His second action was to redecorate, and then put the house and the farm on the market, breaking the final link to his past. There was no guarantee it would sell quickly, but someone somewhere would want it. One day.
His third and final action of note was to ring Paul. When the voice mail switched on, he found he was glad. He swallowed once before leaving his message. As he spoke, his eyes were closed.
“Hi, it's Craig,” he said. “I know you think it's over. And that was maybe the impression I gave you in the hospital. Perhaps it
is
over. I don't know, but I suspect you're wrong. And thank you again for saving my life, by the way. I wonder if you've thought about why you wanted to. I know we both have history, Paul, and I won't ring again. I'll leave it up to you. But maybe there's more to come. I'd like to think so. Still, if you think there isn't, then thank you anyway. I—well, you know how I feel. That hasn't changed.”
For the rest of that day, Craig busied himself with saying goodbye to the people who'd helped him here in Devon. He also packed a few items from the house he thought he might want to keep. It didn't take long. He chose something of his mother's. He left the bibles alone.
That night, he switched his phone off. He'd need all the sleep he could get for the drive back home. He prayed for good weather, and then grimaced at the prayer. However, he left it said. If there was, after all, something out there, he'd appreciate the help. Without it becoming a habit. No, that would be beyond him now. To his surprise, no dreams disturbed him, and the morning found him up early, ready for whatever was to come. He showered and ate a light breakfast, gazing out at the land he'd used to know, before switching his phone back on.
He saw he had a message. From Paul. He gulped down a scalding mouthful of coffee. Heart beating fast, he listened to whatever the man he loved might have to say. It was short but to the point. It told him everything he needed to know.
When he'd finished listening, Craig smiled. Caressed the phone. Held it to his lips. Pressed “call back.” And waited for the day to begin.
Anne Brooke's fiction has been shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Novel Award, the Royal Literary Fund Awards, and the Asham Award for Women Writers. She has also twice been the winner of the DSJT Charitable Trust Open Poetry Competition. She loves reading dark and quirky crime novels and has a secret passion for bird watching and chocolate. Preferably at the same time. She once took a balloon flight in Egypt but spent most of the time screaming, and hopes she never has to do it again.
Visit her web site at www.annebrooke.com and her blog at annebrooke.blogspot.com.
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
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Suite 244-149
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Bones of Summer
Copyright © 2009 by Anne Brooke
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034
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ISBN: 978-1-61581-011-6
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
June, 2009
eBook edition available eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-012-3