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Authors: Jacqueline Sheehan
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as Hill divorced.
The living room window offered a panoramic view. Words were spoken, not many, it didnât take many, and she was in his arms. No, it didnât take long at all.
Rocky turned over the key, put the car in reverse, and slowly backed up, away from the cul-de-sac, without her headlights on. She inserted the back end of her car into a driveway, turned around, and clicked on her headlights only when Hillâs living room window was a dot in her rearview mirror. How could she have been so deluded into imagining that Hill spent every minute thinking about her? The man had been hedging his bets. She should have paid better attention to the guidelines for purgatory.
Chapter 11
H ow could she have been so wrong about Hill? She had trusted him, and without warning, he was having an affair with Julie. Well, they were still married, so it couldnât be called an affair. But the toxic burn of betrayal shocked her. What did she know about dating, about starting relationships? Nothing.
A piece of buttered toast sat cooling on a plate, untouched. She had wanted to tell Hill everything about the strange girl, about the Costello house, about the pressing need to call Ray about her job. She stabbed the toast with a knife and tossed it into Cooperâs bowl.
This was the drop-dead date for calling Ray Velasquez to confirm the date she was returning to her job. Everyone had been understanding when she left; she had had her own mega, grieving, mental health meltdown after Bob died, and she had not inflicted her woes on her vulnerable clients. She had created her very own vision quest off the coast of Maine while ferrying sick dogs and cats from Peaks Island over to Portland.
Rocky looked at her phone, nestled in its cradle, like it was a rattlesnake coiled and ready to strike. Rocky pictured Ray waiting for her to call. Not that the man lacked for one million other things to do with his life, but he had to know if she was coming back to her job in the fall. She pictured him in his office at the university, a remarkably quiet place during the summer. There was normally just a smattering of students taking summer classes, and they rarely made use of the counseling center.
Her house was back in western Mass along with her old life and her furniture, her finicky furnace, and her paved driveway. Her career waited for her with great sticky fingers ready to guide her back to her office. This would be so much easier if she hated her job. The truth of the matter was that she loved everything about her job. She was totally engrossed with the college students who, for the first time in their lives, sought out therapy on their own and tried to grapple with alcoholic parents, bulimic roommates, the agonies of their first broken heart, or the terrifying grip of depression. Their resilience was nothing short of dizzying at their age, and Rocky was thrilled each time a college kid came back from the brink of a personal disaster.
She took the cordless phone out of its cradle. Cooper had stationed himself in front of the screen door, catching the morning breeze, lifting his nose in celebration of a good dog day. Peterson entertained herself by pouncing on Cooperâs tail whenever he moved it.
Rocky put the phone on the maple table close to the dark circular outline left by an abandoned beer can. She spoke directly to Cooper.
âYou donât have to make choices like this. As much as you might disagree, I canât stay in the almighty now every single minute like you do. I know, youâre a dog, and you are constantly rejoicing.â
Cooper exhaled a sigh and pushed up to a sitting position, giving her his full attention. His pink tongue rested happily in his slightly open mouth, forming the perfect Lab smile. Rocky reached for his head, and her fingers found the places along his skull that pleased him. She sat down next to him, cross-legged, and looked out the screen door and allowed the morning breezes to wash
The living room window offered a panoramic view. Words were spoken, not many, it didnât take many, and she was in his arms. No, it didnât take long at all.
Rocky turned over the key, put the car in reverse, and slowly backed up, away from the cul-de-sac, without her headlights on. She inserted the back end of her car into a driveway, turned around, and clicked on her headlights only when Hillâs living room window was a dot in her rearview mirror. How could she have been so deluded into imagining that Hill spent every minute thinking about her? The man had been hedging his bets. She should have paid better attention to the guidelines for purgatory.
Chapter 11
H ow could she have been so wrong about Hill? She had trusted him, and without warning, he was having an affair with Julie. Well, they were still married, so it couldnât be called an affair. But the toxic burn of betrayal shocked her. What did she know about dating, about starting relationships? Nothing.
A piece of buttered toast sat cooling on a plate, untouched. She had wanted to tell Hill everything about the strange girl, about the Costello house, about the pressing need to call Ray about her job. She stabbed the toast with a knife and tossed it into Cooperâs bowl.
This was the drop-dead date for calling Ray Velasquez to confirm the date she was returning to her job. Everyone had been understanding when she left; she had had her own mega, grieving, mental health meltdown after Bob died, and she had not inflicted her woes on her vulnerable clients. She had created her very own vision quest off the coast of Maine while ferrying sick dogs and cats from Peaks Island over to Portland.
Rocky looked at her phone, nestled in its cradle, like it was a rattlesnake coiled and ready to strike. Rocky pictured Ray waiting for her to call. Not that the man lacked for one million other things to do with his life, but he had to know if she was coming back to her job in the fall. She pictured him in his office at the university, a remarkably quiet place during the summer. There was normally just a smattering of students taking summer classes, and they rarely made use of the counseling center.
Her house was back in western Mass along with her old life and her furniture, her finicky furnace, and her paved driveway. Her career waited for her with great sticky fingers ready to guide her back to her office. This would be so much easier if she hated her job. The truth of the matter was that she loved everything about her job. She was totally engrossed with the college students who, for the first time in their lives, sought out therapy on their own and tried to grapple with alcoholic parents, bulimic roommates, the agonies of their first broken heart, or the terrifying grip of depression. Their resilience was nothing short of dizzying at their age, and Rocky was thrilled each time a college kid came back from the brink of a personal disaster.
She took the cordless phone out of its cradle. Cooper had stationed himself in front of the screen door, catching the morning breeze, lifting his nose in celebration of a good dog day. Peterson entertained herself by pouncing on Cooperâs tail whenever he moved it.
Rocky put the phone on the maple table close to the dark circular outline left by an abandoned beer can. She spoke directly to Cooper.
âYou donât have to make choices like this. As much as you might disagree, I canât stay in the almighty now every single minute like you do. I know, youâre a dog, and you are constantly rejoicing.â
Cooper exhaled a sigh and pushed up to a sitting position, giving her his full attention. His pink tongue rested happily in his slightly open mouth, forming the perfect Lab smile. Rocky reached for his head, and her fingers found the places along his skull that pleased him. She sat down next to him, cross-legged, and looked out the screen door and allowed the morning breezes to wash
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