Awaken Into Life: The Awaken Saga, #4

Dear Reader...

As we continue our story with Drew and her friends, I want to warn you of a few things.

As you know by now, Drew has Anxiety and Depression; in this part of the story, we will experience some of her attacks along with her in detail.

Our characters will also be processing some PTSD from trauma.

The romance between Robert and Drew is blossoming, and so is some of their spice. This means some may find the context of their romance not appropriate.

Please read with caution and listen to your mental health.

Chapter 1: Saturday

I am so bored. Yes, I said it. I AM BORED.

I, Drew Masen, have nothing to do at two o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday in January. No one to hang out with, and no pressing requirements or engagements. After weeks of people being worried about my mental health and keeping tabs on me like I’m eight years old. Not having someone around is making the boredom even worse.

My best friend Oliver Dempsey is in his office, buried in a mountain of paperwork needing to be finished before the morning bell on Monday. The life of a market analyst. My other friends, who live in Fort Collins, Colorado, Jason, and Liz Cooper, are attending a wedding.

Even talking to my fiancé, Robert Darcy, is out of the question. Though it is only 9 pm in London, Robert is busy at a dinner...or a meeting...or something he told me about yesterday when I wasn’t paying attention. That means I’m stranded. Staring at the four walls of my apartment with nothing to do for a couple more hours.

My apartment is nothing of import. Modest in comparison to other locations I inhabit. The significant advantage of my residence is the location. From door to door, it is a five-minute walk to my office in the Admissions Department at Colorado State University.

The apartment is nothing special, a one-bedroom affair. The living room is separated from the kitchen by an island. An L-shaped hallway holds the vanity/bathroom area from the rest of the house and my bedroom. The bedroom is about the size of a college dorm room, but the advantage is the possession of a walk-in closet.

Isolated since last evening, I’m running out of options to keep myself occupied. Television does not hold a single mindless channel to capture my attention. The internet does not persuade me to flip through thousands of time-consuming frivolities. I attempt to read a book without being drawn to its pages. I clean for a while, but I am done so quickly that the event fills little time.

What do people do on a Saturday when there is nothing to do? I puzzle while lounging on the couch. Not one suitable idea comes to mind. The void of an answer drives me into agitation. Disappointingly, I keep devising a mental list.

Let’s start with places to go and things to do. Shopping...out. No money. Movies are also out for the same reason. Again, there is no spare cash to spend. Also, nothing needs to be seen on a big screen. January in Colorado means I don’t want to go outside, so my regular hiking and lazing at Horsetooth Reservoir are out. Not because of snow...just too freaking cold. I can’t stay in this house either.

The pictures on my wall fill me with regret over all that has happened. They remind me of how lost I was, consumed by the cult of ministry. Gave my life in sacrifice. Transformed me in ways I never dreamed possible. Eight years of struggle, heartache, and grief. These things made me weak. They fed my anxiousness and caused physical pain when the irrevocable separation came. In that life, I believed I would find the truth. I discovered nothing by lies.

Nevertheless, when all hope appeared lost, my friends stayed true. When my world unraveled, they fought to bring me back from the soul's darkest night. They staged an intervention, drawing me back from the abyss. Through the vitality of their accusations, I realized how truly dead my heart had become.

I let go of the torture that was my life in the ministry. In clarity, I felt peace. In that moment of awakening, the fragments of optimism in my soul fused. Though my life is nowhere near perfection, I don’t regret the choices I made. I’m able to understand the gifts being offered not just in myself but also in a partnership with my new fiancé.

Our whirlwind romance began when Robert Darcy encountered me in the Conservatory at the Bellagio. He claims to have fallen in love the moment he laid eyes on my beautiful smile. Unfortunately, it took me longer to reciprocate my devotion to him. The months that followed were complicated for lack of a better term.

Our first issue is proximity. Robert’s employment as a public relations consultant in the pop culture industry keeps him working in California, New York, or abroad. Currently, he’s in London, tying down merchandising contracts and tour publicity with some of the hottest British Bands.

My job at Colorado State University keeps me landlocked either in Colorado or the mainland U.S. It does not allow me to hang out with the rich or famous. Then again, my clientele is as interesting. I’m a valuable cog in recruiting young minds to this institution of higher education. I take pride in such a responsibility.

This University is not merely brick and mortar. This is where my friends became bonded. Where we became family. In the short time of my employment here, I endeavor to assist the next generation in seeing themselves having the experiences of a lifetime in this place.

