by Jewel, Bella
“Let’s sit down,” I say, gesturing towards the couch.
Taking a deep breath, I start at the beginning. I give him a quick summary of my first ten years and my less-than-ideal family life. Then I recount the story of how I stumbled across the market and found my love for art after running away from Jacob Smith.
Again, Josh reaches for my hand, but I don’t let him take it. I am hanging on by a thread, and his touch could unravel me. “I made my first true friend a few weeks later down by the river doing my pebble art.” Josh’s eyes are soft and encouraging me to continue. “Mereki and I were inseparable, and our relationship turned into something more when we were seventeen, and we acknowledged we were in love with each other.”
Josh sits back slightly. The movement is small, but the significance is large. No man wants to hear about an ex, let alone one on an untouchable pedestal.
“How long were you together?” he asks, his voice breaking with emotion.
He asks the one question at the heart of why this conversation is so bloody difficult. “Not long enough,” I answer, truthfully.
Josh leans further back as if he has reached a conclusion all on his own. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
I glance around the room, looking for guidance. Maybe I’m looking for Mereki’s strength. Oh, the irony. “Mereki was my whole life from the age of ten, and all the good qualities you seem to see in me are because of him.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are everything all on your own.”
I shake my head violently. “That’s not true.”
Awkward silence hangs between us, and I desperately wish my toe could actually dig a hole in the carpet to swallow me up.
“I need to tell you the rest of my story.” My words are whispered, and my heart is aching.
“Can I just say something first?” he asks.
I nod, quietly relieved.
“I’m thirty-one years old, and you’re the first woman I’ve been unable or unwilling to find a fatal flaw with. All my serious relationships ended because I’ve been waiting for you without even realising.” He cringes. “I don’t think I’m perfect by any stretch, but I was always looking for that someone who would be perfect for me. There’s a difference, you know.”
“At this point in my life, I’m not perfect for you and have more flaws than you can possibly imagine.” I’m still whispering.
“That’s just it, though.” He hesitates before continuing. “Whatever you think your flaws are, I see as beautiful imperfections.” He cups my face and wipes away the tears with his thumbs, just like Mereki used to do. “There’s so much sadness inside you and now that I know why, I want to help. But I need to know you’re here with me and not stuck in the past.”
I lift my hands and cover his with mine. I committed my life to Mereki and, in a million years, I had never expected to question that commitment.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” I say, tears slipping down my face. “I want to be, though, and that’s a big step for me.”
Silence builds a wall between us, and I don’t have the energy to stop it.
“Try to get some sleep now,” he says eventually.
“Are you going to stay?” I ask, then chew on my bottom lip.
He nods but doesn’t move, so I turn on my heel and return to my bedroom. As if my body knows I need a reprieve from reality, sleep claims me quickly. I dream of curling up by a dried riverbed, crippled with devastation. I am Miann, and my tears are going to make the river flow again.
When I wake, daylight streams in through the open blinds. Last night’s events come rushing back, and my heart clenches. Squinting, I rub the sleep from my puffy eyes and see Josh standing on the balcony. I have no idea if he slept in my bed or on the couch or if he’s been awake the whole time. Even without seeing his face, I know that he’s desperately sad. His back is to me and his shoulders are slumped, perhaps heavy with regret that he ever got involved with me or the fact he’s getting ready to walk out the door. It kills me to know I am entirely to blame. My life began again when I met Josh, but I haven’t been fair on him, and he has every right to leave me. I’m relieved he cared enough to wait for me to say goodbye in person.
As if sensing that I’m now awake, Josh turns to face me, leaning against the railing, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. My body aches, but I push myself out of bed and join him, knowing it’s time to face the music.
“Did you get any sleep?” I ask. My voice is raspy, so I clear my throat.
He shrugs. “A little.”
Biting my bottom lip, I’m unsure what to say next, so we stand there staring at each other.
He breaks the silence. “Last night was . . .”
“I’m so sorry, Josh.” I don’t try to reach out to him.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, flatly.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like that. I’m actually sorry you found out at all.”
He nods, smiling, but it’s a sad smile. “You know, sometimes I talk to Dad when no one else is around. I tell him about my artworks or how Mum is doing. I know he isn’t there and I’ve no idea if he can hear me, but when I talk to him, the void doesn’t feel quite so painful.” He pauses for a few seconds, and I hear him take a few deep breaths. “I know what it’s like to wish someone you love was still around, but I don’t know how you can be with me while you’re still in love with a ghost.”
