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What would Seamus think?
The worst has happened, but I’m still here, and now I have our child to care for.Lowering her head onto her clasped hands, Meg tried to think, but her mind was a fog of grief and loss and indecision.
She dropped the pen, pushed her chair away from the desk and strolled to the French doors. Pulling them open, she stepped onto the veranda and leaned on the railing, drawing in a deep breath. Air, heavy with sweet floral scents and summer heat lay thick around her.
Cumulo-nimbus clouds had built up in the east. Another afternoon storm was on its way, and she had no idea what to tell Geoffrey.
Practical Geoffrey. Kind and caring and there, giving her whatever time she needed.
He knew she wasn’t in love with him, but he had feelings for her.
Do I have feelings for him? What do I tell him?
She watched when the storm broke and breathed in the earthy smell of rain on Vera’s lush garden. She watched until the sky darkened, and still had no idea what to write. Where was the Southern Cross? She needed to find it and think of Seamus. Small snuffling sounds reached her, a prelude to Jennifer waking and hungry.
Later. When Jennifer had been fed and changed, Meg would bring her out and introduce her to the same stars Seamus had shown her but for now, her daughter needed her.
Geoffrey’s letter lay unanswered on the desk.
