Chapter 8 from the R.M. Dolin novel, “What Is to Be Done“
Jake’s awake and dressed in his cycling regalia ahead of Emelia’s five o’clock alarm. How can he sleep with everything that’s happened? How can anyone? What went down last night is so far off the charts, charts no longer apply. In his quietly protected world, things that happened simply don’t happen. You hear stories of course; just never image they could involve you.
“I’m no hero,” he mumbles to the stillness. “What the hell was I thinking?” He stares at the gold framed photograph in his lap from the day after his wedding when he and Emelia returned to their first date café in Paris to re-enacted how fate brought them together.
A man’s gotta step-up, right?” Jake gently caresses Emelia’s cheek through the glass. “That’s what you always say.” A hard-won smile welcomes the way happier memories trump the moment. “How does a screwup like me, wind up with someone like you?”
Details are diminished in the darkness, but it doesn’t matter, they’re forever etched in far more than memories and tactile touch. “Best to file last night under ‘S’ for surreal.”
Sitting on the edge of his bed ensconced in solitude, Jake pensively waits; an isolated soul lost in place, too far to reach back and too dark to look forward. It’s only after the French musicians have their go at La Marseillaise that he’s released for his morning ride, only that reassures the many ways his life’s been blessed.
