Chapter 7
I woke up decadently late, able to sleep because Adam had Sunday off from work. Light streamed through a filter of lacy white curtains which billowed in the summer breeze, carrying with it the scent of eucalyptus and the river. My dream had been a pleasant one, galloping across the Bristow's fields on my beloved Harvey, my black hair streaming behind me as I'd raced to catch up to a girl on a white pony: a small, white mare sized perfectly for a little girl. I glanced up at the picture on the wall.
"I asked him," I told Pippa's grandmother. "He told me no."
The girl in the picture smiled down from her white steed, uniquely Australian in her black drover's hat. It had creeped me out to learn Adam's mother had closed her eyes in this room and never woken up, but it was peaceful
