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The morning was cool – too cool for August. It was as if the summer had decided to mourn Diego’s passing, along with the rest of the estate. Carrie, unable to sleep, had been sitting on the grass since three o’clock in the morning. The darkness had comforted her, and the singing of the dawn birds had rewarded her. She pressed her palms into the damp ground, ready to stand, when a dark figure captured her attention.
Gael.
It was not yet six o’clock. His pace was even, his steps strong, his stride confident. He ran as though he was trying to pound his thoughts into the earth. He ran angrily. He ran furiously. Her mournful blue eyes tracked him, confident that the fog would keep her concealed from him.
Except he was looking for her. Or perhaps it just seemed that way. His eyes scanned the grounds, and sure enough, he changed his path as he neared her loc
ation, running for her quickly now.
Gael slowed a short distance from Carrie. She was shivering, her face pale, her eyes huge, her hair a mess.
“Carrie?” He crouched down on his haunches. “You’re frozen.” He unzipped his running jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. It smelled of him. She pushed it away.
“Am I?” She asked, her eyes holding his for the briefest of moments.
“How long have you been sitting here?”
She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
He made a sound of impatience. “Come inside with me.”
She shook her head. She tried to smile. She thought it was appropriate. But her lips wouldn’t cooperate. “I’ll be in soon.”
He hadn’t seen her since the previous night, when they’d arrived on the estate. He’d been busy with Alexandra, but his mind had been singularly focussed on Carrie. She’d barely spoken, the entire trip out to the countryside.
“How are you?”
She swallowed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
He was hurting from not touching her. He ached to put an arm around her shoulders and hold her against his chest. “He was my father by birth, but yours more so at the end.”
Carrie closed her eyes. Tears slid out from the corners of her eyes, hot and heavy on her cheek. She didn’t bother to check them. Gael watched her cry andhe sat perfectly still.
“He was well, when I saw him last. He was laughing.”
Gael nodded. “He caught a flu.”
Carrie shook her head. “Who from?”
“Who knows?” Gael shrugged. “He was weakened from his chemotherapy.”
“When?”
“When?” He repeated quizzically.
“When did he get sick? When did you know? When did you come here?”
Gael nodded. “Alexandra called me Monday.”
“Monday?” She shook her head angrily. “Why didn’t she call me?”
“I told her not to,” he responded heavily. “It was just a flu. Diego said he’d be fine. He didn’t want to bother you. I agreed with him ...”
If it would have served a purpose, Carrie might have allowed herself to feel anger. But it didn’t. She wouldn’t.
“You’ve been here a week?”
He nodded.
