Hmm. Didn’t answer for a while.
“Having a little poke around in that chest cavity, are you?” she asked, after I’d been quiet for a bit too long.
“Gross. No, I haven’t really thought about romance for a while, I guess. So I’m thinking about it.”
Was actually buying time. The whole chat had shaken me a bit.
“I guess…if…one day…someone who really, honestly wanted children, and would love mine like their own…God, it feels weird to even say it. But yes, I suppose it’s theoretically possible I could date this theoretically open-minded man who wants kids. Or, specifically, wants my kid.”
“There we go,” Brianna said with satisfaction. “She’s ready to love again, ladies and gentlemen.”
Of course will not be loving again right now, as discussed. But what she said about being happy…Iam, actually. The grief is still there, the loss, the guilt, but it doesn’t press on me the way it did. Doesn’t…suffocate me. I’ve been so busy, so preoccupied, sofocused on my new goals—I haven’t even noticed that the broken heart I thought I’d carry forever has been quietly mending.
No more delaying. Am on a Rog hunt.
Ugh, my stomach’s churning. Don’t want to do this. He’s going to hate me, for starters. Rest of the team will, too, and the committee—everyone loves Rog. But what else can I do?
At least I’ve managed to keep Jones out of it. Feel quite proud of myself, really. Am not naturally inclined to be Bad Cop, but am being brave and taking one for the team.
Hmm. Bad afternoon. Jones did not see it that way. More when I have a chance to write.
Eventually tracked Rog down on his tractor on the way to one of the polytunnels up at the northern end of Bramblebay, where they’re still picking the last of the strawberries.
“Rog, we need to talk!” I shouted up at him over the roar of the tractor’s old engine.
“What’s that?” he yelled down at me.
“We need to talk! Can you turn off the engine, please, Rog?”
“What do you want with Benji?”
“What? No, the engine, Rog.”
“Benji’s a good dog, but he’s not much help with the sheep—is it Kim who sent you?”
“No, Rog, I’m just—could you turn off the engine?”
“Tell Kim to try Baptiste’s collie, he’s not bad in a pinch. I’m on my way to the strawberries!”
“Right! Can you…” I was doing a very awkward jog to keep pace with the tractor. “Can you spare a minute?”
“Do you want to climb in?” Rog said, finally stopping. “Can’t hear you all the way down there!”
Hitched up my skirt and climbed the steps to the tractor cabin. It was surprisingly snug and cozy in there, though as soon as we started moving, the juddering motion made my teeth chatter.
“Sheep emergency, is there?” Rog said, flashing me a gold-toothed smile.
“Sure,” I said, giving up. “Thanks for the sheepdog advice. While I have you, can we talk about something else, please?”
“Oh, hello, another Charlie Jones!” Rog said, waving enthusiastically to Jones, who was cycling toward us, standing up in his saddle, peering into the cab of Rog’s tractor. He looked a little surprised to see me. Had never seen Jones on his bike before, though it lives propped up by our front door. A little lurch of emotion went through me at the sight of him in his helmet, looking for a split second like he was someone else entirely. Least he was wearing one, though—loads of islanders don’t.
“Charlie? What are you doing?” he called. Or at least, I assume that’s what he was saying. Rog wasn’t wrong—it was hard to hear up there. I asked Rog to turn off the engine for a moment.
“I’ve been calling you,” Jones said, dropping one foot to the track as he came to a stop. “We need you back at the shop. Red’s had to duck out for a bit.”
“Why?”
“She’s…” Jones’s eyes flicked to Rog. “Can you come down?”
