I took a look around the shed, at all of her things that surrounded me, and I felt claustrophobic. Stuffing the images back into the box, I closed it with the lid, picked up my scarf from the hook, and left the shed as quickly as possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I didn’t tell Roland about the images I’d found, but he could tell something was bothering me as he cooked for me that night.
As we ate dinner, he asked me what was on my mind, and I told him that I was fine, that nothing was wrong. He brushed it off and spoke of one of his contacts wanting him to sign golf cleats soon for a children’s charity he’d donated to, and my mind kept going back to that photo of Melanie. Her breasts cupped in hand. The lip bite. The crimson lipstick. The dove necklace.
“Babe?” Roland called and I looked from my untouched food to him. “You okay?” he asked.
I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, babe.” I forced myself to take a bite of the fish to satisfy him.
When we were in bed, I couldn’t sleep. Roland had practically fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I stared at him a while as the milky light of the moon cast its glow through the slits in the curtains. What was he not telling me about Melanie? About his marriage with her?
I looked from him to the ceiling fan. It wasn’t on, but I imagined it spinning, spinning, spinning . . . and then I imagined lacy green panties. A red lipstick print on the blade of the fan.
I closed my eyes. Rolled onto my side, my back to my husband.
I was overthinking this. Melanie died by accident. Roland was a good man. Everything was perfectly fine.
* * *
Everything was not fine.
I needed to go back to that shed. I’d walked out and felt like things were left unfinished, plus I needed the shed for my own personal use. Those photos were just photos. That’s what I’d told myself so I could fall asleep the night before, but now that it was daytime again and I was roaming the halls of the mansion—halls Melanie used to roam too—I had this unsettling feeling rooted deep in my gut. A knot had formed and was so big I couldn’t eat.
“Are you not hungry, Mrs. Graham?”
I blinked twice and looked up. Yadira was on the other side of the table, giving me a concerned look. “Roland told me you like rolled oats, that’s why I made it, but I understand if you don’t like it. Is there too much cinnamon?”
“No—no, Yadira. It’s not that at all. I’m sorry. I’m just a little exhausted. I didn’t sleep well last night. And please, I told you to call me Samira. Seriously. Mrs. Graham is way too formal.”
Yadira laughed. “Okay, Samira, well, you know I have a tea for that? For a good night’s rest? It’s a very soothing caramel blend. I can leave you a canister behind for tonight if you want it.” I watched her walk to the stove and stir something in a silver pot.
Yadira was a gorgeous woman with natural ebony hair and skin like Jhené Aiko. She was tall too—almost the same height as Roland. She honestly could have passed for a model and I’d told her that the night I got married (because I was drunk and loose tongued) and she told me she was too nervous to model because of the gap between her two front teeth. I told her she was ridiculous, that her gap made her all the more unique and beautiful.
“I’d love the tea. Thank you.” I dug into my oats, which were actually very tasty, but I only had three bites before I scraped the rest out and took the bowl to the sink.
“Any requests for lunch?” Yadira asked, taking out a bundle of carrots from the fridge.
“Whatever you want to make me. I’m not picky.”
“You got it.”
I left the kitchen after grabbing a bottle of water and went to the mudroom to put my boots on. I grabbed my olive-green trench coat, a scarf, and then went back to the kitchen, heading for the sliding doors. “If Roland comes back before I get in, can you tell him I’m in the shed?”
Yadira stopped cutting the carrots and snapped her eyes up at me. “The shed?”
I paused with my hand above the door handle. “Yes, the shed. Why? Is something wrong?”
“No—no. Of course not.” She went back to chopping carrots. Her shoulders were tense now, her lips pursing.
“I feel like you’re not telling me something.” I watched as she kept her eyes down, avoiding mine completely.
“I guess I’m just surprised Roland is letting you in there. The only person he’s let in there is his mother. I helped her out for a day or two. She straightened things in there for him, offered to throw it all out a couple years ago, but he told her no.” She side-eyed me quickly before looking away again. “Guess he wasn’t ready to let it go then.”