Chapter 31
When Sarah knocked on the door of the cottage that Sunday, Joan burst forth with her arms stretched wide and a warm smile on her face. “Good morning, darling.”
After embracing, the author bundled Sarah over the threshold. Inside, Sarah noted the kitchenette to her right. A blue vinyl-topped table, with three mismatched wooden chairs, was against the wall. Opposite, was a double bed. It looked comfortable. She had to force the images of Charles sleeping in it from her mind. The moment she succeeded, he stepped from a room off the side of the bed.
He made eye contact and said, “Hello, Sarah.”
Her stomach responded with a silent rumble of anticipation. “Hi, Charles.”
He approached her. She frowned. The blackness under his eyes was darker than she’d noticed before. His posture had a general fatigue about it. He wasn’t sleeping. Why?
At her side, Joan’s voice chirped, “Please, slip off your shoes and make yourself at home.”
Sarah turned her face and saw Joan pointing toward a low, lacquered, dark-wood shoe cupboard. She dropped her bag she had over one shoulder to the floor, kicked off her white canvas tennis shoes, then crouched to put them away. Now that she was eye level with the cupboard, she could see that a nature scene had been hand-carved into the closed doors. A river twisted between trees on one side and a mountain range on the other.
Sarah gasped, “Wow, this is beautiful work.”
She ran a hand along the carvings of a mother and baby deer. They sipped the water, ample grass was under their feet, and the branches of a weeping willow offered nearby shade. It felt serene and light.
Sarah’s gaze drifted toward the scene on the other side of the stream. Among the barren mountains stood a single bear. The beast seemed almost real, with its teeth drawn and a clawed hand ready to strike. It felt scary and dark. A shiver passed down her spine. There was something at the edges of her consciousness that resonated with the image. What was it?
Suddenly, the answer came: the bear, the beast, the bully. They were one and the same. That was why the image made her feel unsettled, it reminded her of Jacques. Her life with him.
“Are you okay?”
She glanced up at the sound of the unexpected voice. Charles was staring at her, his eyes colored by concern.
She made herself nod, “I’m okay.”
His forehead creased, showing he didn’t believe her. Instead of pushing the point, he held a hand out toward her and said, “Here.”
She reached for his hand, “Thank you.”
The moment their hands joined, Sarah sensed the same electrical charge she’d felt upon shaking his hand at the awards dinner. She made herself show no visible sign of the reaction she was having as he gave her a gentle tug upwards.
Upright, she peered into his eyes. He did the same. There was an intensity about it that compounded the charges already pulsing through her. She needed to say something or else she would relax into the feeling . . . and she didn’t want to do that. She was not allowed to fall for him.
She stammered a response, “The cupboard . . . is beautiful . . . is it . . . by a local craftsperson?”
Oh Lord.
She sounded like an idiot who couldn’t string a proper sentence together.
He offered one of his subtle corner smiles, “Yes.”
Sarah couldn’t think of anything to say. To make things worse, the electricity was spreading through her chest. And they weren’t even holding hands any more.
Joan released a loud, deep sigh. “Come on you two.”
Charles took a step back. A little disoriented, Sarah retrieved her bag from the floor then turned. Joan was seated at a wooden desk about the same width as the window in front of it. Charles moved toward the desk. Sarah followed him.
Joan gave a seat to her left a pat, “You can sit here, darling.”
Sarah smiled, “Thanks.”
As she organized her things, Sarah caught a glimpse of the garden from the window. “Ooh, I love that fountain, and all the flowers.”
“Can you see why I come here to write?”
Sarah smiled and faced her mentor, “I can.”
Joan grinned, “Now. Where did Charles get up to in your last session?”
***
He was so tired. As if to emphasize the thought, Charles felt his eyelids close. He shook his head and forced his lids to open. With a glance at the clock on his nightstand, he saw it was close to lunchtime.
Perfect. He could suggest a break without raising questions regarding his fatigue.
Taking a deep breath in, and trying to appear more alert than he felt, he stood, and said, “I think we could all use a lunch break.”
***
Sarah whipped around. She’d been so absorbed in finishing the writing exercise Joan had set for her, she’d forgotten Charles was even there.
“Good idea, darling.” Joan shifted her focus to Sarah. “Do you like sandwiches?”
“Yes. Love them.”
“Ham, cheese, and tomato okay?”
“Sure.” Sarah slid her chair out and added, “I can give you a hand.”
Charles waved her offer away, “I can do it. You’re the guest.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
Joan rose, cutting off any reply Charles had been about to make, “You look tired. You’ve been having too many late nights, haven’t you?”
Charles glanced at Sarah, as if searching for a reaction from her, then looked at his mother. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m all right.”
Sarah frowned. Anyone with sight could see he wasn’t.
“Why don’t you have a lie down for a few minutes?”
Charles shook his head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Sarah felt her eyebrow rise. Why wasn’t it a good idea?
“Go on. You’ll be right there if I need you.” His mother pointed to the bed. “Plus, Sarah and I need some private girl-time, don’t we?”
Joan gave her a conspiratorial wink.
Sarah chuckled, happy to play along, “That’s right.”
Charles threw his hands up in a defeated gesture, “Fine, fine. Two against one. How can I compete with that?”
“You can’t, darling.” Joan faced her, “You can finish that exercise and I’ll sort out lunch, all right?”
Sarah nodded, “Okay,” then returned her attention to her notepad.
Behind her, she heard what sounded like Charles lying down on the bed. It took every ounce of control Sarah had to stop herself from twisting to get a better look.