My life has evolved from a lowly country pastor to an engaged college recruiter. Though this new challenge is filling, these past few months have not been all lollipops and rainbows either. Robert and I face more demons than I care to mention. We dealt with grief, death, and loss from all sides.

Robert is beginning to process the loss of his sister Rebecca for the first time in eighteen years on his level. I’m working through my own dark past. Coupled with the typical challenges of a relationship, we live in separation. We carry on, like soldiers on a grueling march, hoping for rest at the end of our journey. Every day, we remind ourselves that the exertions are worth the reward. There is nothing on this planet to make me believe otherwise.

My struggles do not end with a rocky past and a budding relationship. I’m struggling to prioritize my friendships. Most of all, I struggle with how puzzle pieces should fit. One exception to this problem. My dearest friend, Oliver. We can never go back to the way we were.

When Oliver was married, we had one way of being friends. Now that he is newly single after divorce, our history plays a part in our interaction. In all actuality, Robert is the most supportive of my reconnection. Setting Oliver, a place in this new world, has recently been the biggest test of my days.

Once the boundaries were established, our friendship flourished. We create a rhythm that is genial and harmonious. Though this is clear to Oliver, Robert, and me, the question of doubt still looms with my other friends. To them, I take care not to rock the boat.

A few weeks had passed since I made the whole round of calls, and with nothing new to report, it seemed impossible to keep the rest of my friends happy. Afterward, I glower at all the pictures of the gang around my living room for an hour. I do the only thing I can...talk to a few of them. I start with the southernmost friends. A video chat with Mary Clare Conroe and her soon-to-be husband, Colt Jameson, is in order. My hope is the time difference will find them away from their apartment.

Well, speak of the devil. Mary Clare announces, picking up my communication. I told Colt I needed to call you this morning, and here you are.

Hi, Drew, Colt yells from somewhere off-screen.

Hey, I giggle, leaning back onto the couch. Thought I would see how your day was going.

Fine. Fine. I’m preparing everything for our trip to Stock Show next week. It's not freezing there, is it? I’d rather not pack the extra warm stuff.

Colt is outright laughing in the background. A gentle grumble comes from Mary Clare before more laughing in the background.

They’re bulky and take up too much room in my carry-on.

Of course, the thought of Mary Clare only packing a carry-on starts me laughing. I’ve never seen her bring less than three suitcases for herself for a weekend trip. This time, my laughter chimes in with Colt’s background fit of giggles.

I’m serious. Her face crinkles into a slightly annoyed but adorable shape.

I labor to stifle my laugh.

Just kidding, M.C. It is not too bad here. Next week is supposed to be fine.

Bad is a relevant term. I’ll pack the thermals anyway. She grumbles in her definitive tone. So, how is your day?

Can’t complain. I lean my head back. My eyes glance over the monitor. There is a pause at the other end of the line.

Alone? Mary Clare whispers as if trying not to let Colt hear her comment.

Yes.

Oh, She sighs. Colt coughs from across the space. Nothing to worry about then. Don’t expect he’ll be appearing at the show, will he.

Oliver will be out of town. Meetings in New York all week.

Even better. There is a little too much enthusiasm is in her tone.

What? Did she finally ditch the baggage? Colt probes, coming closer to the computer. Is our dead weight problem corrected?

No. Oliver is still in my life, Colt. I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s going to be around for a long while.

We’ll see about that. Don’t let him fool you. He’s working an angle.

He’s not working any angles.

Sure, he is. It will make sense in time. You and Rob will come around.

Oh...Oh...I want to talk. Mary Clare reaches for the laptop. So, how’s the ring?

The ring is fine. I wiggle my left hand in front of the screen. A huge grin plasters on my face. No new news on when it will be mated.

No date. Well, shoot. Is Rob going to make an appearance next week?

Still in London.

Oh. A disheartened chorus comes through the laptop.

Speaking of dates. What are you working on this week? My attempt to change the subject brings light to Mary Clare’s eyes.

I took pictures of the dress choices. Wish you could have come down for the shopping.

Me too, but they needed me for admission reviews. With the Stock Show and the Admission trips. I can’t take any more time off work.

I know. I know. Would have been nice, is all?

I’m sure your choices will be wonderful.

But the others got to pick their bridesmaid dresses. That doesn’t seem fair.

To the victors go the spoils. I laugh.

Mary Clare is quiet for a minute and then laughs, too.

