This is the worst night since the night Nicole died.
I’m lying in bed, sleeping on the left-hand side, because that’s where I always slept when Nicole and I shared this bed, staring at the darkness overhead, and I can’t stop crying. My muscles ache from the sobs that have been wracking my body. I’m worried that I’ll wake Caitlyn, but I can’t stop. I grab a pillow, go into the bathroom, and close the door. Using the pillow to stifle my cries, I sit on the cold floor and weep. I don’t care how this looks. Ego is nothing in the face of crushing grief.
When they told me Nicole was gone, it was surreal. I couldn’t process it. I still can’t. I’ve spent the past few months thinking that somehow, at any moment, she’ll walk through the front door and life will go on the way we planned, the way we worked so hard for, and finally achieved. After the accident, Caitlyn and I lived in the old apartment and it always felt like Nicole was nearby, but now, in these new surroundings, I don’t feel her anymore. For the first time, it feels like she’s truly gone.
After I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on this floor, sobbing, I press my face into the pillow and scream with every fiber in my body. I scream again, and again, and again, until my lungs finally give out. That’s it. I lean back against the wall and take deep breaths that catch in my chest. The sobs stop because I no longer have the strength.
The bedroom door creaks open.
Damnit.
Despite my efforts, I must have awoken Caitlyn with my crying. I quickly wipe my eyes, expecting to hear her call out to me or her footsteps approach the bathroom, but once the hinges of the bedroom door stop, there’s silence.
“Caitlyn?”
No answer.
I pull myself up off the floor and go out into the bedroom. The door is open, but the doorway’s empty. I grab my phone as I cross the room and check the time. 2:42 a.m. This long night just got longer.
I poke my head into the darkened hallway.
The only light is coming from the night-light in Caitlyn’s room which is spilling out from the crack under her door.
I quietly move down the hall towards her bedroom. She must have gotten scared when she heard me crying and went back to bed. I get closer and my suspicions are confirmed. I can hear whispering coming from behind her door.
I carefully press my ear against it.
“I can’t sleep … I can’t sleep …”
I tap against the door and gently open it. “Caitlyn, I’m sorry. I didn’t want—”
The night-light casts a soft glow around the room. Caitlyn’s asleep. She’s contorted herself into a ridiculous position with one leg off the bed and her butt up in the air.
“Caitlyn?”
Maybe she’s pretending to be asleep to avoid talking to me.
I get closer and see that she is out cold.
I quietly turn, step out of the room, and close the door behind me.
I’m way more tired than I realized because I’m hearing things. I need to get back to my room, crawl into bed, and try to sl—
Drip … drip …
I spin around.
It came from somewhere on the stairs. I pull up the flashlight app on my phone and scan the stairs. They’re dry. There are no water spots on the ceiling, either.
Drip … drip …
It’s coming from downstairs.
As quietly as the stairs will allow, I creep down to the first floor. I wait at the bottom of the stairs, searching everywhere with the light from my phone. Unconsciously, I steal a glance to the television where I thought I saw the figure earlier, but there’s no one there.
Drip … drip …
Wait … now it’s coming from the dining room.
My blood begins to boil. I believed Stelowski when he said that all the pipes had been inspected. Now, I’m going to have to pay what will probably turn out to be thousands of dollars to fix it.
I go into the dining room and wait … and wait … and wait.
I continue searching the ceiling and the floor but everything is dry. My heartbeat begins to slow. My breathing returns to normal. This is pointless. There’s nothing I can do about it tonight. I’ll look tomorrow in the daylight.
Since I’ve come all that way, I’ll check out the kitchen, just to be thorough. I walk through the entranceway and sweep the light over the stove, counters, and fridge. I check the door leading to the backyard to make sure it’s locked, which it is. Through the window in the door, I can see the moon’s reflection in the black water of the lake.
I have to get back to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll call Stelowski and have him send someo—
Drip … drip …
It’s right behind me.
I swing around, sweeping the light in a wide arc across the floor. It sounded so close, I’m surprised that I didn’t feel the water on my bare ankles, but the floor is dry. I check the ceiling. No water marks. I stand absolutely still, holding my breath, until my muscles begin to cramp and my lungs start to burn. The stillness wins out. The tension flows from me. A new house, way behind on the next book, stress, grief, lack of sleep? Of course I’m hearing things. I tell myself that I have to take it easy and roll with the punches. It’s time to get back to sleep.
I creep back through the first floor and up the stairs. I tip-toe past Caitlyn’s room and down the hall.
I quickly hop into the bed, getting my freezing feet off the floor and slide them under the covers. I punch the pillow, fluffing it up, smooth it out, lay my head back, and wait for sleep to come … and wait … and wait … and wait … and wait …
May 3rd, 1900
Today was the grand opening of the pharmacy.
