Page 17 of Willowbrooke
Nothing.
I audibly gulped, before slowly making my way across the home, walking toward the north hallway, which was off-limits, per Leo’s strict instructions—hisonerule.
At first I told myself that I would just close the door, but like a moth to a flame, and without anyone else around, I found myself passing through the threshold, my stomach sinking as I broke the invisible barrier to the previouslyforbidden room.
I reasoned that I probably should check the room for drafts, or the door for damage, to fix whatever had caused it to unlatch itself. The mission made me feel better about entering the room, but the twist in the pit of my stomach telling me that it was wrong to be in there refused to subside. The room’s atmosphere made me want to run far from Willowbrooke.
Like the turreted master above the solarium, the room was almost a complete circle, with straight edges only near the entrance, where the room adjoined the rest of the house and connected to a jack and jill bathroom that passed through to Leo’s bedroom. The hardwood floors, in the same herringbone pattern I had discovered across the rest of the house, were on full display. I wondered why this was the only place in the entire house that had been spared from the 80’s carpet installation.
Immediately upon entering, I was hit with the standard sterile and antiseptic smell that immediately transports anyone who has been to a hospital spiraling back into some trauma that took place within the walls of a medical facility. For me, it was the memory of my grandmother dying when I was ten.
My parents had ushered me and Sloan into the room where she was drawing her last breaths, a husk of herself from the few memories I had of her from an earlier age. She was already in an induced coma, and we were instructed to sayour goodbyes, assured by Mom and Dad that she could hear us, even though she looked like she was sleeping.
I hadn’t managed any words through my tears, not understanding exactly what had happened to her, but knowing just enough to realize I wouldn’t see her again after we left the room.
Sloan, ever the perfect daughter and half automaton, had told Grandma how much she loved her and that she would miss her, but that they would see each other again in heaven. She thanked her for always taking us out to ice cream, even though Mom told her not to. My mother frowned at this discovery. I was pleased with her discomfort, but mad at Sloan for betraying Grandma’s trust.
I guess a twelve-year-old Sloan understood that the secret no longer mattered. Then she told Grandma it was okay for her to go, that we’d be okay, and that she knew Grandma would always watch over us.
Sloan’s words had sent me into another fit of sobs, which seemed to annoy my parents, as they profusely apologized to the nurses that stared or whispered while we made our way back to the car.
I have hated hospitals ever since.
It was one of the first times I remember feeling so alone and understanding how much of a disappointment I was to my parents.
I took a deep breath, shaking off the melancholy.
The solarium was sparse save for a wingback chair andGeorge West’s expensive medical bed. The sheets were neatly and tightly tucked into the mattress, which was angled to help him sit up. A table on wheels was next to the bed, opposite the wingback chair, with a half complete crossword puzzle and pencil sitting precisely where George, or maybe Leo, had left it the day George died.
Everything seemed to be exactly as it had been before he passed. Curiously, there was a fine layer of dust over everything in the room, which meant that even Val wasn’t allowed to enter.
I caught the dust swirling in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows—the uncovered windows.
It hit me then that all of the curtains were open, which was why the light had attracted my attention from the opposite end of the house. But I knew for a fact Leo always kept them drawn, because every morning when I pulled up and every night when I left, they were closed—not letting a ray of light or a prying eye anywhere near the space.
Feeling exposed, and suddenly remembering the excuse I had given myself for entering the room, I began to go around closing the curtains, panel by panel. I had made it halfway around the room when I heard a noise coming from the hallway.
I turned to find Leo in the doorway, eyes ablaze, and William behind him, looking stunned. “What the FUCK, Penny?” Leo seethed.
Without warning, a flood of words and excuses spewedfrom me as I tried desperately to explain why I had disobeyed Leo and trespassed into the one room he had asked me not to enter. “I came downstairs and the door was open. Someone opened all the curtains. I was just trying to put everything back the way it was—”
Leo put his hand up, stopping me mid-sentence.
I immediately obeyed.
His eyes met mine—he was furious. “Get. Out,” he said slowly and deliberately.
“Leo, I’m sorry, I didn’t open the door—I know I’m not supposed to come in here—I was trying to help—” I tried in vain to make him understand.
“Get! Out!” he thundered, furious eyes still fixed on mine, silencing me.
I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. I glanced between Leo and William. The latter looked helpless and confused. He wouldn’t come to my rescue and talk sense into Leo on my behalf. Why would he? He didn’t even know me.
Holding my breath, I made a beeline past the two men, unable to look at either of them. I could feel my face burning and tears pricking at my eyes. What had I done?
I cried the entire drive back to the apartment as I tried to mentally compose an apology that would somehow salvage my dream project and my relationship with Leo.
It dawned on me through tears that despite the growing anxiety over my decomposing relationship with Adam, I had never been happier with my career. I looked forward to seeingLeo and working on the house every day.
