Page 12 of When Love Is Lost and Found

"I'll take Noah upstairs," I say, after putting Noah’s and my plates in the sink. "I'll show him his playroom, and then we can read a book. How does that sound, Noah?"

"Yes," he says, taking my hand, "Did you see my room, Shay? I love dinosaurs!"

***

"Shay." I think I hear my name, but it sounds so far away.

"Sharon." I hear it again, and this time, I force my eyes to open. I quickly realize I'm lying beside Noah on his bed with an open book on my chest, and Jon is standing by the door.

"I was walking by," Jon whispers, "and I noticed the lights were still on."

"I'm so sorry," I say, sitting up on the bed. "I guess I fell asleep."

"Don't apologize," he says. "I was going to let you sleep, but all night in that position would've left you with a sore neck."

"No, no," I say, looking at my watch, which is still three hours behind. "Thank you for waking me up. It's only seven in California. I should be wide awake."

"You had a long day."

I stand to my feet and straighten my skirt before putting the book back on the shelf and walking to the door.

"Good night," I say, walking past him.

"Good night, Sharon."

***

I usually wake up without an alarm clock, but not today. When the morning light shines through my window, I look at the clock beside my bed. It reads six thirty, but my internal clock says it's much earlier, and it wants me to hit the snooze button. I'm exhausted.

I get up, shower, and change into a yellow button-up blouse with a high collar, pegged fold-over jeans with a thin belt that matches the blouse, and some leather slip-ons. My hair is not cooperating today, so keeping it out of the way is best. I French-braid it to the side and tie it with a ribbon. It'll have to do.

I find Jon mixing batter in a bowl when I walk into the kitchen at half past seven.

"Good morning," he says. "Do you like pancakes?"

"I do," I say. "Can I help?"

"Help yourself to a cup of coffee. I can't believe you're up."

"Thanks," I say, smiling. "Do I look that bad?"

"No," he says, glancing at me. "You look great."

"Thanks."

"Um, the cups are in here," he says, pointing the whisk at the cabinet door beside him.

He glances at me when I reach into the cupboard and pull out a cup. I expect him to say something, but he doesn't.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says.

"You gave me a look."

"It's nothing," he insists. "You smell nice."

"Oh," I say. "Thank you."

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