My last evening of village life. Tomorrow it's back to the city, the balcony overlooking the sea, trendy shops, heat reflecting off the asphalt, the coolness of the air-conditioned library, beach volley euphoria, the summer noises of music and laughter from the outdoor cafés, almost-midnight-sun brightness over the bay, tanned bare skin, the exuberance of life cascading from TV screens.
But the dog. My God, I have to leave the dog.
I have no idea why I see myself as cautious, holding back. In fact, when I just get past my indifference, I'm not hard to convince to give my heart away. I moved into this cottage for four weeks, at the drop of a hat, to look after a dog. Knowing full well that I would end up loving the dog and being devastated when the time came to give it back to the owners.
Still, how could I regret it?
Let's have another glass of red. Tomorrow, I'm going to get into my car and drive away, then work, then reward/comfort myself with a vanilla latte at that coffee shop I keep dreaming about. Then I'm going home to cry my heart out.
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