Page 64 of When I Fall In Love

As I make my way to them, I see their future. Something that seemed so unattainable for Raiden has somehow made its way right onto his lap. They turn toward me, holding hands, fingers laced tight.

“It’s almost four,” Raiden says. “We need to get to the milking parlor.”

“Yes.” I stroke Hannah’s wayward curls.

“He’s going to be okay,” Georgiana says, “I know it.”

I can only nod.

“We’ll send Derek for Hannah as soon as we’ve got things under control,” Raiden says, then kisses her fully and softly on the lips.

Georgiana kisses him back, stealing a moment for one last kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

32

HUNTER

It’s dark when I drive down my driveway hours later, smelling of cow in all its nuances… dried milk, dried cow patty, and a whiff of fart. It’s pitch black at my house and no lights are on at the neighboring cottage either.

Unease stirs in my stomach. Through all the chaos that ensued this afternoon, I haven’t managed to phone Beth and give her a heads-up. Like an idiot who got used to the weekend’s status quo, I left my phone at home in my rush to Montpelier. Back at the barn and milking parlor, things were unhinged and there wasn’t much time to think.

I strip at the front door, leaving my shirt, pants, socks, and dirty shoes outside. I didn’t dress for milking before I headed out to Montpelier, and I’m not exactly smooth-handed with the cows like Raiden is. He’s always been good with his hands, but he also has a natural touch with animals which he’s honed over the weeks helping Bill. He knows the cows by name, knows which ones milk easily, which ones need special care, all the little details that come with doing this job daily.

I haven’t been in the milking parlor like this in a decade and just lending a hand today, I could see how the work has become too much for Bill. I’ve been blind. Only Raiden who hasn’t been living in Ashleigh Lake and only saw Bill and May after long intervals away noticed this subtle change over time. Thank God for Raiden.

“Beth?” The house echoes her name back to me. I switch on the lights as I pad deeper into the space which is as empty and hollow as a hatched egg. All the way to my bedroom, there isn’t a sound or any sign of life. She’s left.

For all I know she’s next door and already asleep or reading. Deep inside this seems like futile wishful thinking.

I curse under my breath as I take a blitz shower and dress again. It’s past nine at night because the milking went slowly. I’m not an optimal partner for Raiden, plus this morning’s delay has messed with the clock these cows’ udders are set to.

Ten minutes later I make my way to Beth’s cottage. I knock on her deck door, but nobody answers. I circle to the front door and knock again. Still no answer, so I open the door with the code and walk inside.

She’s gone. No shoes in the mudroom. No jacket on the coatrack. No suitcase in the bedroom.

I walk through the small space in a daze, trying to digest how this actually happened.

Again, she’s gone, good and proper. Again we didn’t have time to say goodbye. Panic washes over me, my heart racing, my breaths coming in ever shorter spurts.

After a moment of panic, I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down. This time I can do something. I rush out, banging the cottage door shut, and the whole structure shudders at the unexpected rough touch.

Once in my own place, I hunt down my phone. It’s flat and I curse at my own stupidity. To be so blinded by her, so super focused on us that the rest of the world fell away and fell apart while I wasn’t looking, isn’t something I ever expected to happen again. Yes, I’ve been in that blinded zone before, years ago with her.

While I wait for my phone to charge, I slap together a sandwich. When it eventually shows signs of life, I check for messages from Beth. Nothing. The rest is a slew of messages and missed calls from my family, desperate to get hold of me. I’m not interested to see what’s happened at work while I was gone. Surely the team can manage one weekend without me checking the production and other reports that come in after every shift.

I ring her number, but after several rings, it goes over to voicemail. As a last resort, I send her a message.

Where are you? And why did you leave?

Ten minutes later a message pops back and I groan in relief when I see it’s from her.

How is Uncle Bill?

When I think of everything that’s happened today, most of it seems surreal. That Bill is in the hospital is counterintuitive. He was always so strong, so firm and unfailing, a perfect dad to look up to. How is he? Today had been like a peek into my own mortality.

I press dial, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want to speak to me. How did I manage to mess things up on this scale?

He’s in the ICU. Will need a triple bypass by the looks of things.

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