She watched as Prentice carefully extricated himself from Bella who, Fiona noticed, was wearing one of Prentice’s t-shirts which was good since Sally would undoubtedly be in in the morning.
Prentice pulled the covers around Bella and she saw he was in sweats.
Then she had to hurry and float after him as he exited the room.
Navigating the house in the dark, he went straight to the guest suite.
He turned on the light beside Bella’s bed, looked over his shoulder and out the two doors he left opened.
Then Fiona stared as he picked up and opened the journal that sat on the top of the stack and he read.
He’d heard her.
Hallelujah! He’d heard her!
Fiona saw that he was reading the latest journal, the one Bella just started.
She got close to him and advised, That’s not a good one to read, try one of the other ones.
He obviously wasn’t hearing her now because she saw his lips curve into a smile as he read what she wrote about the children.
Seriously, Prentice, try one of the other –
Fiona stopped when she saw the smile fade from his face when he read what Bella wrote that day.
Then he flipped the book shut and grabbed the next one.
He started at the back.
Fiona looked over his shoulder.
Then her ghostly body braced.
He’d flipped right to the page where Bella wrote about disposing of the pictures and his ring after carrying them with her for twenty years. Disposing of them because she thought he hated her. Disposing of them because he’d been cruel.
Disposing of them because she needed, for her own sake, to let him go, no matter how much it hurt her.
Fiona watched his face grow pale and his body get tight.
Then she watched him flip the book shut in his hand and he stared unseeing at the bed for long moments. Then he turned and sat on its side, putting his elbows to his knees, he bent forward and placed his hands to the back of his head, even the one with the book.
He looked between his knees and clipped, “Fuck!”
Fiona got close and soothed, You didn’t know, even I didn’t know. How could you know?
He sat back and opened the journal again.
Randomly selecting pages, he read. Sometimes, just the page. Sometimes, he’d read for pages and pages.
He did this through all four journals.
Finally, he stood, his face set, jaw tight, a muscle jerking in his cheek.
Fiona knew how he felt.
She wished she could hug him but, unfortunately, she couldn’t.
He set the journal aside, turned out the light and started to walk away.