Saturday morning, I awoke early since it was my habit. By six o’clock, I’d already had a cup of coffee and was deciding which project to start on first: the broken rocking chair, or keep working on the headboard that I wanted to give Mila and Peter for Christmas. I decided on the chair. I left a note on the fridge for Serge and went out to the shed I’d built next to the cabin as my workroom.
I’d been numb on the drive home the night before, speech lost to me for the first time in years. I ended up using sign language with Serge, which made him even more pissed off at Rafe. I simply didn’t have it in me to try speaking. It had been too traumatic then. And as of this morning, I still felt the same way.
My pocket buzzed and I checked my cell phone. Rafe was calling me. Again. Nope, not happ
