The World: According to Rachael by Layne Harper

Author:Layne Harper [Harper, Layne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Layne Harper
Published: 2014-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

I’ve gotten caught up enough on my reading so I at least will not be starting off the week drowning. I’ve watched my taped television shows while I did some cardio on my rowing machine. Now, my house is eerily quiet.

This is ridiculous. He’s only stayed here one night, but his scent lingers in the air, reminding me that for ten brief hours this house was on fire with intense passion, tender emotions, and happiness. Now, it feels void of life. It’s as if I had seen color for the first time, and now I look around at everything in shades of grey.

I stand up and grab a towel, wiping the sweat off of my face as I head to my kitchen for a bottle of water. What has Graham Jackson done to me? Cast some sort of voodoo spell? This isn’t me. I don’t get attached, needy, clingy, or any other adjective that makes me feel like a nineteen-year-old girl. I hate how much I want to grab my phone and call him just so I can hear his voice.

There’s a postcard that hangs on my refrigerator. Caroline and Colin are part owners of an island in the Caribbean called Nouveau Départ. Caroline’s daughter loves sending mail. Last time they visited the island, I received the picture of a tropical landscape. On the back, she wrote, I mis u!!!!!!! Love, Ainsley McKinney. It’s the only piece of personal mail that I have received in years.

Homesickness almost doubles me over. I can’t call Graham, and I’ve already spoken to Caroline once this week. She’d hop on a plane and be at my doorstep if I actually called her more than once in the same month.

So instead, I call my parents. My mom picks up on the third ring.

“Rachael, how nice to hear from you.” Her voice is changing with age. When I was a child, I loved how confident she sounded. I would practice in front of the mirror saying my name different ways, experimenting with how I could manipulate my voice to sound as authoritative as she did. Now, my mom sounds a bit fragile and unsure of herself. Has anyone else noticed? Probably not, but I do, and it adds to my unease.

“Hi Mom,” I reply as I sink into my chair by the front door. “How’s everything?”

“Great,” she replies. Then she goes on to share with me her and Dad’s plans for Thanksgiving. They don’t include me. They haven’t since I graduated from Texas A&M. They’re going to Greece for two weeks. Mom’s excited to see the clear blue water against the white cliffs. Dad wants to check out some art galleries that he has read about.

I just listen. It occurs to me that it’s been a couple of years since I last saw them. It has never bothered me before, but now I feel sad. Maybe it was hearing Graham talk about his family last night after we’d had sex, before we fell asleep. Maybe it’s my boss, mentor, and friend being diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

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