and stick me with a needle.

“I was looking at the photo albums, trying to recall everyone’s names.

I became frustrated. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper. ”

“I thought you may have fallen. I’m glad you’re okay.” Dolly bends to pick up the photographs and albums splayed out across the floor.

It’s all too much for me and I’m swaying like a snake getting ready to strike. “I couldn’t find the book from the year before I had the accident. I wanted to see if everyone came to the manor for Christmas as always.”

“I’ll see if I can find it for you. “Dolly scans the line of books. She plucks one out of the center and brings it over to me places it on the desk. “No wonder you couldn’t find it, it was out of order.”

My fingers tremble as I open each page. I recognize everyone in the shots but my girls are missing.

I flick through the pages and then stop, going back and forth.

The immaculately bound volume has pages missing.

They’d been cleverly removed using a knife but the rough edge of where a page should be, remains.

I look at Dolly. “See? There’s a page missing from here. ”

“I don’t think so.” Dolly runs a finger down the inside of the book against the spine.

“It looks perfectly fine to me.” She turns the pages back and forth, examining them.

“Maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks on you.

It can happen after you’ve been in a coma so don’t worry about it too much.

I bet when you come back in a couple of weeks and look at these again, they’ll all look perfectly normal to you too. ”

Without warning, a flash of a memory strikes me like lightning.

I’m reading a letter from my grandmother and she is telling me not to believe anything anyone says.

“In a couple of weeks they’ll all be perfectly normal to you too.

” Does that mean they plan to replace the books, so I have no proof that the page ever existed?

And who is they ? Is Dolly a part of a conspiracy against me for whatever reason—or am I losing my mind?

I can’t breathe in this room and want to throw open the windows to allow the scent from the rose garden to come inside.

Confusion is closing in on me from every direction.

I can’t rely on my recollections but I need them to get well.

My gaze follows Dolly as she replaces the books on the bookshelf and then turns to face me.

I force myself to smile, likely looking more deranged than agreeable.

“I’m going to try and make it to the office.

” I step out into the passageway and Dolly follows close behind.

“It seems so quiet without my mom and dad here. They always had the radio or TV blaring. Did you know they purchased a condo in Florida? After my grandmother died, they only remained here for a few months so that my father could tie up some loose ends. The probate on the will was still going through.” I stare at her, suddenly realizing that was almost a year ago.

“That must have been just before my accident. The IRS got involved and needed to be satisfied before it was settled. It was fortunate the staff wasn’t fired and they continued to be paid during that phase or the grass would be up to the eaves. ”

“I don’t know anything about the business of the estate, Mrs. Harper.” Dolly looks confused. “I believe my paycheck comes from your husband.”

My husband? Surprised, I head slowly toward the office.

The thought of John being in control of my investments turns my stomach.

Why is it upsetting me? It would be natural for me to ask him to manage the investments.

He is excellent at his job and makes people millions but something in the back of my mind is nagging at me.

As I walk into the office and look around, I try to expand on the memory of reading a note from my grandmother.

What did it say? Nothing else filters into my mind apart from recalling opening an envelope and seeing my grandmother’s distinct writing on the page.

I stand at the door, surveying the scene before me.

It is much the same as when my father left it.

As the financial adviser to my grandmother, he handled the estate finances for a year before my grandmother died.

I recall my father being upset that she’d suddenly decided to take the estate out of his hands.

She’d employed a brokerage firm to take over her portfolio and a financial advisory company to take over the running of the estate but complained they were too sterile and had planned to move again.

Then she’d suffered a stroke and I can only assume that John stepped in and took over.

I can’t for the life of me remember the few months before the accident.

It’s coming back so slowly, like a dripping tap of knowledge.

As I look out of the window at a gardener, trimming the bushes, another memory comes to the front.

Stonebridge Manor has an estate manager, Mr. Barns, who keeps everything running smoothly inside and out.

My grandmother gave him a substantial annual budget to take all the stress and worry away from her.

Shouldn’t Dolly be paid by Mr. Barns? She is, after all, an employee?

I notice Dolly is still hovering behind me, no doubt waiting for me to have another outburst. I turn to look at her over one shoulder.

“Do you know if Mr. Barns is still working here? He has a small cottage in the grounds.”

“The estate manager?” Dolly nods, observing me with interest. “Yes, he is still here. He came by for a cup of coffee when I first arrived and informed me that your husband insisted he fire many of the staff. He wasn’t very pleased about it as the estate is extremely large and needs all the gardeners and other staff to maintain it.

The main cutback was in the house staff.

We have a cleaner who comes in twice a week, mainly to help with the washing, then there’s only me and Maria.

As you know, I have a bedroom along the passageway but close to the sunroom where you are and cameras and monitors were brought in so I could watch you twenty-four hours a day.

I did ask for a relief nurse, but your husband didn’t think it was necessary for a coma patient with do-not-resuscitate instructions.

” She sighs. “Not that I’m complaining but I need to go out sometimes and Maria isn’t qualified to care for you. ”

I look at her and nod. “As soon as I am back on my feet, I will make sure that Mr. Barns has all the staff he needs. I really need to know about my financial situation but I can’t imagine John has managed to abscond with my entire inheritance in twelve months.”

I walk into the office and stare at the shelves.

One part of my head is telling me something is significant about these shelves.

Curiosity drags at me and I push my walker toward them.

As I browse them, my head aches and my heart thumps in my chest. Am I having a panic attack, and if so, why?

What happened in this room to frighten me? What is significant about the shelves?

I try to push the feeling away. Another flashback grips me in an instant of information.

I’m flipping through the pages of a notebook.

I screw up my eyes, trying to remember. I can see Grandma’s writing but the words all swim together as if they’re falling off the page.

I tried to reach for the memory again but it’s gone.

Was it really a memory or just an injured mind playing tricks on me?