Tears slip down my cheeks because I can’t give him the reassurance he so desperately needs and deserves.
He holds his arms open, and I’m unable to resist his warmth. I step into him, crying five years’ worth of tears into his chest with his arms wrapped around me. I think back to the grief counsellor who came to talk to me in the hospital when I’d been told Mereki was dead. She told me about the five stages of grief, starting with denial.
“He isn’t gone though,” I’d told her. “I saw him standing right next to my bed.”
She had tried to explain that I’d been in a drug-induced state and he wasn’t real. Instead of believing her, I took denial to a whole other level and fought tooth and nail to stay in that stage forever. I believed if I let go of denial, I’d be letting go of him. Whilst I was only just treading water, I wasn’t drowning in my devastation. I can’t keep treading water forever though, and it’s time for me to swim again.
Eventually, I pull away from Josh. “I think we need some space for a while.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want space.” His brows furrow. “I don’t run when things get tough.”
“I love that about you, but it’s important I face up to this on my own. I just need a little time and space to sort myself out properly.”
His eyes harden. “What the hell does that even mean, Emerson? You were happy to lead me on while I was in the dark, and now I know the truth and don’t do a runner, you push me away? What the hell is that? How much time?”
Walking past him, I lean against the railing. “I’m heading back to my hometown for the five-year anniversary of Mereki’s death. It was a pact I made with him when we were eighteen that we’d return to our clearing by the river at sunset on the nineteenth of November every five years. It was meant to be something we did together, but I plan to uphold our pact and say a proper goodbye to my best friend.”
Josh places his hands on the railing next to me, and I glance up at him. His face is a myriad of warring emotions. I know he wants to understand so we can find a way forward, but this is obviously testing his staying power. I don’t blame him at all. “This is pretty fucked up.”
I nod. “I’ll call you when I return, but I completely understand if you rethink this.” I wave my hand from him to me. “Rethink us.”
Josh hangs his head. “I hope you get the closure you need.” He pauses for a few moments, then raises his eyes to meet mine. “It kills me to say this . . .” He steps forward and kisses my forehead. “Goodbye, Emerson.” An
d with those words, he goes inside and leaves my apartment.
Staggering back inside, I crumple onto my bed, unable to stand. My heart splinters with a new wave of devastation, rejecting my decision to push Josh away while I confront the mess I’ve made by holding onto Mereki. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I don’t leave my house all weekend. In fact, I barely leave my bed, and I allow myself to wallow in self-pity before I have to pull myself together again.
On Monday morning, I go into work and give Carrie my four weeks’ notice. She isn’t happy but doesn’t ask for an explanation. I am replaceable, and she sets about finding a new employee. If she’d asked and I thought she’d care, I would’ve told her it was time I stopped hiding from life and pursued my passion for art. Ever since I met Josh all those months ago, I’ve slowly opened my heart again to love, but also to art. The memories that have flooded in since have reminded me that when I found my passion, I also found a gateway to my inner strength. I found my wings then and I’m so close to finding them again, I can feel the sun’s warmth on my face and the cool breeze kissing my body.
That would’ve no doubt been entirely too much information for Carrie, and she would’ve cut me off with an eye roll, a shake of the head, and the sight of her walking away. But that’s what I know in my heart, and that’s what matters now.
Chapter 32
~ Six Weeks Later ~
Tomorrow will be five years since Mereki was killed. I ended up working beyond my four weeks’ notice because Carrie only found a replacement a few days ago. Meg, however, is experienced and enthusiastic, so I’m handing over my apron to a much worthier employee for Carrie’s high standards of baking and passion for cupcake designs. I’m leaving town today to return to my hometown to say the goodbye I should’ve said to Mereki a long time ago. Josh is always on my mind and I miss him desperately, but the space has been good for me and when I return, I’ll make contact, with the hope we can find a way forward together.
As I hit the freeway, I open the windows to enjoy the warm breeze as I sing along to the classic hit, U2’s “With or Without You.” When I pause to listen to the lyrics, I promptly change the song because I don’t need Bono telling me he can’t live with or without someone. It’s too personal and completely counterproductive for what I am doing tomorrow.
