Page 56 of Savored Sins
Zeke shakes his head, and I stand on my tiptoes to peer at the place he’s gesturing.
“Nah, you’d really have to be looking for it,” he says. “I almost didn’t see it, and I’m over here with a damn flashlight. But Ithink… I think there’s some kind of paper in there. You’ve got nails, hot stuff. Can you get that out?”
Now that I’m looking, Idosee the nook he’s talking about—although it’s more like a crack, a sliver of space between the mantel and one of the bricks. And itdoeslook like there’s something wedged inside, although it’d be super easily missed if I didn’t know it was there.
I slide my acrylic nail into the crack—thank god for my manicurist—and manage to wedge the paper between my nail and the brick. I’m surprised when, as I draw the paper toward me, it actually moves, sliding slowly out of its hiding space and into the beam of the flashlight.
“Holy hell,” I breathe. I pass the folded paper to Zeke, and he takes it back to the coffee table, into the frame of his phone camera. He probably wants both his tripod camera and the phone to be picking this up—because this iscrazy. There’s writing on the outside of the folded paper, and although I can’t see what it says from here, my heart is pounding.
I kneel down at the table next to Zeke, and he unfolds the paper and sucks in a sharp breath. Then, laying the paper down on the coffee table, he smooths the edges and says, “Damn, dude. That’s her.”
Shit. I don’t know what I expected would be on the page, but it definitely wasn’t this. Instead of the letter or news article I thought we’d find, there’s a charcoal drawing of a naked woman, lying on her side in a super sensuous pose, her long luscious hair draped like a gauzy curtain across the sofa she’s lying on. In my fucking guest room. I can tell from the slant of the ceilings, the crown molding that used to be up there before they remodeled.
I can also tell from a glance that the woman is Lena, the same woman in the maid’s uniform in the photos I found in the attic. The same woman from the article Lydia found in the archives.
And then—the thing that makes me suck in my breath just like Zeke did… There's a pendant hanging from her neck, nestled between her ample breasts. A pendant that has the same scalloped edged setting as mine, the same delicate filigree chain. Even in the drawing, the similarities are obvious.
“Look at the signature,” Zeke whispers. He points to a scrawl in the bottom right corner, and I swear to god I feel like I’m going to faint.
Because there’s no doubt about it. The signature on the drawing reads: CALVIN F. CARROWAY. Patrick’s great-grandfather.
“What’s the writing on the back?” I tap impatiently at Zeke’s wrist, wanting him to turn the page over.
When he does, he groans. “Shit. It’s all old-timey.”
I suppress an eye roll and instead start reading aloud. The handwriting is clearly different from the signature on the front.
Hello.
I’m Lena Reeves. The date is June 16, 1937.
I can’t keep on like this any longer. Two days ago, I insisted of Cal that he inform his wife of our love affair. He promised me we’d be together—that he’d sort it all out— but it’s been six whole months, and my heart is aching.
The meeting went poorly, however. Cal took my insistence as insolence and struck me. I’m ashamed to say it isn’t the first time—but it was the worst time. There was something crazed about his demeanor, and I no longer trust Cal.
And so although it feels preposterous, if anything were to happen to me, I hope someone will find this.
Here is my proof, both of our love affair and of Cal’s changing demeanor.
When I finish reading, Zeke looks at me. His eyes are wide, and there’s no trace of his usual irreverent smile.
“Holy fuck,” he says. “This is… damning.”
I don’t answer. I’m still holding the drawing, staring at the handwritten words scrawled across the back. This is Lena’s handwriting. Lena Reeves, who I’d never even heard of before Zeke stepped through my doorway, who lived in this very house so many years ago. Lena, who—just like I did—found herself entangled with a Carroway man. And, again like me, Lena also found out the hard way what that man was really like.
Except Lena didn’t get as lucky as I did.
Forget the lake house. Lena didn’t even make it out of her relationshipalive.
I swallow hard, trying to blink back the tears that are already gathering in my eyes. I flip the drawing over, gazing tenderly at Lena’s face. She’s really pretty, with luscious dark hair and soft, round curves. My hand reaches up to finger the pendant that hangs around my neck.
I glance up at Zeke. “This pendant… where’d you get it? It looks just like hers.”
Zeke runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly embarrassed. “Honestly? The thrift store. I was walking past, and I saw it in the window… and it was, like, calling to me. I told you that—that it had some kind of vibration going on. I could tell it was supposed to be with you.”
Suddenly, it hits me. Lena knew.
That night Zeke came to the doorway, Lena seized her chance. She knew she could get through to Zeke. She knew she could get through tomethrough him. Because she knows I know what it’s like. Not to be physically abused or fuckingmurdered, of course—but to be treated as utterly disposable by a Carroway man. Lena knew I could be trusted with her story.
