Read Online Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) by Isabelle Peterson - Free Book Online
Authors: Isabelle Peterson
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like Russian roulette? That any one of his calls would do me in. Why I wouldn’t answer his calls. I’d left for solid reasons. I needed to know I could stand on my own two feet. I hit “Decline,” rolled over and fought for sleep.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t get him out of my head. But not Greg, It was Jack who consumed my thoughts. His eyes, his voice, his mouth, his tongue collecting that delicious scotch…
I sat in my recliner in the family room, still in my pajamas. I called in sick for the past four days. I was sure my clients were ready to put a bullet in my head. Hell, I’d like to as well. Four days of no shaving, no showering, and minimal contact with the outside world.
I looked around the living room: a Styrofoam box of eggplant parmesan, half eaten, and a bottle of wine, nearly empty. Eggplant parmesan was her favorite. The cleaning ladies would know something was up, even if they overlooked my appearance. My housekeeping skills were the pits. When do they come anyway? How much do we pay them? Was it cash or check the day of or did they bill us? Elizabeth would know.
I read Elizabeth’s letter for the umpteen millionth time. Elizabeth had only been gone for four days, but it felt like four years. I picked up the phone and pressed re-dial.
“You’ve reached Elizabeth. Please leave a message.” BEEP.
“Elizabeth… Bets… Please. Call me. We need to talk.” I pressed the “End” button, and once again, read through her letter. There was actually no point in reading it. I had it memorized.
Draining the last of the wine into my glass, picked it up and walked over to Elizabeth’s chair, where her unfinished crochet project sat in the basket to the side. I settled in her chair. It was small for me, but it felt like her. It smelled like her.
I absentmindedly turned on CNN and waited for other problems in the world to make my problem seem small. It didn’t work. Wars, hostage situations, financial crises seem pale in comparison to the ache in my heart. My eyes blurred with tears, but I didn’t even bother to brush them away anymore. There’s no reason. Another tear would replace it shortly.
What did I do? What can I do? Why was this happening?
This would be the fourth night in a row that I’d fallen asleep in her chair.
CHAPTER 6
F riday morning I met up with Sarah at my new address, as arranged. I got my keys to my place, for the next couple of months anyway, and reintroduced myself to Dominic. He told me about the rooftop patio and that he was sorry it was still being painted, but that it should be available tomorrow. He reminded me of all the services that he and the other doorman, Gilbert, a part-timer, were there to help me with. He gave me a resident folder with building phone numbers, several takeout menus from local restaurants, and things to do in the area, as well as a couple of maps. I went up to get settled in my home on the sixth floor, even if I had just forty-five minutes before I had to leave for work. I unpacked my clothes and hung my new towels. It felt like when I moved into the dorms in college. A fresh new start. Like I could conquer the world.
When it was time to leave, I locked the door, double checking it, then made my way to the elevator bay. As I passed the apartment next door to mine, the door swung open, and out emerged a sweet older lady.
“Oh, hello pet! Are you our new neighbor?” she chirped with an adorable Irish brogue.
“Yes I am. Elizabeth Fairchild,” I said, extending her my hand to complete the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you.
“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Doloras Hanlon,” she said, shaking my hand. She turned, and closed the door. “Just headin’ out for the day. No rest for the weary. Ya must keep movin’ if you want to keep groovin’, or however the sayin’ goes.” I loved her accent. “So, would you be stayin’ here for work or pleasure?” she asked as she locked her door and we made our way to the
As tired as I was, I couldn’t get him out of my head. But not Greg, It was Jack who consumed my thoughts. His eyes, his voice, his mouth, his tongue collecting that delicious scotch…
I sat in my recliner in the family room, still in my pajamas. I called in sick for the past four days. I was sure my clients were ready to put a bullet in my head. Hell, I’d like to as well. Four days of no shaving, no showering, and minimal contact with the outside world.
I looked around the living room: a Styrofoam box of eggplant parmesan, half eaten, and a bottle of wine, nearly empty. Eggplant parmesan was her favorite. The cleaning ladies would know something was up, even if they overlooked my appearance. My housekeeping skills were the pits. When do they come anyway? How much do we pay them? Was it cash or check the day of or did they bill us? Elizabeth would know.
I read Elizabeth’s letter for the umpteen millionth time. Elizabeth had only been gone for four days, but it felt like four years. I picked up the phone and pressed re-dial.
“You’ve reached Elizabeth. Please leave a message.” BEEP.
“Elizabeth… Bets… Please. Call me. We need to talk.” I pressed the “End” button, and once again, read through her letter. There was actually no point in reading it. I had it memorized.
Draining the last of the wine into my glass, picked it up and walked over to Elizabeth’s chair, where her unfinished crochet project sat in the basket to the side. I settled in her chair. It was small for me, but it felt like her. It smelled like her.
I absentmindedly turned on CNN and waited for other problems in the world to make my problem seem small. It didn’t work. Wars, hostage situations, financial crises seem pale in comparison to the ache in my heart. My eyes blurred with tears, but I didn’t even bother to brush them away anymore. There’s no reason. Another tear would replace it shortly.
What did I do? What can I do? Why was this happening?
This would be the fourth night in a row that I’d fallen asleep in her chair.
CHAPTER 6
F riday morning I met up with Sarah at my new address, as arranged. I got my keys to my place, for the next couple of months anyway, and reintroduced myself to Dominic. He told me about the rooftop patio and that he was sorry it was still being painted, but that it should be available tomorrow. He reminded me of all the services that he and the other doorman, Gilbert, a part-timer, were there to help me with. He gave me a resident folder with building phone numbers, several takeout menus from local restaurants, and things to do in the area, as well as a couple of maps. I went up to get settled in my home on the sixth floor, even if I had just forty-five minutes before I had to leave for work. I unpacked my clothes and hung my new towels. It felt like when I moved into the dorms in college. A fresh new start. Like I could conquer the world.
When it was time to leave, I locked the door, double checking it, then made my way to the elevator bay. As I passed the apartment next door to mine, the door swung open, and out emerged a sweet older lady.
“Oh, hello pet! Are you our new neighbor?” she chirped with an adorable Irish brogue.
“Yes I am. Elizabeth Fairchild,” I said, extending her my hand to complete the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you.
“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Doloras Hanlon,” she said, shaking my hand. She turned, and closed the door. “Just headin’ out for the day. No rest for the weary. Ya must keep movin’ if you want to keep groovin’, or however the sayin’ goes.” I loved her accent. “So, would you be stayin’ here for work or pleasure?” she asked as she locked her door and we made our way to the
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