He patted his leg, and Violet jumped to his side.
“You don’t have to go,” I said.
“It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning,” he countered. “The fires should keep you warm if the breaker blows again.” He turned and I followed.
It took a moment for his words to settle. Davis had lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace. “What about the bats?” I asked, not in a hurry to become the next Mrs. Dracula.
He stopped beside his truck, brows furrowed. “What?”
“You said bats roosted in the chimney so I shouldn’t mess with that fireplace.”
Confusion turned to irritation as he unlocked the door. “Well, I made sure the chimney was clear.”
Violet hopped inside and waited.
His tortured expression would’ve broken my heart if I wasn’t so befuddled.
“Call me if you have any more trouble,” he said.
Then he drove away.
Chapter Sixteen
I dragged myself up the steps to my room, alone and miserable. Davis and I had been students together at UMass. I’d never given thought to us being on campus at the same time, having the same teachers, and walking the same paths.
I couldn’t help wondering if we’d have hit it off then, or if there were versions of us in another life who enjoyed the good without all the bad. How long could I endure the mixed signals that kept me confused and on edge? Never mind his hasty departures, yet another form of rejection. Annie and Jeffrey met at UMass; so had Mom and Dad. I’d never begrudged Annie’s opportunity to follow in our parents’ footsteps, living on campus and meeting her mate there. I was proud of the sacrifice I’d made so she could have the college experience she wanted. But I’d also silently mourned that I hadn’t had the chance to do the same.
I supposed, in a way, my experience was similar to Emily’s. She’d attended Amherst College for a short time before returning home, where she stayed until she died. I’d simply skipped the part where I left home.
Until now.
Fire crackled in the fireplace as promised, and I sloughed off my blanket cape, overheated by my catastrophic frustration. I needed twelve hours of sleep to clear my head, and a long phone call with Cecily to untangle my thoughts.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t use my phone as much more than a flashlight in the manor. So, I’d have to settle on writing another letter.
Cecily would flip when she heard about the possibility Michael, not Grace, was Historically_Bookish. I still didn’t know who’d sent my mystery bouquet. And I was pretty sure I’d nearly kissed Davis again tonight. Leave it to Professor Donohue and his yardstick to ruin my fun, even twelve years later.
Emily Dickinson once wrote that she considered her friends her estate.
I couldn’t agree more. And I hated being separated from my best friend when I needed her most.
I stayed in bed as long as I could manage the next day, avoiding my life. When my stomach growled and my bladder cried, I forced myself upright and slogged downstairs.
Ten minutes later, I carried a mug of coffee up the lane to the mailbox, eager to send off my latest to Cecily. The morning grew brighter when I saw a letter from her awaiting me. I tore it open immediately.
Dearest Emma,
I had no idea you really liked this guy. I think you should call so we can talk about this properly. Writing letters isn’t getting the job done for me. Friendly reminder, you don’t actually live in the eighteen hundreds.
I could practically hear her huffing, and I smiled.
I love that Davis and his dog make you happy. I want you to be happy. Are you happy? Please tell methe answer is yes, because that was literally on your list of things to do there.
I considered the question, unsure how to answer. I wasn’tunhappy. I liked the town, the manor, and my new friends, but I wasn’t reaching the goals I’d set for myself, and that frustrated me. I blew out a long breath and read on.
You say you’re a subpar Emily Dickinson, but I think you’re a really great Emma Rini, and isn’t that better?
All my love,
