Read Online Seeing Julia by Katherine Owen - Free Book Online
Authors: Katherine Owen
Tags: Grief, Contemporary, General Fiction, Contemporary Fiction, Women's Fiction, love, best friends, loss, passion, Betrayal, past love, Starting Over, epic love story, love endures, Malibu, connections, ties, Manhattan
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hair and his grey eyes is disquieting. The gold-rimmed glasses are not Evan’s and my husband was taller, but it’s there. I think all of this as I smile at him in a practiced, captivating way that has always helped me get what I want, even with Evan. It’s been working on Dr. Stevenson, too. I can see his hesitation. I can see his attraction to me. I still have that sex appeal men find attractive going for me. I certainly know this. A brief flash of Jake Winston’s face comes to my mind. I struggle with the feelings his image brings with it, but I recover enough to give the good doctor a beguiling look. “I’m going to be fine,” I say.
Dr. Stevenson breaks away from my evocative gaze and picks up the small paper pill cup. He deftly opens my hand with his and drops two white pills into it and then hands me a glass of water. My look of compliance disguises my disdain for these white pills. Dr. Stevenson steps back away from me, helpless, too involved, too captivated, in too deep. I believe he is indebted to the white pills as a last point of defense with me. I acknowledge the apprehension I see in his eyes with an inclination of my head. “Don’t worry so much. I’m fine ,” I say.
We look at each other; certain of only one thing: we silently concede the white pills won’t solve anything, least of all, what is haunting me. Everyone I have ever loved is dead and the handsome, beguiled Dr. Bradley Stevenson can’t fix any of it.
≈ ≈*
Chapter 6 - A never-ending roller coaster ride
A t the recommendation and somewhat agreeable terms reached with Dr. Bradley Stevenson, I return to the beach house at Amagansett under the watchful eyes of Kimberley, while Gregoire Chantal stays at her place in Manhattan. Stephanie and Christian stay at Jake Winston’s empty abode a mile down the road from mine, further delaying their return to Paris for Christmas with Christian’s family, while Jake continues to oversee things for Hamilton Equities at the office in London. Jake. Thoughts of him and our strange encounter ignite new rounds of guilt over my reckless behavior. Silent self-castigation about kissing my dead husband’s best friend from Yale assails me at unpredictable moments throughout each day now. What is wrong with me? Why oh why did I have to kiss him? Was I possessed? Yes. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. He reminded me of all those I’ve lost; and I was a little bit crazy. And, now I have to live with all of that.
The little white pills put me in an anesthetized state; I’m unable to feel anything too deeply. A living body wrung out and bereft of a soul, functioning in neutral on constant idle. The heartbreak is still real, just down deep; and I do my best to hide it, but based upon the anxious looks my inner circle exchange between them, I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, least of all, myself.
Grief settles around me with the clear intention of staying for the long-term as my constant companion, a stalker I can’t outrun. It’s always there, lurking, and ready to pounce at any given moment. I can’t get Evan’s accident out of my mind half the time. At other junctures, I’m inundated with thoughts of Jake Winston, our strange connection and this guilt and shame of being Evan’s widow and kissing his best friend. Incurable thoughts, all of them. If I could just stop thinking, everything would be fine.
Listless, I stare out at the grey canvas of the Atlantic. The harsh chill of the wind and the faint prickling sensation of salt spray barely register as these things race past me and obliterate all other sound with the exception of the agonized screaming inside.
A memory of Evan jogging along the shoreline, just weeks before, flashes at me. I look to the north and there he is in his favorite grey sweats. I scrutinize the lone figure running toward me. This inexplicable exhilaration coupled with rising anxiety courses through me. How can this be? Before I can stop myself,
Dr. Stevenson breaks away from my evocative gaze and picks up the small paper pill cup. He deftly opens my hand with his and drops two white pills into it and then hands me a glass of water. My look of compliance disguises my disdain for these white pills. Dr. Stevenson steps back away from me, helpless, too involved, too captivated, in too deep. I believe he is indebted to the white pills as a last point of defense with me. I acknowledge the apprehension I see in his eyes with an inclination of my head. “Don’t worry so much. I’m fine ,” I say.
We look at each other; certain of only one thing: we silently concede the white pills won’t solve anything, least of all, what is haunting me. Everyone I have ever loved is dead and the handsome, beguiled Dr. Bradley Stevenson can’t fix any of it.
≈ ≈*
Chapter 6 - A never-ending roller coaster ride
A t the recommendation and somewhat agreeable terms reached with Dr. Bradley Stevenson, I return to the beach house at Amagansett under the watchful eyes of Kimberley, while Gregoire Chantal stays at her place in Manhattan. Stephanie and Christian stay at Jake Winston’s empty abode a mile down the road from mine, further delaying their return to Paris for Christmas with Christian’s family, while Jake continues to oversee things for Hamilton Equities at the office in London. Jake. Thoughts of him and our strange encounter ignite new rounds of guilt over my reckless behavior. Silent self-castigation about kissing my dead husband’s best friend from Yale assails me at unpredictable moments throughout each day now. What is wrong with me? Why oh why did I have to kiss him? Was I possessed? Yes. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. He reminded me of all those I’ve lost; and I was a little bit crazy. And, now I have to live with all of that.
The little white pills put me in an anesthetized state; I’m unable to feel anything too deeply. A living body wrung out and bereft of a soul, functioning in neutral on constant idle. The heartbreak is still real, just down deep; and I do my best to hide it, but based upon the anxious looks my inner circle exchange between them, I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, least of all, myself.
Grief settles around me with the clear intention of staying for the long-term as my constant companion, a stalker I can’t outrun. It’s always there, lurking, and ready to pounce at any given moment. I can’t get Evan’s accident out of my mind half the time. At other junctures, I’m inundated with thoughts of Jake Winston, our strange connection and this guilt and shame of being Evan’s widow and kissing his best friend. Incurable thoughts, all of them. If I could just stop thinking, everything would be fine.
Listless, I stare out at the grey canvas of the Atlantic. The harsh chill of the wind and the faint prickling sensation of salt spray barely register as these things race past me and obliterate all other sound with the exception of the agonized screaming inside.
A memory of Evan jogging along the shoreline, just weeks before, flashes at me. I look to the north and there he is in his favorite grey sweats. I scrutinize the lone figure running toward me. This inexplicable exhilaration coupled with rising anxiety courses through me. How can this be? Before I can stop myself,
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