Page 20 of The Woman I’ve Become

“I’m so sorry about this, Dr. Belmont. I try very hard to be diligent.”

“This is an unusual situation. You did the best you could.” I am furious that I worked myself into such a frenzy. I know better than to allow my emotions to get the better of me. Not from the prestigious degree that hangs on the wall in my home office in Manhattan but from real life. This is not like me. At all.

“If there is anything I can do,” she offers, “please let me know.”

“Thank you, Helen. Good night.”

I end the call and take a moment to review the situation. I can’t see the delivery guy from Balducci’s doing anything like this with Helen close by. Or Rick, for that matter. At least I don’t think so.

Really the only logical conclusion is Acacia. She is the new variable in all this. I am already somewhat suspicious of her. Otherwise, tonight’s only real surprise is my bizarre bout of hysteria, which is finally starting to fade.

As for who set this in motion, I’m still leaning toward the probability that it’s my old friend—the one I trusted and adored. The one who disappeared the same day I did. With this conclusion comes the usual questions. What took her so long? And is there anyone else involved?

I would very much like to think that in the end the two of us will settle this between ourselves and leave the rest of the world out of it. But that likely isn’t going to happen. My old friend never really was one to play by any sort of rules. She lacked any sort of honor code whatsoever.

I think a moment about the necklace. It was a bold and telling move, no question about that. Did it startle me? Definitely. But then, I should have anticipated a bold maneuver after the leak to the Times.

Pressing on, I go from room to room on this floor searching every nook and cranny until I am satisfied. By then the grandfather clock dongs twice. Thankfully the panic and paranoia have mostly receded, and all I feel is exhaustion. I discovered nothing else unexpected. Does that mean that we’re safe? Sadly not, but I did what I could.

As I drag myself up the stairs, one painful step at a time, Acacia appears on the landing. She has probably been listening and maybe even sneaking peeks at my frantic movements.

“Are you all right?”

Such a silly question. My entire body is screaming in pain. Only hours ago I abruptly lost the ability to control my emotions, which is so unlike me. I feel ready to collapse. My life as I know it may be over if I cannot stop the person or persons who want to destroy me.

Add to that the idea that the woman asking the question may very well be a part of the trouble.

So no, I am definitely not all right.

I pause and force a smile into place that is just as fake as the gold clad on that fucking necklace. “I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs for a snack.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

I search her eyes, her face. Her concern appears almost genuine. But I have learned a number of her masks.

“I’m fine. Thank you. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

She walks me to my door. “I hope you manage some sleep now. Let me know if you need anything at all.”

I nod and watch her disappear into her room. I’ll have to find a way to check that room as well. I think of the poster-covered walls and canopy bed beyond that door. If walls could talk, those would certainly tell a few tales. Times I climbed in and out through the window—could have fallen to what would surely have been my death. I sneaked a joint in once or maybe it was twice. So many memories.

Funny how back then I thought I was so smart and wise to the ways of the world. I was afraid of nothing.

The lesson I didn’t understand yet was that bad things don’t always come in a package that appears bad or with any sort of warning label. Sometimes the package is beautiful and welcoming. So much so you cannot resist opening it.

The biggest mistake of my life.

11

I hoped things would look clearer this morning, but they don’t. Not really.

Sleep eluded me for the most part. I managed an hour or two at most. So this morning I am paying a heavy price. My body is sore and achy from all the bending and reaching while poking around in the house. Worse, I feel heavy and sluggish. My mind is slow, sporadic.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then brush my hair. I stare at my reflection and wince. I look old. The accident added a good ten years. This person I have become is not me.

Really this was never me. How is it that no one ever noticed?

The memories from last night—finding the necklace, searching the house—circle me like a kettle of buzzards waiting to pick my carcass.