Page 18 of The Attic on Queen Street
“It’s better in here,” Veronica said, leading us into the library.
Shelves of books lined the walls behind a dark burgundy leather chesterfield sofa and a matching armchair; an ancient rolltop desk was tucked into the circular window that I recognized from the tower outside. She slid a pair of pocket doors closed and we took a collective breath in the relative silence.
Veronica smiled apologetically as she helped us unload our burdens onto a library table, its legs on small wheels. “I’ve asked Sophie to leave this room for last,” Veronica explained, “so that we have an escape from all the construction.” She sent me a worried glance. “Michael’s about ready to lose his mind. I don’t know how much more of this he can take before he decides to just sell it as is.”
She indicated the sofa. “Why don’t you two have a seat, and I’ll gofinish with the tea tray? Lindsey made some of her grandmother’s famous cheese straws and I have to say they’re better than anything I could buy in a store.”
Veronica left the room just as a familiar tingling began on the back of my neck, along with a gentle tug on the sleeve of my dress, the scent of Vanilla Musk wafting around me.
Amelia picked up a catalog, then put it down again, taking a deep breath as she did so. “Melanie, dear,” she said as she faced me. “You know I love you like a daughter, so you must know that I have only your best interests at heart. Which means I feel compelled to tell you that I think this idea of you and Jack allowing filming in your house while you’re living there all alone with Nola and the two babies isn’t safe.”
“Really, Amelia. It’s fine. Part of the deal is that hotel rooms are available for us if we choose. And the option will remain for the duration of the filming. Since the crew is allowed only downstairs in certain rooms and the upstairs is off-limits, I know we can hold on to our privacy. It’s just that I don’t want to disrupt the children’s lives any more than we have to—especially right now—and Jack and I just aren’t comfortable with Marc having the unchecked freedom to dig through our personal effects. I’m sure I’ll be fine....”
As if she hadn’t heard me, she said, “Your parents think so, too. They were over last night for supper. We all agreed that it isn’t an ideal situation, and spent most of the evening trying to come up with a workable solution.”
“And nobody thought to call me and ask what I thought?”
She regarded me with surprise, as if this was the first time someone had considered my opinion. “Well, no. I suppose it’s because we know you have bigger worries right now.”
“Yes, but...”
Amelia patted my hand. “I know. You are certainly capable of taking care of yourself and your children. It’s just that as parents and grandparents we can’t stop ourselves from worrying.”
“Yes, but...”
“Unfortunately, James and I don’t have the room, or we’d love to have you. Your parents offered for you and the children to move in with them, but we didn’t think taking the children and Nola away from everything that was familiar to them would be a good solution, either. So we put our heads together and came up with a solution that we all thought worked best.”
I leaned back, considering her with narrowed eyes. I’d never seen this manipulative side of Amelia Trenholm before, maybe because it was usually disguised by a kind smile and a Chanel suit. But shewasJack’s mother. “And?”
“We thought it best that Jack move back in. In the guest room, of course. And just until the filming is done. Or until you’re reconciled.” She smiled hopefully.
I’d be lying if I said the thought of Jack moving back in—regardless of the reason—didn’t do interesting things to my heart rate. I might even have started a mental list of all the things I needed to do—starting with shaving my legs—before he got there. Then I realized that there was one missing component to this plan, and I sank back against the sofa.
“Jack will never agree. He’ll find another solution that doesn’t involve him living under the same roof with me.”
A smile that could be described only as devious graced her face. She reached over and patted my hand again. “Leave that to us.”
The memory of Jack leaving me in the foyer of our house, the door shutting in my face, flashed across my brain. “Trust me. Jack isn’t ready. And he’s about as bullheaded as they come. He could never be talked into doing something unless he really wanted to. And he definitely doesn’t want to live with me right now.”
The pocket door slid open again, the sound of construction amplified for a moment before Veronica entered, balancing a tray with one hand, then closing the door with the other.
“Well, technically, it won’t bewithyou. And don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Amelia added quietly as she stood to help Veronica with the tray.
The knot that had begun forming in my stomach when Amelia firstmentioned Jack returning home solidified at the sight of the cheese straws and iced tea. I looked at my watch, grateful I didn’t have to lie.
“Veronica, I have a showing, so I can’t stay. I just dropped by so I could go up to the attic again, see what else I might find. You’d mentioned that Adrienne had a Discman. Was that in the box with all of her belongings?”
Veronica’s brows knitted. “I suppose it should have been, but I don’t remember seeing it when I went through Adrienne’s box with Detective Riley. I could have missed it, though. I had to look away a few times. Too many memories.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if to stop tears. “I haven’t been up there since. But you’re welcome to go take another look.”
The tugging on the back of my dress became more insistent. “Thank you.” I walked toward the pocket doors Veronica had just closed. Turning back to Amelia, I almost saidGood luck. But instead I just waved and let myself out into the foyer, knowing she would need a miracle and a bulldozer to get Jack Trenholm to budge.
•••
The pressure of a pair of hands pushing me up the stairs continued up all three flights to the attic, the door helpfully opening on its own when I reached it. I turned around to see if there’d been any witnesses, and was relieved when I didn’t see anyone.
I closed the door behind me, then stood inside the gloomy space. Nothing appeared to have been moved since I’d last been up there. A dusty glass hurricane lamp with a thick red Christmas candle inside sat on one of the thick windowsills. The draped shapes of furniture still lurked against the walls, keeping company with children’s playthings, including a Raggedy Ann doll. I thought I saw something move in the black bead eyes, and turned around to see if it had been a reflection. But nothing was there except for the lingering scent of Adrienne’s perfume.
The dirty stained glass windows cast a watery rainbow across the attic’s gloom, giving it the impression of being underwater, the dust motes like tiny air bubbles floating to the surface. I held my breath fora moment, listening to the stillness that wasn’t exactly still. More like an anticipatory cessation of movement waiting for something to happen. Slowly, I exhaled with the certainty that I wasn’t alone.