Anything else...new?

We lined up the catering. I contracted with the firm on Monday. Now, all I need to do is give the chief some ideas for the menu. Mary Clare taps her temple.

We could do a barbecue. A couple of kegs, and we’re set. Colt says in the corner of the screen. Simple.

Yes. Because that is so original in Texas. Mary Clare gripes, rolling her eyes.

Who said dinner has to be original, darlin’. Colt muses warily. Isn’t it supposed to be the food we like?

Mary Clare gives him a half-concerned expression before turning back to me.

Any thought, sugar?

I can’t think of any off the top of my head. Please send me a list of what they are known for. We’ll come up with something.

She nods swiftly.

My turn. Colt slides the laptop away from Mary Clare. The Alumni Council is meeting next week. The agenda states your department is up for discussion. Care to comment.

Not much...should be in your packet. Things are proceeding as planned. Two hundred and ninety-five legacy students have already been accepted for the upcoming class. Another four hundred fifty or so to analyze before February. Reservations are already coming in from the first batch of letters. We’re on track.

Good...Good. I'm glad to hear there will be so many this year. Your turnout is impressive as usual.

It is not all my work, Colt. Most of them had State on their shortlists. I nudge them in the right direction, is all.

My turn.

Mary Clare floats me in the other direction. At this pace, I’m confident my vertigo will set in.

So, when are you planning a trip down here, sugar?

I don’t think I’m scheduled for Dallas until April.

Not for work, silly. She rolls her eyes. When are you coming down for a visit?

Well...um...I don’t know M.C. I stall.

Darlin’, she doesn’t have time. She’s got kids to recruit. Colt nods.

I suppose you're right. Mary Clare glances up at Colt. I guess the better way of asking is. Are you doing anything fun? Or are you a sourpuss, workaholic again.

No...I’m fine. I get to have fun once an a—

The pounding from the door spooks me to the point I almost drop the laptop.

Expecting company? Mary Clare quizzes.

Not really. I gasp. Hold on.

A cold wind blows around Oliver when I open the door, chilling me to the bone.

You know if you’d give me a key. We wouldn’t go through this all the time. He announces smugly, brushing past.

Before I can turn from the door, Oliver’s coat is flung over a barstool, and his messenger bag is leaning next to the wall.

Why would ‘she’ give ‘you’ a key? Colt blasts from my monitor.

Oliver grimaces as he mouths the word sorry from the corner of the room, which is not visible on the screen. I head over to the couch and perch in front of the laptop to find two disgruntled faces glaring.

He’s been here a lot in the past two weeks. Apparently, he thinks he’s entitled. I explain with an annoyed edge.

Why’s he been there at all? Mary Clare interrogates.

You said you were better. Colt chimes in.

She is. I’m simply keeping an eye on her. Oliver answers from the kitchen. We don’t need her backsliding on us.

I’m not going to fall. I roll my eyes.

Oliver begins rooting through the fridge, exploring for a snack. This powder keg mustn't receive a fuse.

Things here are fine. I attempt for tact. Of course, Oliver pops his head out at the mention of his favorite dirty word. I’ll see you next week. Bring up the swatches, and we'll choose the color designs.

My eyes scan the wall, and I glance over the monitor.

Oh, look at the time...Oliver, we’ll be late for our movie. I’ll talk to you two later.

Without letting Mary Clare or Colt get in a word, I press two keys and break the connection. For good measure, I smack the lid closed. Oliver is hypocritically gazing at me with the refrigerator door on his hip.

What? I shrug when the silence becomes too much.

Oliver remains mute. He points at the clock on the wall behind me. There is no way my comment can be correct. Movies don’t start at twenty-six past any time. My face blooms scarlet as I slink deeper into the couch.

Bad day? Oliver questions, probing back into the fridge.

It’s okay. Nothing significant to report.

I should say. You’re in your sweats. Have you left this apartment at all?

Didn’t need to. Too cold to do anything outside.

Want to go out for dinner? He inquires, putting the left-over pie on the counter before he begins digging for plates.

Not particularly.

Do you want to place a delivery order for something? It's your choice.  He moves towards the pot of tea on the stove.

Not in the mood, I cross my arms around my knees.

This brings him up quick. He turns to stare at me full-on.

Love, you need to eat something.

I’m not hungry.

That pushed Oliver’s buttons. He comes out of the kitchen to stand by the arm of the couch.

What have you eaten today? Be specific.

