“Yes, thank you.” Nick puts aside his morning bad humor to reply.
She turns to me. “Jackson’s left.” Her eyes are searching my face, almost as if she thinks I had something to do with his leaving.
“I heard.” I reply, giving nothing away.
She sighs. “Oh well. Enjoy your work.”
As I predicted, as soon as Nick has taken a significant amount of coffee, he’s wide awake and itching to get as much work done as fast as possible. Immediately after breakfast, we start working. Nick is in his element, aside from developing a storyboard that follows the history of the house from its design to the inhabitants through the years, and to the present day; he has also drawn up a list of all the scenes that will go with the story.
We discuss the article and exchange ideas, while I schedule the pictures over the next few days according to the time of day I think would fit the scenery best. I spend the rest of the day taking most of the external pictures, taking advantage of the good weather.
Every morning, I meet with Nick and Elaine after breakfast, and afterwards, when they go to talk to Constance or look through old family history, I start to work, usually right through lunch, and sometimes almost to dinnertime. Taking pictures for me has always been a solitary affair, and it keeps my mind occupied. Keeping my mind on my work helps to keep it off Jackson, and the less I think of him, the better.
Thankfully, nobody else brings him up for conversation. So while I work, I can almost pretend as if that first day didn’t really happen. I can wake up, take my pictures, go to bed, and look forward to returning to my normal life without having to acknowledge how affected I was by seeing Jackson again.
“You know, sometimes in situations like this, you end up asking yourself what you ever saw in him.” May’s voice is contemplative on the phone. "You spend years thinking you never got over them, and then one meeting and you realize the feelings are all gone.
I think of the feeling of Jackson’s lips on mine, the way his hands had burned my skin where he touched me. I’d wanted more than that kiss. I’d wanted to rekindle all the memories of what I knew he could do to my body. But that was only physical, I tell myself. It didn’t mean I still had any feelings for him.
“You’re right,” I reply. I’ve just taken a shower after a hard day spent photographing the gardens, first in the early morning light, and then in the afternoon, and much later in the early evening light. I’d returned to my room exhausted and grimy. I almost fell asleep in the shower, and righ
t now May’s voice on the phone is the only thing keeping me awake. I’m even contemplating skipping dinner and just sleeping until morning.
“So do you think you’ve gotten over him?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. Seeing him again, it made me start to think of what I used to dream our lives would be like.”
“Do you still find him attractive?”
I laugh bitterly. “Physically? Of course. I’d have to be blind and deaf not to find him attractive.”
I hear her chuckle. “Yeah, he was always hot as hell.”
“Still is.”
“Maybe you should sleep with him,” She suggests. “Fuck him all night and get it out of your system.”
“I’m sure it will take more than one night to get Jackson out of my system.”
“Well then, as many nights as it takes, at least you’ll be having fun.”
And after that? What if I can’t get him out of my system? What then? Another few years of longing, of wanting something I can’t have? “Too late May, He's gone back to the New York.”
“Then when he returns, make him give you a few orgasms, for my sake.” She laughs. “Seriously, you wouldn’t believe how horny being pregnant makes me. Chace is beginning to avoid me. That’s how insatiable I’ve become.”
“Eeeew!” I laugh. “TMI, May, I don’t want to know."
I’m still laughing when I hear the soft knock on the door. My first thought is that it’s Jackson, and after a few moments of panic, and wondering how quickly I can change out of my thigh length t-shirt into something decent, I realize that Jackson would never knock. He would just walk in as if he owned the place, and whoever was in it, in this case, me.
“Who is it?” I call out.
The door opens a crack, and a familiar blonde head appears.
“Livvie?” Her voice is hesitant.
“Blythe?” I frown. I had known that she might come, but seeing her so suddenly, for the first time in so many years, it still surprises me.
The door opens fully and she enters the room. She looks almost the same, except that now some of her care-free air has been replaced with a Constance-like softness and serenity. Her hair is in a clip at her nape, and her pale blue dress is simple, but stylish and tasteful.