She drifted and stared at the bed.
Prentice and Bella were in it sleeping, the sunlight shining through windows on their bodies.
They were naked, the covers down to their waists though Fiona couldn’t see much of anything considering Prentice had Bella tucked tight to him, his arm around her, his bicep shielding Bella’s breast from view. His arm was cocked, as was hers under his, their fingers laced, hands resting on the mattress in front of her face which was tilted forward on the pillow. Prentice’s head was tilted too, his face in the hair at the back of her head.
Fiona felt her ghostly chest tighten at the sight of them.
Prentice cuddled Fiona only after they’d made love and sometimes when they went to bed together (he usually worked late or read and came to bed after her).
And he usually did this only for awhile, eventually rolling away from her.
Never sleeping with her cradled in his arms. Never holding her all night like she was a precious possession he was keeping safe.
Fiona knew why whatever powers that be sent her from her home last night.
And she was thankful for that.
But she was in agony over what she was witnessing right now.
She wanted to scream, she wanted to rail, she wanted to tear her hair out or, better yet, Isabella Austin Evangahlala’s long, thick, golden tresses.
But before she could do any of this, Bella’s eyes opened.
For a second she looked sated, satisfied…
Happy.
Nearly instantly, that look disappeared and utter fear filled her expression.
Fiona forgot her wrath and stared.
What on earth?
Taking great care, Bella uncurled her fingers from Prentice’s and, gently, with agonizing slowness, she exited the bed.
Prentice didn’t move.
Once he was in a deep sleep, Prentice could sleep through almost anything. Fiona had been lucky he didn’t snore, he would never wake if she had to shove him or kick him, that’s how deeply he slept (which meant, when they were babies, Jason and Sally never woke Prentice with their middle of the night cries and Fiona practically had to push him out of bed when it was his turn to feed them which drove Fiona up the blooming wall).
Therefore, Prentice slept through Bella leaving him in bed.
And he slept through Bella, on silent feet with silent but trembling hands and completely silent tears, packing every single possession that was hers in the guest suite.
She did this quickly but tidily, leaving behind only the scented candles she bought.
Then she dressed in jeans, a sweater and high-heeled boots that she’d set aside. Then she carried her cosmetics case and her heaviest suitcase out to her rental car.
Fiona floated in the bedroom while all this happened, not sure what to do.
Fiona Cameron, Prentice Cameron’s wife, wanted the woman gone.
But Fiona Cameron, the dead woman who loved her husband and children, had conflicting thoughts.
She looked at Prentice, unaware and asleep.
He was a handsome, fit, forty-five year old widower who deserved more out of life than grief, a heavy workload, an anguished son and a constant mountain of laundry he hated to do.
He deserved to bicker.