“Let’s go,” Linda said, tugging her mother’s elbow. Then to Elena, she said, “I’m sorry. She’s very protective of him.”
“So am I.”
“If that were true, you’d leave,” Claud said.
Once again, the woman’s words hit their mark. And once again, it was because Elena knew she was right. But Elena had just enough self-respect left to not want to give Claud the satisfaction of knowing how much the old woman had hurt her. Or to tell her that Elena would, in fact, be leaving soon because Vlad didn’t want her here anymore than Claud apparently did.
Elena steeled her spine. “You can think whatever you want about me, but I am here for one reason only. To help Vlad. Whether you believe me or not is out of my control. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have a lot to do to get ready for my husband to come home.”
“Of course,” Linda said calmly. “Please tell Vlad we’re thinking of him.”
“I will.” Elena reached down and scratched the dog’s ears.
“His food is in the kitchen pantry, by the way,” Linda said, gesturing to the dog.
“This is Vlad’s dog?” She asked the question before realizing it simply proved Claud’s point that she was a shitty wife.
“No,” Andrea said. “He belongs to the people across the street, but he sort of adopted Vlad too. He’ll bark at the door to leave eventually.”
More cobwebs. “Someone else’s dog comes here to hang out?”
Linda shrugged. “There’s a cat that comes around too. Vlad had a pet door installed in the garage to let her come and go as she pleases.”
Of course he did. Because he was Vlad.
Linda grabbed her mother’s arm and started to tug her toward the front door. “Let us know if we can do anything to help,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Andrea paused next to Elena. “It’s really nice to meet you,” she said with a giggle. “You’re as pretty as he always said you were.”
Cheeks blazing, Elena crossed her arms across her chest and watched the three women leave. When they were gone, she looked down at Neighbor Dog—that would have to be his name for now—and patted his head. He woofed and wagged his tail. At least he didn’t have any preconceived notions about her.
Sighing, Elena picked up her backpack and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Neighbor Dog followed slowly behind her as she lugged both up the stairs and down the long hallway on the second floor. Her room was the last on the right, directly across from Vlad’s. Her door was closed, and when she opened it, the silence inside was like an accusation. Everything was the same. Exactly as she’d left it. And though nothing was really hers—not the paisley bedspread or the white dresser or the matching lamps on either side of the bed—she remembered them. Like a child who goes to visit an aunt after several years and ends up sleeping in the same room as the last visit. Everything was familiar but strange.
Elena set her things on the floor by the bed. Someone had cleaned in here recently. The carpet bore the stripes of a recent vacuuming, and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen on the TV, the desk, the dresser. Even the attached bathroom was spotless. A peek under the sink revealed all her products were still there, waiting for her return. Shampoo and conditioner and shaving cream and honeysuckle-scented bodywash. She’d left them here when she went to school, and Vlad had stored them for her eventual return. She lifted the bodywash, flipped open the lid, and inhaled the scent. She closed the lid and put it away before it brought back too many memories.
She returned to the bed and gave in to the weakness in her knees, much like she had the first night she spent here. It was the nicest bed she’d ever seen. Plush and full, with enough pillows to accidentally smother someone. Or, as she discovered, to smother the sounds of crying. She did a lot of it that night. And then, hours later as she lay awake in the dark, eyes puffy and head throbbing, she vowed she’d never cry again. And she hadn’t until six months ago when she’d stood in front of him, looking sexier than any man had a right to in his tuxedo, and told him she was leaving him.
Even now, months later, she couldn’t forget the way he’d looked at her at the wedding. So full of hope and joy. Until he wasn’t. She’d broken him. The man who had saved her. The man who had been her childhood best friend.
Neighbor Dog leaped onto the bed and flopped down with his head in her lap. She buried her fingers in his thick black fur. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. Vlad had always wanted a pet, but his travel schedule made it impossible because he couldn’t leave them alone. Something else she’d stolen from him.
The sudden blare of her phone made her jump a full inch off the mattress. It was a Nashville number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Konnikova? This is Tess Bowden. I’m one of the trainers from the Vipers. We’re going to be there in a few minutes with the home rehabilitation equipment. Are you ready for us?”
“Yes, I’ll watch for you.”
“Great,” the woman said. “We’re about ten minutes away.”
Elena left her room with Neighbor Dog at her heels and found herself staring at the open door to Vlad’s bedroom. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in there. Which was as sad a commentary on the reality of their marriage as anything. At first, she’d avoided going in there because it was awkward. But then because it was too painful. Every time she stepped foot in his private space, the ring on her finger would grow heavy with the weight of his disappointment.
Now, temptation mingled with curiosity, propelling her feet forward until she stood at the threshold. A glance around the space told her very little had changed since she’d last been here. The same king-size bed sat in the middle of the room covered by the same plain, navy blue comforter. Matching tables sat like bookends on either side with twin lamps. She had no right to snoop around his things, but voyeuristic need overrode her sense of propriety. A few feet inside the room, the door to the master bathroom stood open on the left. She paused to look inside. The products and toiletries lined along the sink were like intimate insights into his daily rituals. A towel was folded haphazardly and draped across the sink. Heat filled her chest cavity as her mind pictured him there, wrapped in a towel as he dragged a razor down the hard angle of his jaw. Such a simple task. Such a manly task. One that wives around the world watched their husbands do every single day, but not Elena. She’d never witnessed her husband engage in that particular act of grooming.
Elena tore her eyes away, swallowed hard, and approached the bed. Only one side was disturbed or appeared like it was regularly slept on, and the relief that flooded through her at that thought was as swift as it was humiliating. A quick scan of the room revealed no evidence that a woman—a Michelle—regularly stayed there. Elena returned to the bathroom and studied the products on the sink again. All men’s things. No lotions or nail files or ponytail holders or boxes of tampons.