For the last month, Father’s been talking about the crowds that were going to show up. In the end, there was only a handful of people. Most of them were other merchants from the town square and were more polite than enthusiastic. Father gave a ridiculous speech about how the pharmacy would provide for all of Kingsbrook’s medical needs. He boasted of the tonics from the East and powders from Africa. Then, he announced that he would be giving away samples to prove their effectiveness. Carol was livid. Afterwards, they disappeared in the back and left me to work the register. The machine jammed and I needed Father’s assistance. I went through the curtain to the storeroom and found them arguing.
Carol was furious and said he was throwing money away. Father said that once everyone sees how well the products work, they’ll be back for more. Carol said that they didn’t work and that Father knew it back in Boston. That’s when they saw me standing by the curtain. I told them about the register.
Carol said she would take care of it and left us.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Father asked with a forced smile.
“Isn’t ‘what’ wonderful?”
“The store!” he replied. “It’s going to do such wonderful things for our family.”
He’s said that before about the grocer’s we had in Boston and the launderette. And now, this.
Father and Carol continued to be hostile to each other and arguing in the storeroom. The stream of customers dwindled, and Father decided it would be best if I ran the store and the two of them went home to talk. I was fine with the idea; anything to get them out of the store.
There were some customers throughout the rest of the day, but nothing of the magnitude Father had predicted. Some of Kingsbrook’s elite who couldn’t be there earlier for the opening stopped in later. They seemed relieved when I told them that Father was gone for the day. Then, they beat a hasty retreat, promising to return another time and congratulate Father on the pharmacy’s success.
One of the latecomers was Mayor Fleming. To my surprise, he was followed by the young woman I had seen under the window at my party—the one named ‘Patricia’. We recognized each other immediately. She smiled with false politeness as he introduced her as his daughter. He asked to speak to Father and I told him that Father had gone, but that I would tell him that he had stopped by.
As they turned to leave, you’ll never believe who walked in … Mr. Carrington!
He exchanged pleasantries with the Mayor and a few words with Patricia before making his way over to the counter.
Those eyes.
“Ms. Harker,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Carrington.”
He was pleased that I remembered his name and winked at me, again.
I glanced over his shoulder and saw the Mayor speaking to his daughter. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear that he was leaving and she wanted to stay.
“Are you working here by yourself?” Mr. Carrington asked.
“Father needs me to work,” I told him.
“Can’t he hire someone?”
“Not yet, but hopefully soon.”
He looked around at the almost empty store. “How is the grand opening going?” he asked with a smirk I didn’t like.
I also noticed that Patricia Fleming had drifted closer to the counter. I couldn’t believe it, but she was unmistakably eavesdropping on our conversation.
“Father says once we’re established, it’ll get better,” I answered.
“Do you believe that?”
“I … I hope it will.”
I was shocked that he would speak so bluntly but admired his honesty.
“Well, he needs to hire someone,” he said. “A shop girl is no position for a lovely creature like yourself.”
Yes, he did! He called me a ‘lovely creature’!
I could feel my cheeks flush and I faltered for something to say. Then, I remembered the present they gave me for my birthday. “Thank you for the journal,” I said.
“It was my wife’s idea, but I’m glad you enjoy it.”
“I do. I’ve been writing in it almost every day.”
“Is every day worth writing about?” he asked.
I told him it was a good outlet for my thoughts, to which he replied, “And your deepest, most secret desires, I hope.”
I know it may have been a little inappropriate but it was also fun. I have never met someone who is so intimidating, so clever, and so handsome. I was also enjoying the look of shock on Patricia Fleming’s face that she was trying to hide.
“And how is your wife?” I asked.
“She’s fine. She’s at her mother’s in Boston, along with our valet. They’ll be back for the Fourth of July Celebration. Which reminds me, we have a picnic at the Nightingale House on the Fourth of July as part of the celebration. The whole town is invited, but it would make me particularly happy if you would attend.”
I could think of nothing I wanted more but told him that I may have to work.
He said that was nonsense and that all the shops are closed on the Fourth of July. “And who knows?” he said. “Maybe business will be such that your father can hire someone else to waste their life behind that counter.” He picked up a tin of lip balm from the display next to the register and laid it on the counter. “How much is this?”
I told him it was twenty cents.
He pulled out his billfold, removed a five-dollar bill, put it on the counter, and said, “Keep the change.”
“You want my father to open an account?” I asked.
“I didn’t say give it to your father. It’s for you, on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“You have to buy something for yourself. Something pretty.”
I was speechless.
“Thank you,” I finally managed to say.
He gave me that sly wink, again. “See? Business is already looking up.”
He took the tin and walked out the door.
I never took my eyes off him until he disappeared out of view of the window. Then, I turned to Patricia Fleming. She was pretending to look at a shelf of tonics.
“Can I help you find something?” I asked.
She gave me another insincere smile. “No, thank you,” she said. “It’s all a little expensive for my tastes.”
I tried to match her insincerity with a false smile of my own.
“Best of luck with the pharmacy,” she said, then turned and walked out the door.
I was upset at her rudeness but then I remembered; he called me ‘a lovely creature’ and that I should buy something pretty for myself.
As I watched Patricia walk away, my gaze drifted towards the jewelers across the square.
I think I shall have to pay them a visit.
Good night.