I miss you when you’re not there. When you’re happy, it makes me happy. But I could say the same thing about Charlie, Jacob. You’re family. I love you, but I’m not in love with you.
And it was different because I’d already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose. And different because this wasn’t my fault.
It was a strange combination to absorb – the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London.
