The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,28

for, especially not one’s life. Love was an illusion. If Juliet had ever made it past the age of fourteen, she would have figured that out.

Much later, Esther laid aside the book and reached over to turn off the lamp but hesitated before turning the switch. Since Frank’s death, she’d slept with the light on, which was absurd since they hadn’t shared a bedroom in years. He’d involuntarily taken up residence in the guest room when his snoring became too much of a disturbance.

Tonight, though, she was determined to return to her normal way of doing things. Despite Franks absence. Despite the ache of loneliness that pooled in her stomach. And despite the muffled whines and yelps she could hear from the kitchen downstairs. The dog would learn to sleep alone, just as she had. It was simply a matter of forming the habit.

Esther shut off the light with a snap of her wrist.

She fluffed the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. The darkness wasn’t absolute. Moonlight came in through the windows where she’d forgotten to draw the curtains.

No, the darkness wasn’t absolute, but it was oppressive. Her chest tightened, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating.

With a cry, she threw back the covers and bolted out of the bed. The fool dog needed her, she told herself as she jammed her feet into her slippers and hurried down the stairs. That’s all it was—anxiety about the animal. After all, the poor thing was helpless, alone, and had nowhere to go.

Just like her.

No, no. She couldn’t think like that.

She flipped light switches as she passed, bathing the house in a warm glow. The dog must have heard her coming, because he stopped whining. At the entrance to the kitchen, where she’d put up the baby gate, she stopped and reached inside the doorway to turn on the light.

The dog waited just on the other side of the gate, his nose pressed to the plastic mesh. He whined low in his throat and let out two short, sharp barks. Esther stared down at him, torn between resentment and compassion. If she gave in this time… Well, she’d learned that lesson long ago with Frank. And with her son, Alex. Once you gave in to a male, he never stopped pushing. Other people thought she was too rigid, but she wasn’t. She was realistic. People went as far as you let them, so if they hurt you, you had no one to blame but yourself

“You can’t come upstairs,” she said to the dog. “You might as well accept it.”

He stared back at her, uncomprehending, and let out another sharp bark.

“Good night,” Esther said. She reached inside the door frame and turned the light off. The kitchen wasn’t pitch-black either. A soft glow from the outside lights came through the windows above the sink.

She wasn’t ten steps away when the dog began to cry, an agonizing whimper of fear. Esther stopped. Turned. Told herself she shouldn’t do what she was about to do.

“All right. Come on.”

She reached down and lifted the handle on the baby gate, dislodging it from the door frame. The dog bounded through like a prisoner making a dash for freedom. He headed for the stairs and raced up them until he was out of sight.

Esther followed at a slower pace. By the time she reached her bedroom, the dog had already made himself at home, curled up on her pillow.

“I don’t think so. Off.” She barked the last word. Might as well speak to him in his own language.

The dog looked at her, cocked his head, and remained right where he was.

“I said off.” She snapped her fingers and pointed toward the floor. She should have brought up the old blanket she’d put in the kitchen for him. “Now.”

The dog stood, and Esther felt pleased. She would show the animal she was in charge. “That’s a good—No. You may not sleep on that pillow either.”

The dog appeared unperturbed by her scolding. He circled around three times and then settled into a little ball on what would have been, once upon a time, Frank’s pillow.

“I said—” Esther stopped herself. Did it really matter all that much? She knew she should make the dog move, at least to the foot of the bed. But the darkness was still there, and she was tired of being alone.

“Just for tonight,” she said as she got back into bed. The dog looked at her with those big, sad brown eyes.