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17
Bree
When I finally manage to open my eyes, which is a struggle, all I can feel is complete exhaustion. Jonathan had travelled back to the city late last night. No matter how much I had tried to persuade him to stay longer, he had refused. Like me, he had to work this morning. Unlike me, he was determined to be up and have his usual morning routine down before he readied himself for work.
Crazy gym rat.
While I had thoroughly enjoyed the day I had spent with him, all the laughing and talking and reminiscing had exhausted me. When I finally crawled into bed last night, sleep came immediately. Even now, I can barely keep my eyes open. I don’t want to imagine how Jonathan must be feeling.
Still lying in bed, I check my phone for messages. Before leaving, he had promised to text me once he reached home safely.
“I won’t ring, Bree. I don’t want to wake you. But I swear, I’ll send you a text so you know I got back safe.”
“You better,” I had warned.
Sure enough, I find his message on my phone, sent at 2:47 that morning. I wince at the thought of how hard he must have struggled to get out of bed. But knowing Jonathan, he would have done it, no matter how tired he was.
Now, it was my turn.
Come on, Bree. If your brother can do it after a three-hour drive, so can you.
With gargantuan effort, I decide to work my way out of bed in stages. First, I push myself up to a sitting position, leaning on the head board for support. My neck feels like rubber—thin, pliable rubber—and is seriously struggling to support my head.
What is wrong with me? Why am I so tired?
Maybe because you’ve been in bed before ten ‘o clock every night since you arrived here, unlike last night.
Yes, maybe. Maybe it was also the few beers I had, while Jonathan had his Coke. But jeez, it was only three or four. Has this country existence really affected me so much, I can’t even take a few beers? In fairness, I had worked pretty hard last week, and then there was the whole drama when Jackson had bumped into Claire, and the can of worms that had opened.
Besides, Jonathan had totally ruined my lie-in yesterday. Not that I had complained. Not at all. I had loved seeing his familiar face. I had missed him very much. We had always been close, and when I still lived in the city, we had met every Wednesday for lunch, unless I just had to have it with a prospect.
Before he left, he had promised he wouldn’t be a stranger, but had told me that the road went both ways.
“You know, you’re always welcome to crash at our place if you come to visit.”
“If I come to visit?” I had balked, laughing. “God, Jonathan, you would think I was never going to see you again. Of course, I’ll come and visit. I just want to give this place a chance, that’s all.”
“Of course, you do. I get it.”
But he didn’t get it at all, because I had made absolutely no mention of Jackson. We had talked about every single subject under the sun, I had even told him about Sylvie, Ben, and Daniel, and how wonderful they all were. But Jackson’s name had not crossed my lips. I know exactly why. I didn’t want to see the judgment in Jonathan’s eyes.
He had never liked David, and very much like our older sister, had told me to take some time out for myself after the divorce. I had not listened, and the crappy relationship with Robert had been a direct result of me ignoring both of my siblings’ wise advice. If they now find out that, in the short time that I had been here, I was already involving myself in yet another relationship, their judgments would never cease. Jonathan might have keeled over if he had found out.
The shower didn’t help much, but after the strong cup of coffee, I’m feeling a little more awake. Not as much as I would like, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m sure that once I get to Ben’s and start my chores, I’ll be fine.
“Good morning,” I say, stifling a yawn.
“Late night?” Ben smiled.
“Yes, that and all this heat. It’s killing me.”
Ben frowns. “Does it not get hot in New York?”
“Oh, sure. But New York is a concrete jungle with aircon in every building.”
Ben smiles and nods. “Of course there is. But the country air is good for your lungs,” he continued, as I push him out to the porch. “Contains none of that smog and pollution you find in the city.”
“No aircon in the fields either,” I quip back, but I’m smiling.
