their table. Eden could feel his gaze on her during the evening and they exchanged a nod and a smile. He was undeniably attractive, and ordinarily she might have flirted with him, but she was too exhausted tonight, and too fragile. She sank into the supportive kindness of those at the cheerful table like a warm bath, and when she got up to leave, she quickly accepted the offer from her gay barista friend, Drew, to walk her back to her apartment.
She barely slept, and thought about calling in sick when the alarm went off, but, finally, Eden told herself that she would have to face it sooner or later, and there was no point in putting off the inevitable. She wore sunglasses on the subway to Manhattan, even though the day was cloudy, and, when she entered the building on 57th Street, she avoided eye contact with anyone she passed. In the elevator she kept her gaze straight ahead. Even though she recognized some of the people who worked at DeLaurier Publishing, she pretended not to see them. She entered the reception area and waved at Melissa without stopping to chat.
Once she was burrowed in her own office, she felt safer, and the anxious racing of her heart settled down to a normal rhythm. A bouquet of flowers arrived from the company, and were set on her desk. Sophy came in, as she always did, and settled herself in the chair in front of Eden, ready to listen. Sophy could be a wonderfully matter-of-fact person, and she did not avoid the difficult subject of the murder/suicide. Her questions were both unabashed and tactful. Eden admitted helplessly that she could not explain it, and Sophy agreed that it was utterly baffling. Somehow, Eden felt better. She had said it out loud to someone who did not know her family, and she had not turned to stone as a result. It would be easier to say it aloud the next time.
Work had piled up on her desk and computer, and even though she had little appetite for it, she forced herself to begin working on manuscripts. Gradually, she found her interest returning. She hid out in her office for the rest of the work day, and no one tried to coax her out. When her mind wandered from the task, she chided herself into refocusing. She was lucky to have a job that interested her. Getting back to work felt like a relief.
Over the next few days, life as it was, far from Robbin’s Ferry, began to resume a semblance of normalcy. Eden called her father every night, reassured by the sound of Hugh’s voice. Her friends were solicitous, and invited her to dinner. She ate in someone else’s kitchen, or as their guest in one bistro or another, for the better part of two weeks. Her crying jags became less frequent. Her mother’s suicide had been a shock and a loss, but, in many ways, she told herself, she had grieved for her mother years ago. When Tara left Hugh for Flynn Darby, life as Eden knew it was torn apart. While Tara’s death was much more final, the feeling of losing her mother was not new to her. She had survived it once, she reminded herself. She would survive again.
One day Hugh called, and asked if he could come into Manhattan and take her out to dinner after work. Eden was surprised, but glad for the opportunity to see him. After they had eaten at a Chinese restaurant on the West Side, Hugh got around to the purpose of his visit. ‘I’m going to Florida for two weeks,’ he said.
Eden was delighted to hear that news. ‘Oh Dad, that’s great. You gonna do some fishing?’
‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’ve been a little worried about going so far away from you at such a difficult time.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Eden reassured him. ‘My friends are looking after me. I haven’t had dinner alone since I got back.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m okay,’ said Eden, and she did not allow even a shade of sadness into her voice. She wanted him to go to Florida, and rest in the sun, without worrying about her. ‘Who are you going with?’ she asked. ‘Are you
She barely slept, and thought about calling in sick when the alarm went off, but, finally, Eden told herself that she would have to face it sooner or later, and there was no point in putting off the inevitable. She wore sunglasses on the subway to Manhattan, even though the day was cloudy, and, when she entered the building on 57th Street, she avoided eye contact with anyone she passed. In the elevator she kept her gaze straight ahead. Even though she recognized some of the people who worked at DeLaurier Publishing, she pretended not to see them. She entered the reception area and waved at Melissa without stopping to chat.
Once she was burrowed in her own office, she felt safer, and the anxious racing of her heart settled down to a normal rhythm. A bouquet of flowers arrived from the company, and were set on her desk. Sophy came in, as she always did, and settled herself in the chair in front of Eden, ready to listen. Sophy could be a wonderfully matter-of-fact person, and she did not avoid the difficult subject of the murder/suicide. Her questions were both unabashed and tactful. Eden admitted helplessly that she could not explain it, and Sophy agreed that it was utterly baffling. Somehow, Eden felt better. She had said it out loud to someone who did not know her family, and she had not turned to stone as a result. It would be easier to say it aloud the next time.
Work had piled up on her desk and computer, and even though she had little appetite for it, she forced herself to begin working on manuscripts. Gradually, she found her interest returning. She hid out in her office for the rest of the work day, and no one tried to coax her out. When her mind wandered from the task, she chided herself into refocusing. She was lucky to have a job that interested her. Getting back to work felt like a relief.
Over the next few days, life as it was, far from Robbin’s Ferry, began to resume a semblance of normalcy. Eden called her father every night, reassured by the sound of Hugh’s voice. Her friends were solicitous, and invited her to dinner. She ate in someone else’s kitchen, or as their guest in one bistro or another, for the better part of two weeks. Her crying jags became less frequent. Her mother’s suicide had been a shock and a loss, but, in many ways, she told herself, she had grieved for her mother years ago. When Tara left Hugh for Flynn Darby, life as Eden knew it was torn apart. While Tara’s death was much more final, the feeling of losing her mother was not new to her. She had survived it once, she reminded herself. She would survive again.
One day Hugh called, and asked if he could come into Manhattan and take her out to dinner after work. Eden was surprised, but glad for the opportunity to see him. After they had eaten at a Chinese restaurant on the West Side, Hugh got around to the purpose of his visit. ‘I’m going to Florida for two weeks,’ he said.
Eden was delighted to hear that news. ‘Oh Dad, that’s great. You gonna do some fishing?’
‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’ve been a little worried about going so far away from you at such a difficult time.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Eden reassured him. ‘My friends are looking after me. I haven’t had dinner alone since I got back.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m okay,’ said Eden, and she did not allow even a shade of sadness into her voice. She wanted him to go to Florida, and rest in the sun, without worrying about her. ‘Who are you going with?’ she asked. ‘Are you
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