The GriefThe next day, I was able to rise from bed, sit in a chair. The servants aided me, yet they never spoke, even when I spoke to them. In the reflection, my eyes were strange: a faint yellow where white should be. And a tender red scar lay on my left temple. I recalled drinking, the broken glass on the floor, falling.
Jonathan said I looked much better, and the way he said it made me afraid. How ill had I been?
Jon and I took tea on the terrace outside the front door. The cottage lay in a valley surrounded by pines, an arbor of black roses stretching along one wall. Beyond to our right lay a wide path through the trees. Cows lowed softly from beyond view.
The day was lovely. The elderly servants poured tea, brought fruit and cakes, then retreated. It wasn’t until Jon pointed it out
