Waiting For Eden (Eden Series) Read Online Free
Author: Jessica Leigh
her lip, Alex was startled to realize that the hustle and bustle of her life suddenly seemed a distant memory. There were no sirens, no motors, and no voices carrying upward from the sidewalks below. No fumes or exhaust, or the aroma of hotdogs wafting aloft from the closest street-corner.
Just silence, pure and simple, and the pungent scent of the moist earth and tangy ferns that patterned the ground around her campsite. And beneath it all was the permeating essence of pine needles – millions of them.
The time on her wristwatch read 6:38 am. Three months ago, she and Richard would have already dressed and shared their croissants and coffee, and would be on their way to the office. They would be discussing the day’s agenda, for Richard liked to be prepped and ready before he walked through the office door.
Alex’s heart wrenched achingly, as she stuffed her gear into the pack, and then hefted it up to her shoulders. She and Richard had never taken the time off for that honeymoon. And now, as fate would have it, they never would.
Blinking the tears from the fringes of her dark lashes, Alex gritted her teeth, determined not to start this beautiful day the same way that she had started every morning for the last three months. Richard was gone, taken from this world prematurely in a final whirl of screeching tires and twisted metal.
That night had been branded into her mind, stark and severe, and its memory was always lurking, ever ready to leap forth and overwhelm her. Richard had dropped her off at the corner deli for their favorite treat, turkey and baby Swiss on rye, with a whole jar of pickles to go. He’d had an errand to run, and would meet her back at their apartment. Alex had chatted overlong with the owner, Sam, a pleasant man in his mid-fifties with smiling eyes and a loud mouth that couldn’t seem quit.
She finally broke away, her stomach growling with impatience, and pulling her wool coat about her, she clipped along the block at a good pace, figuring that Richard would have made it back before her. In the distance, she discerned a commotion outside the parking garage of the apartment complex, with the lights of several cruisers flashing in an irregular pattern across the darkened street.
Alex felt a deep unease spreading in her stomach. Then she recognized the black Mercedes, with its front window imploded, glass everywhere, and panic crashed through her, roaring in her ears like a surging tide. The officers were just standing there, watching as a paramedic laid a sheet over a lump on the ground. She reached them, still clutching the deli bag with numbed fingers.
“Richard?” The voice that came out of her mouth was a screech, high and wavering. She didn’t recognize it. One of the officers took her by the shoulder, and his solemn brown eyes had trouble connecting with hers.
“Are you Mrs. Winters?”
“Yes.” A whisper.
“There’s been an accident.”
Her body was humming, every inch of her skin on fire, and she stared at his frightened doe eyes, not the eyes of an officer, really, they should be hard and seasoned, but he was young, there was even a red pimple on his cheek.
From far away, she heard the sound of the bag whispering through her fingers, the shatter of the pickle jar on the pavement, the stringent smell of dill and garlic on the sharp night breeze...
Damn it, why did she continue to do this to herself? The trail was a brown blur beneath her feet. Somewhere, she had picked up a gnarled walking stick, and Alex became vaguely aware of the rhythmic thumping it made against the firm, brown turf, carpeted by a few stray leaves from seasons past.
Every day she relived this tortuous memory and afterwards, no matter how she tried she couldn’t keep it at bay. It even haunted her in her dreams.
And why is that, Alex? A small voice in her head tormented gleefully.
Just silence, pure and simple, and the pungent scent of the moist earth and tangy ferns that patterned the ground around her campsite. And beneath it all was the permeating essence of pine needles – millions of them.
The time on her wristwatch read 6:38 am. Three months ago, she and Richard would have already dressed and shared their croissants and coffee, and would be on their way to the office. They would be discussing the day’s agenda, for Richard liked to be prepped and ready before he walked through the office door.
Alex’s heart wrenched achingly, as she stuffed her gear into the pack, and then hefted it up to her shoulders. She and Richard had never taken the time off for that honeymoon. And now, as fate would have it, they never would.
Blinking the tears from the fringes of her dark lashes, Alex gritted her teeth, determined not to start this beautiful day the same way that she had started every morning for the last three months. Richard was gone, taken from this world prematurely in a final whirl of screeching tires and twisted metal.
That night had been branded into her mind, stark and severe, and its memory was always lurking, ever ready to leap forth and overwhelm her. Richard had dropped her off at the corner deli for their favorite treat, turkey and baby Swiss on rye, with a whole jar of pickles to go. He’d had an errand to run, and would meet her back at their apartment. Alex had chatted overlong with the owner, Sam, a pleasant man in his mid-fifties with smiling eyes and a loud mouth that couldn’t seem quit.
She finally broke away, her stomach growling with impatience, and pulling her wool coat about her, she clipped along the block at a good pace, figuring that Richard would have made it back before her. In the distance, she discerned a commotion outside the parking garage of the apartment complex, with the lights of several cruisers flashing in an irregular pattern across the darkened street.
Alex felt a deep unease spreading in her stomach. Then she recognized the black Mercedes, with its front window imploded, glass everywhere, and panic crashed through her, roaring in her ears like a surging tide. The officers were just standing there, watching as a paramedic laid a sheet over a lump on the ground. She reached them, still clutching the deli bag with numbed fingers.
“Richard?” The voice that came out of her mouth was a screech, high and wavering. She didn’t recognize it. One of the officers took her by the shoulder, and his solemn brown eyes had trouble connecting with hers.
“Are you Mrs. Winters?”
“Yes.” A whisper.
“There’s been an accident.”
Her body was humming, every inch of her skin on fire, and she stared at his frightened doe eyes, not the eyes of an officer, really, they should be hard and seasoned, but he was young, there was even a red pimple on his cheek.
From far away, she heard the sound of the bag whispering through her fingers, the shatter of the pickle jar on the pavement, the stringent smell of dill and garlic on the sharp night breeze...
Damn it, why did she continue to do this to herself? The trail was a brown blur beneath her feet. Somewhere, she had picked up a gnarled walking stick, and Alex became vaguely aware of the rhythmic thumping it made against the firm, brown turf, carpeted by a few stray leaves from seasons past.
Every day she relived this tortuous memory and afterwards, no matter how she tried she couldn’t keep it at bay. It even haunted her in her dreams.
And why is that, Alex? A small voice in her head tormented gleefully.