I felt a stiff damp breeze before I had even gone through the second door to my room. I blinked in the darkness. Even in the shadows I could see that the French doors were wide open. Wind pushed the curtains out in billows. I closed it, clicking the lock into place. The thick wooden flooring was slippery with moisture. I ran to get towels from the bathroom to clean up the mess, passing by the windows in the process. I stopped short and stared out onto the lawn towards the woods. There had been a flash of movement only a second before. Now there was nothing. I shivered and pressed my face against the glass. Trees swayed heavily with the force of the rain and heavy winds. The grounds were barely visible, the woods only a curtain of darkness in the distance. I strained my eyes to see something in the rainy mist but my breath clouded the window, obscuring my view.
Water puddled near the doors and threatened to run further into the room. The thick towels I’d thrown down could only soak up so much water and it took two trips to the bathroom, wringing them out in the tub, to get it all tidy again. In final frustration, I dropped them into the bath. Dirty towels were better than damaged floor.
I wanted nothing more than to put on my pajamas and go to bed. My body ached, like I’d just run a marathon and my head hurt. When I reached my hand into my overnight bag, I knew something was wrong. I had always been fastidious with my packing. I had a system. People teased me about it. Underwear on the bottom, followed by socks neatly folded together. Jeans and casual wear were next. Items that wrinkled easily were always packed on top so I could take them out and hang them right away. I even had one of those travel steamers to remove wrinkling. The clothes in my bag were in disarray.
A sick feeling in my stomach spread through my body and ended up in my throat. I dumped the contents of my bag onto the bed. “My journal.” The words came out of my mouth but I knew even while my hands scattered clothes across the bed, that it was gone. My journal had chronicled every thought and feeling of the past two years. Every fight, every annoyance, every aberrant behavior of my husband’s was in there. Every feeling I had after the accident, every bit of self loathing and self pity. It wasn’t just paper, it was my soul. Someone had taken my soul. Tears welled in the corner of my eyes.
I took the bag in frustration and threw it against the wall. With that one simple move, all of my frustration instantly transformed into rage. Mostly directed at Cora. Charging upstairs and demanding my book back wasn’t an option. She would deny it. It would get ugly and I’d end up back at the hotel. Comfortable, no doubt, with a maid, room service, maybe even a spa visit. But every bit of intuition in my being told me Nick was right. I need to be here. In the house. Besides now Cora had set the ground rules. Two could play the snooping and stealing game.