38: Emma

The other guests—Jane, Trish, and Juliet—invited me to join them for a cup of tea, but what I wanted more than anything else was to be alone in the comforting silence.

I ran a bath in the long narrow tub that reminded me somehow of a casket. I didn’t care. I was overwhelmed with the sense of peace.

Back in my room I tried to read Emma, but my own life felt tied to it in some way. The connections were too close, the story bringing me back to the one subject that had been disrupting all my thoughts. I read two pages, turning things with Jack over and around in my mind again. I looked out the window at the dark shadows of trees and wondered at being so close to Austen, in the middle of the countryside she knew and loved.

At 10:30 I turned out the light and fell into the easiest sleep I’d had in weeks.