Page 42 of Landing Her Eagle
“Okay,” I tell myself, “I will take tonight to wallow, eat copious amounts of ice cream, and cry while watching Howlbark movies. I am not pond scum. Tomorrow is a new day. I will control what I can control. I am strong and will survive what I cannot control.”
Grabbing my carton of Turkey Hill Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream and a spoon, I crawl into bed, turn on the TV, and scroll through my DVR to find a sickeningly sweet Howlbark movie to watch.
“Why is my pillow lumpy?” Sitting up, I feel around my pillow, and to my surprise, I discover a small box. There is a small, folded note taped on top.
I use my fingertip to open it and read out loud. ‘“Daph, I saw this and knew you had to have it. You have my heart, Logan.’”
I lift the lid off the basic white jewelry box. It’s the wrong size and shape for a ring box, and I’m glad. If Logan was giving me a ring, then he damn well better be here putting it on my finger.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasp. On a bed of cotton rests a delicate, openwork silver heart with a diamond in the center. It’s from the Sunset Beach Gift Shop, so it’s a Cape May diamond and not a genuine diamond, but that doesn’t make it any less precious. I use the delicate silver chain strung through the heart to lift the necklace from its bed and hold it up to scrutinize it. The light catches the stone, causing it to sparkle. I love it. I want to put it on so I can feel it against my skin while I fall asleep, but I’m afraid I’ll snap the dainty chain. I force myself to put it back in the box and wait for the morning to wear Logan’s heart close to mine. Even if he isn’t here with me in person, I still have something from him with me.
I’m not really alone.
Unless he gave me this as a goodbye present. Maybe he’s not giving me his heart. Maybe this is just a trinket, and it doesn’t mean anything.
I hit play and take my first spoonful of ice cream. Normally I savor the dough bits, letting them melt on my tongue, but this time I chomp through them.
I try to watchA Winter Christmas Penguin Princess for a Reindeer Princewithout my interest being piqued. Okay, it wasn’t named that, but they may as well have been. I decide to dip into my stash of non-winter movies and pick one about a city-slicker cougar shifter career woman traveling to the great outdoors to do something outside her comfort zone with a hunky wolf shifter outdoorsy guy offering sage advice and a chaste kiss an hour and fifty-five minutes in.
“Oh wow, it’s a charmingly quirky blonde wandering the big city, bringing sunshine and light everywhere she goes. Ugh. I hate her.” I roll my eyes but still watch the whole thing, smirking at their kiss five minutes before the end of the movie. This movie was great. I’ll never admit it, but the scenario in the movie sparked an idea I’m eager to follow up on. As the credits roll, I grab the remote, stab it toward the TV, and hit the off button. I need to sleep anyway so I’m not a zombie at the office tomorrow.
The house is so quiet. It was just a week, but having Logan here, puttering around, making noise, and knowing I wasn’t alone became my new normal. I miss it. I grab my moose and cuddle him close. I smell Logan on the shirt I dressed Mooster in. It’s a comforting mix of his clean soap scent, our detergent, and Logan’s basic aroma. I bury my nose in the shirt’s collar and breathe deeply.
“Oh, Mooster. I don’t think I can do this.” After murmuring a prayer that Logan stays safe in his travels, I drift off to sleep.
* * *
“Mom?” I ask groggily. “What are you doing here?” I check my phone for the time—three in the morning, the witching hour.
“It seems like you need me, so I came to check on you,” she answers.
“Okay…um, hi?” I don’t know if I’m dreaming, if my mother’s ghost is visiting, or if I’m going crazy. Maybe a combination of all three? Whatever it is, they look like my mom in her black-and-white striped T-shirt and jeans. If I look down, I’ll probably see the black Converse sneakers she loved to wear when not dressed in a suit and heels for the office. My parents were only thirty-six when they died. Now that I’m an adult, I realize how young that was. Her copper bob shows no signs of gray. She’s still beautiful.
“Hi, honey. Gran and Dad send their love. Gran likes the couch.”
“She does? I was afraid she’d be upset I got rid of her sofa.”
“Daphne, she wants you to make this house your home or use it as your launch pad. She didn’t intend for you to keep it as a shrine to the past when she left it to you. She wanted you to use it for your future. Keep it, sell it, whatever you need it for. Same for me and Dad. We never intended for you to become an accountant if that wasn’t what you wanted. Yeah, we talked about you taking over Foster Accounting, but that was our dream, and we wanted you to have an easier path than we did. We would have been fine if you’d majored in something else or did the tour guide thing. We want you to be happy. Dad and I are worried about you.”
I sit up with my back against the headboard.
Mom sits at the foot of my bed, just like she did when I was younger.
“You are? Why? Is something going to happen?” My heart beats faster. Is this visit a warning something bad is going to happen? Oh no. Logan. Am I going to lose him too? My breath comes in short pants. One of my anxiety attacks is coming on. I haven’t had one in years.
“Daphne, breathe. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Come on, do it with me.” Mom leads me through the breathing exercise, and I’m surprised she knows it. The attacks didn’t start until after she died. As if she read my mind, she replies, “I’ve been with you in my own way. I’m so sorry you’ve gone through so much and felt alone. Dad and I didn’t want to leave you. We would have stayed if we could have.” She reaches out and holds my hand. It’s warm and feels solid.
“I know. I’ve missed you both so much. I’ve been so alone.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“No, you haven’t. You’ve had Logan,” Mom replies.
My gaze shoots up from where it was resting on our joined hands. “You know about Logan?”
“We do.” Her lips curve into a wry smile I inherited from her. “It’s about time you guys did something about it.”
“What? How much do you see? Tell me Dad doesn’t know. Oh my goodness, Gran!”
Mom lets out a hearty laugh. It’s not genteel, like tinkling bells. It’s more like an over-exuberant donkey. I’ve missed that laugh.