I had a bagel. A banana and some tea for breakfast. Oliver bobs his head. I had a ham sandwich for lunch.

Okay.

"I had popcorn an hour ago with Mythbusters. I proclaim, looking up at the ceiling. I'm not hungry at four o’clock in the afternoon."

Fine. Oliver returns to his pie. But at six o’clock, I’m ordering dinner.

Fine. I bury my chin in my knees.

The sound of movement in the kitchen fills the room, but I stare at the door.

Love, what caused this mood?

It takes me until he sits beside me with his snack before I answer.

Today is Saturday. Four o’clock our time. Which means. It is eleven o’clock in London, and I haven’t heard from Robert all day.

I see.

He begins eating his pie as if nothing else can be said. I can feel the hot tears prickle. The ice slides in my veins. Without hesitation, I bury my face deeper into my knees, hoping Oliver won’t realize I am beginning to lose it.

Of course, there is no way he can. His hand reflexively moves to my back, tracing circles with his thumb. Inevitably, the anxiety wins. I give up. I scoop up my laptop while moving from the couch.

The charger’s in my room. I’ll be back. I squeak.

Oliver doesn’t look at me. He knows my moods well enough to understand space is required.

Take your time, love.

Chapter 2: London Calling

I flip the laptop onto the bed, with hours of battery life left. My misery is my excuse for leaving the room. I can’t sit with Oliver for fear of what my emotions and this ache of desperation might do. I go into the closet without hesitation. Rummaging through the laundry basket full of clean clothes. I had stored it with apathy earlier this afternoon. The faded orange Princeton sweatshirt is the amulet against the pain raging in my system.

Robert’s arms remain the absolute cure, but his sweatshirt is a decent surrogate. As the soft cotton shifts over my clothes, I am enveloped in one of Robert’s most delicate embraces. The faint trace of his cologne helps me to breathe deeply for the first time all day.

Soon, my heart slows to a more manageable rhythm. I perch myself on the head of my bed. My back rests on the cool wall. The world passes by my bedroom window. The silence soothes my raw nerves. With effort, I ignore everything outside this room. The sounds of my breathing and my heart are my companions. The only thing that could make this perfect is Robert. Him...physically here...that would be perfection.

The picture outside shifts long before my notice. At least an hour has passed. Telltale by the sun’s position behind the town...behind the foothills. The sky grows a quick shade of gray, and blackness is sure to follow. That is the primary reason I hate winter. We may get three hundred-plus days of sunshine in Colorado, but from November to March, the sun's path is far too short for my taste. Nights continue to be the most challenging part of this life at a distance. In the cold darkness of an empty bedroom, I long for Robert the most.

A chirping from my computer startles me back from my lonely diatribe. I fumble with the lid and get the screen to awaken. The communication icon flashes in the left corner, meaning one thing...Robert.

Hello, sweetheart, Robert says with a sigh. How’s your day?

Long. I caress the screen as I would Robert’s cheek. Boring.

Robert chuckles. His fingers mimic their attempt to brush the hair out of my eyes.

Is that the reason you’re in my sweatshirt?

My cheeks are pink while my eyes turn down.

I miss you...a lot.

I miss you too, sweetheart. So much so, it is difficult to think. Robert breathes.

The pain seeps between us like water filling a crater. If we keep going, I’ll be in tears.

What kept you out so late? I change the subject.

Dinner with management. Looks like they are signing with us for the US summer tour.

Now you’re going on tour. Send me a postcard.

No. Heidi will go on tour. I’m coming home to you.

I roll my eyes, pulling my knees up. My chin rests on them.

Seriously. I talked to Marc yesterday. There are three more contracts to work out. Then I’m coming home. He promised I won’t go out to do this again.

I stare in disbelief. His confident smile verges on smug.

You’re almost done? Really.

It should take me two or three weeks to finalize the last contracts, but yes. I’ll be home...for good...soon.

My happiest smile winds into place without hesitation. My fingers brush the screen.

There’s the smile I adore. He exhales. A congenial smile grows. What are your wishes for once we’re reunited?

I wish to be out of the snow.

California, it is. Robert inclines back in his chair for a moment. He exudes the confidence of a man who accomplished a complicated mission. Oh, I know. He leans forward. His eyes glow with childish delight. We’ll drive up the coast to Malibu. Rent a place on the beach for the week. Forget the world revolves around the sun.

Yes, but Robert, if I’m living on the beach. I’m going to want to be in the sun. I tease.

