Chapter 1 - The Guest Room
When Virginia Mercer walked into my apartment carrying two suitcases and a smile that looked perfectly polite, I had no idea that within a week I would remove her dinner plate in front of half the family.
And I certainly didn't know that her own sister would be the person who finally exposed her.
At the beginning, I wanted Virginia there.
That was the part people found hardest to understand later.
My husband Justin's parents lived in Bakersfield, while we lived in Sacramento. Virginia had been waiting months for a series of medical tests, and when the hospital finally scheduled them, the appointments were scattered across almost four weeks.
A hotel for that long would have been expensive.
"We have a guest room," Justin said one evening.
He was sitting across from me at our kitchen island, turning his phone between his hands.
"They could stay here."
I didn't hesitate.
"Of course."
Justin looked relieved.
"You sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
I meant it.
Virginia could be opinionated, but we'd never had what I considered a serious problem. We saw his parents at holidays, birthdays, occasional weekends.
Four weeks would be different, obviously.
But they were family.
So before they arrived, I cleaned the guest room from top to bottom. I bought new towels. I cleared half the closet. I put bottled water beside the bed and stocked the bathroom with toiletries.
I even baked an apple pie.
Walter, my father-in-law, noticed immediately.
"You didn't have to do all this, Chloe."
"I wanted to."
He hugged me.
Virginia entered behind him.
She surveyed the guest room.
Then the bathroom.
Then the hallway.
Finally, she stopped beside the living-room windows.
She touched one of my curtains between two fingers.
"Did you choose these?"
"Last year."
"They're awfully dark."
That was her first criticism.
It arrived less than twenty minutes after she entered our home.
I smiled.
"I like them."
Virginia tilted her head.
"Of course. Everyone has different taste."
Walter gave me an apologetic look.
Justin said nothing.
At dinner, Virginia tried my pie.
She chewed thoughtfully.
"It's pretty good."
I knew enough about Virginia to recognize the pause.
"Although I'd probably add more cinnamon."
Walter immediately reached for another slice.
"I'd probably add nothing."
I laughed.
So did Justin.
Virginia didn't.
Still, it was small.
Curtains.
Cinnamon.
Nothing worth ruining an evening over.
After coffee, I told them both what I thought was obvious.
"I want you to treat this place like home while you're here. Use the refrigerator, TV, kitchen—anything. The only thing I'd ask is that we respect one another's routines. I work pretty long days."
"I'm sure we'll barely bother you," Walter said.
Virginia smiled.
"We're guests, Chloe. We didn't come here to boss you around."
Justin looked down at his coffee.
I noticed it.
I just didn't understand it yet.
The next morning, I came into the kitchen before work and reached automatically for the salt.
It wasn't there.
I checked the cabinet.
Nothing.
Eventually I found it beside the baking supplies.
I moved it back.
That evening my kitchen towels were in another drawer.
The following morning, my spices had been rearranged alphabetically.
"Did you move these?" I asked Virginia.
"I organized them."
"I already had them organized."
She laughed.
"Chloe, you had paprika next to oregano."
"Yes."
"Exactly."
I stared at her.
Apparently, that was supposed to explain everything.
I rearranged them again after she went to bed.
The next morning they were back in Virginia's preferred order.
This time, I left them.
I told myself it was temporary.
Four weeks.
Twenty-eight days.
I could survive twenty-eight days of misplaced oregano.
Then, on the fourth afternoon, I came home and found my expensive nonstick frying pan drying beside the sink.
Something looked wrong.
I picked it up.
Deep silver scratches ran across the black surface.
My stomach sank.
"Virginia?"
She was reading in the living room.
"Yes?"
"Did you wash this?"
She looked over.
"Of course."
"With the metal scrubber?"
"Yes."
I stared at the ruined coating.
"You can't use metal on nonstick cookware."
Virginia laughed softly.
"Oh, Chloe. Apparently a person needs a university degree just to wash a frying pan in this house."
I felt heat climb my neck.
Walter lowered his newspaper.
Justin was standing near the refrigerator.
He had heard everything.
For one second, I waited.
I thought my husband would say something.
Anything.
Instead, he opened the refrigerator and asked, "Anybody want sparkling water?"
That moment bothered me more than the pan.
Because suddenly I understood something.
Virginia wasn't simply comfortable in our home.
She was testing how much of it she could control.
And Justin had spent his entire life learning that the easiest response to his mother was silence.
I put the pan away.
I didn't argue.
But that evening, as I stood alone in the kitchen preparing dinner, I made myself a promise.
Hospital appointments or not, family or not, Virginia Mercer was not going to spend four weeks turning my home into hers.
I didn't yet know how soon that promise would be tested.
Because the next thing Virginia decided needed improving wasn't my kitchen.
It was my marriage.
May you like
And this time, she intended to explain exactly how a wife was supposed to take care of her son.
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