Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
The money had arrived before her flight home. An impervious mountain of proof that the whole thing hadn’t been a dream.
The brasserie on Piccadilly was exactly as described, from the gilded arches to the marble floors.
Maggie was already seated when Daisy arrived. “Daisy!” She rose so quickly her chair scraped the floor.
Her dark Irish curls bounced with the giddy energy of a woman who’d gone from a cramped flat in Galway to sipping tea in an iconic Piccadilly café. She pulled her into a fierce hug, and the warmth of it cracked something open in Daisy.
She tried to match her friend’s excitement. Tried to smile and exclaim over the menu and share in the wild, improbable joy of drinking tea from bone china in the middle of London on an overpriced Saturday. But her composure soon crumbled.
Maggie didn’t flinch. She reached across the table and took both of Daisy’s hands, held them firmly, and asked, “Was it the man from the Feast?”
The relief of finally being able to discuss this with someone was incredible but short lived. Daisy skimmed over any personal details about Jack, trying to summarize the events without incrimination.
“He just let you leave?” Maggie had asked, her expression a twist of confusion and repulsion.
After tea, they wandered through Green Park into St. James’s, and sat on a bench as pigeons scattered at their feet. Maggie listened as Daisy described everything she was feeling as best she could.
“I know it was only one night, but I honestly thought we shared something…bigger.”
“Oh, Daisy. That’s the problem with sex. It confuses things.”
But they hadn’t had sex. A truth too complicated and layered for her to admit.
“If something is truly meant for you to have, it won’t pass you by,” Maggie said it with quiet conviction.
The sun had begun to set. “Do you want to come back to my flat?”
“Sure. My flight back to Ireland isn’t until late tonight.”
When they reached Daisy’s flat Maggie took one look at the rotting moldings, the stained ceilings, and the paper-thin walls. “Jaysus. Your place is as bad as mine.”
That was when the idea of getting a new place together surfaced between them.
“But you’re leaving.”
“I don’t have to.”
“What about your family?” Daisy had asked. “Wouldn’t they miss you?”
Maggie loved her family in the way people love a country they’ve emigrated from, with fondness tempered by the firm knowledge that they would never go back. So the decision was made. They found a London penthouse within the week, toured it, and paid the first year’s rent in one fell swoop.
Daisy opened her new laptop and signed into the portal where she and Dr. Kawanja had their sessions.
“It’s good to see you, Daisy.” Her voice carried the same measured warmth she remembered. “How’s your week going so far?”
“It’s been quiet.”
“Is that a good thing?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been spacing out a lot. Same as before.”
“I think that’s natural. You’ve been through a lot.”
“I’ve been thinking about him a lot.” They were still locked in to the perpetual NDA, so they spoke around the edges.
“How often?”
“Every hour. Every minute.” Her mind never fully left him.
“Has the move brought some distraction?”
“Some.”
“Community, even a small one, is how we heal, Daisy. Having friends nearby is good for you. Have you and Maggie been getting along?”
“Oh, yes, Maggie’s not the issue. I am. I just…can’t seem to move past…” She shifted the pillow on her lap and the laptop wobbled. “If I could just know where he is.”
Dr. Kawanja’s expression didn’t shift. “Daisy, we’ve discussed this.”
“But I was there.” The frustration rose before she could temper it. “I know the island exists. I know what happened. I can’t pretend none of this is real when I lived through it and it’s all I can think about.”
“No one is asking you to pretend your experiences don’t exist. But there are boundaries to what we can discuss.”
“On the plane, you said we could talk about the Feast.”
“The Feast, yes. But that does not give me the right to share personal details about the other attendees.”
“But you know.”
“Daisy,” she said with firm warning.
“If I could just talk to him. If someone could just put me in touch with—”
“Daisy, you know that’s not possible.”
Daisy swallowed back her frustrations, but her mind wouldn’t relent. “What about the Volkovs?”
Something flickered behind the doctor’s eyes, quick enough to miss if Daisy hadn’t been watching closely. “I would be very careful with that name, Daisy.”
Her chin wobbled as tears of frustration gathered in her eyes. “Sorry.”
Dr. Kawanja sighed. “We’re almost out of time. Until Wednesday?”
Daisy nodded. “Bye.” The screen went dark and she closed the laptop.
Her hands curled into fists and she pressed them hard against her closed eyes, fighting the sense of helplessness that surged inside of her. She was losing her mind and so far, therapy wasn’t helping.
Growling, she shoved the pillow and laptop aside and threw herself back on the bed. Maryanne was coming for dinner in a few hours and the kitchen was bare of anything resembling a meal. She needed to get up, to move and shop and cook and perform the ordinary rituals of a woman whose life was not quietly collapsing from the inside.