Okay. We’ll come up for air. I’ll do a little surfing. You can work on your tan. We can start planning for the wedding. His voice burns with hunger. Practice for the honeymoon.

His smile turns wicked as his hands chaff together. A blush colors my cheeks.

It will be the perfect holiday, sweetheart. His fingers trace the outline of my cheek.

Sounds fantastic. My tone is laced with need.

Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming on.

I press my lips together as tight as possible.

But. Robert twirls his finger, coaxing me to speak.

I have work I need to finish here,

I didn’t forget. I’m hoping for Spring Break, perhaps. Robert gives me a half-hearted smile.

That would be nice if I wasn’t in Michigan during Spring Break. I scan my wall calendar behind the laptop.

Robert’s nose crinkles. They’ve got to give you a break sometime.

Like Marc gives you.

Robert folds his arms, staring at the screen. Come on, Drew. Get it all out of your system.

I throw my hands in the air. I’m tired of all the pretenses. I must act one way at work. Another way for all my friends. Deal with all their estrangements. Contain my dislike of our separation. All the while, I pretend everything is perfect. All to keep Oliver and the rest of them happy.

Robert smiles sweetly.

What?

So, you’re not mad at me.

Why would I be mad at you?

For taking this assignment. For not being there when you need me. Not giving you enough of my time.

Robert, you’re fine. Work is getting in the way. I understand. If you could, you would, but you can’t. So, we go on.

Then I’m forgiven? Robert questions with an arching eyebrow.

You aren’t in trouble. My voice squeaks high and wary. Robert, why are you acting funny?

I thought you were angry about me being over here. So your intractableness is to punish me.

That has nothing to do with...anything. My voice pitches louder.

I don’t care if Oliver overhears me. I don’t care if the State of Colorado hears me.

Then why won’t you set a date?

I don’t have time right now to think about this. I comb my fingers through my bangs to hide my nerves. There is too much I need to do before I choose what day I’m throwing a party, Robert.

His jaw tightens, waiting for me to argue my case.

Three of my most tenacious prospects are wait-listed. All because the business department first-year class is full. That is one mess I am not looking forward to touching. I flinch. I’m sure it will be as bad as the last round of rejected students I dealt with.

My breath rattles as I run my fingers through my messy shag of hair. Then pull the hair into a crumpled ponytail behind my head, holding it out of my eyes. I certainly picked the wrong months to begin to grow it back out.

I leave for the Northwest swing in two weeks. Of course, Abby’s on my back about that.

My hands slip from my hair, and I grab the notepad and pen on the nightstand. I begin to scribble my thoughts.

That reminds me, I need to call her back. Tell her dinner is still questionable.

Robert’s face slips the frozen façade at the mention of his beloved little sister.

Yet before all that. Next week, I go to National Western to sit through cattle shows for hours with Mary Clare, Colt, Michael, and my Dad. Looking forward to it soooo much. My tone drips with sarcasm. I don’t know which is worst. The bullshit I’ll need to spin to keep them happy, or actually walking through bullshit.

Robert attempts to catch his laugh, but it slips for a moment. I stare at him. It doesn’t take him long to straighten up.

Sorry. Continue.

Then I must deal....  

My eyes bore through the far wall before coming back to Robert.

What?

I labor to mold my face into something akin to limited frustration. If Robert probs, he will figure out my reluctance easily.

That should be enough for anyone. I curl back up.

I shouldn’t push. You’re under a lot of stress. I’m adding to it. You’ll set the date when you’re ready.

I’m fine. I lie. I’m tired of being the one with all the answers.

I get that, sweetheart. I do. If we narrow down a date, it sets us a goal.

If I set a date...I set up another list of things to get done. You should see Mary Clare’s lists. The emails she sends me are three to four pages long. I’m not ready to plan a wedding, Robert. I don’t have the time.

I’ll help you. You’re not like Mary Clare. You don’t micromanage everything.

Holly and Liz said that too, but I can’t throw this on their shoulders. You can’t help. You’re just as busy as I am right now.

If we keep putting off the date, we lessen the time to plan.

Not if we pick some date next year. If—

What? Robert halts my thought.

Why can’t we wait a year? Do the wedding in two summers from now or the autumn after.

I’m not waiting a year and a half, Robert announces. His arms cross his chest in defiance.

We don’t have time right now. I plead.

You don’t want to make time.

Robert, please. I don’t want to do this right now.

Why?

Because I can’t...okay! I screech in exasperation. My eyes fly towards the door, expecting my cry to bring Oliver running.

Oliver’s there?

Yes, and this fight will not help quell his concern at the moment either.

Are you not feeling well?

Robert shifts straight into protection mode. His anger vanishes as if it was nothing more than changing a channel on television.

I’m better than expected.

Then why is Oliver worried.

I think he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s happened before.

He doesn’t trust you.

He never has when it comes to my...condition.

Can you ease his fears?

No. His fears are worse because he leaves for New York on Monday.

You won’t be alone? You said it yourself. You’ll be in Denver with Mary Clare, Colt, and Michael. Plus, Jason and Liz are with you in Fort Collins. So, you aren’t really alone.

I stare at the screen, waiting for the precise moment when his thinking implodes. On cue, his face sullies and goes pale.

They’re all paired off....

Or, too busy for me all the time, I pick up his thought. We have a nasty habit of doing that. They shouldn’t need to take care of me.

Robert’s lips purse together.

I’m coming home. He declares. Tomorrow.

Robert’s hand reaches out of view, retrieving his cell phone. Without hesitation, he begins setting the wheels in motion.

Robert. I tried to gain his attention.

Of course, he is no longer focused on anything more than his plan.

You can’t do this. You have three more contracts. Stay put. Finish what you started.

His eyes are trained on his small screen. Finger sliding and swirling in unique patterns.

No. You need me. I’m coming home. I should have never left you in the first place.

I fear Robert's hell-bent motivation will override if I do not act.

Robert! Listen to me. I bark, leaning into the computer. His eyes find mine. I am fine. I’m in good spirits. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I’m stressed. But no new attacks since those before Christmas. If I take care of myself, nothing will happen.

Robert’s eyes plead with me. The look almost does me under.

But if something does. Robert croaks. What if it becomes too much, and you have an attack.

Life will go on, just like it has since high school. I promise, Robert. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’ll be fine.

Robert stares intensely at the screen, trying to reach into my soul beyond the thousands of miles between us. He searches for any evidence he can use to refute. I hold firm, showing no sign of weakness.

I promise. If it gets bad, I’ll tell. Then you can come home and save me.

His eyes remain tight. I can see every calculation he creates, looking for an angle.

Have you had the dreams lately? Robert interrogates me prosecutorial.

The dreams...Robert would ask. Since that night at homecoming, Robert has had direct access to what is going on in my head. He concludes that when my dreams have religious connotations, they are a bad omen. They prove my anxiety is running amuck, and the attacks are soon to follow if not already hidden. I, however, do not. Some of these are merely bittersweet memories.

None to report. I attempt to hide the fidget which will give me away.

Robert purses his lips again. After our trip to Seattle at Christmas, this look always makes my skin crawl. It too closely resembles the look his mother uses in disapproval.

Tell me.

Nothing terrible. I cave. I had a dream yesterday where I was preaching in Galien.

And.

It was all very civilized. Nothing terrible happened. It was me preaching. I wrap my arms around my knees. I—I...I think I miss them. The congregation, I mean. I sometimes miss the academia as well. I know it is grief. It will pass.

Robert continues to appear unconvinced.

Baby, I'm all right. I slant into the screen, letting a soft smile spread. If that changes...you’ll be the first to know.

All right, Robert yawns loudly. This relationship is based on trust. I must learn to accept your wishes.

Yes, and I need to learn to let you go to bed at a reasonable hour.

I’m okay. Robert covers a massive yawn. I’ll sleep in this morning.

That’s just it, Robert. It’s tomorrow morning, and you haven’t made it to bed yet.

I love it when the time zone difference makes you speak funny. Robert chortles.

I’m serious. You need to go to sleep. We’ll talk about all this tomorrow. I mean today, in the morning...afternoon...I mean. Oh, I’ll speak to you later.

Robert stymies his laughter by the end. His fingers brush at the screen near my cheek.

All right, sweetheart, I’ll call you around 2 pm your time tomorrow.

Try noon, 7 pm for you that way. I smile.

Sounds good. He nods, touching the screen. Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.

Love you too. I touch the image of his fingertip. Sleep well, baby.

You too.

He clicks the keys to sever our connection. My wallpaper of us on Robert’s private beach during New Year’s Day returns. A big burst of air pushes out of my lungs with a grimace.

If Robert knew my recent dreams, he’d be on the next flight out of Heathrow.