I leave home at lunchtime and drive all afternoon, only stopping occasionally to fill up and grab snacks, arriving in the town I avoided for five years just as the sun dips below the horizon. Rolling slowly through the quiet streets, my emotions leap from one extreme to the other. A part of me is thrilled to be back here where I do have many wonderful memories. I relish the idea that being here will bring many of them to the forefront. However, a bigger part of me is filled with anguish.
Parking my car outside the familiar house, I take a long time to make it to the front door. I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to laugh nervously and cry inconsolably. Plucking up the courage I’ve been mustering for the past few weeks, I knock lightly.
The door opens, and I sway with the weight of emotion crashing down on me.
“Emerson,” Adina says. “It is so wonderful you’re here.”
“I . . . um . . .” I stutter, step inside, and literally fall into her arms. The devastation and joy at seeing Mereki’s mum is completely overwhelming.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She hugs me tight to her ample bosom.
She is the closest thing I have to a mother. I haven’t seen her in five years, and my decision to leave without looking back weighs heavily.
Mereki’s father appears from the kitchen, and our eyes meet. “Hello, Emerson,” he says, giving me a small smile.
Adina releases me, and I walk slowly towards the only positive father figure I ever had and stop in front of him. “Hello, Warrin.” My voice breaks as I say his name.
Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, and I rub my chest in an attempt to ease my aching heart. He looks so much like his son, and it rips me apart. A million emotions pass between us without another word being spoken. It’s all so horribly unfair.
“Hello, Emerson.” His voice is strained with emotion, and I fall into his open arms. “It’s so good to see you.”
I pull back and look him in the eye. “It’s so good to see you, too.” A few tears slip down my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to go into work now,” he says. “I’m on the night shift, but you’re staying a few days at least, right?”
I nod, swiping at my cheeks. “Just a few.”
“Then we’ll be able to catch up properly.”
After he’s gone, Adina puts her arm around my shoulders and ushers me towards the kitchen. We sit at the small table and I glance around, comforted by the familiarity of this room.
“It’s really so wonderful seeing you again,” she says. “We both missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I thought seeing Ki’s parents would hurt too much. Instead, my heart swells with love. “So much.” I shake my head and fiddle with a loose thread on the tablecloth. “Do you ever see my mother or Trent?”
“She left town soon after you and, last I heard, Trent’s in rehab. Adelaide, I think.” Her eyebrows knit together. “Developers bought your old house and demolished it. There’s a new housing estate out there now.”
I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t even know why I asked. I’m here to apologise to the woman who was the closest I had to a real mother. “Adina,” I say after taking a moment to organise my thoughts. “I should’ve stayed longer after I was discharged from the hospital. I should’ve been here for you and Warrin.” I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “But I couldn’t stand being here without Ki.”
She reaches across the table and takes hold of my hands. “You’d become each other’s whole world. We understood you wanted to get far away from here.”
I nod. “I couldn’t stay. It was too hard to confront reality, so I escaped from it instead.” My words come out quickly as if they’ve been trapped inside my mind for too long, begging to be let out. “The whole time I was talking to the police, I was thinking there had been some sort of huge mistake and Mereki was going to show up at any moment.”
“You were dealing with far too much. I wish Warrin and I’d insisted you stay, but we weren’t coping either.” She squeezes my hand. “You have to know we love you like a daughter, and you’re always welcome in our home.”
I nod but can’t find any more words.
After a few moments of silence, she stands, walks to the oven, and pulls out a baking dish. “I made lasagna. Are you hungry?”
“A little,” I reply, not wanting to be rude despite my churning stomach.
After we’ve eaten, we move to the lounge room and sit next to each other on the couch. I look at the woman who I’d hoped would be my mother-in-law one day, and I see the toll losing her only child has taken. She appears to have aged far more than the five years it’s been, and the worry lines around her eyes are deep grooves of emotional toil.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
She shuffles closer to me. “We’re finding peace one day at a time. I’m more worried about how you’re doing.”
“I’m still finding peace, but I’m closer than I’ve ever been before.”
She nods. “There’s no timeframe or road map for the grieving process. We all do it differently, and no one should judge anyone else for finding their own path.”
We sit in silence for a few moments.
“I hate that justice was never served,” I say in a whisper. “I can’t believe no one was ever charged.”
“I know, but it wouldn’t have brought him back.”
I nod. “That’s true, but the idea that he’s dead and no one . . .” I can’t finish the sentence. The fact that Jacob and Trent had rock-solid alibis when the attack happened meant I’d had nothing to offer the police to help with the investigation. There were so many out-of-towners there that night for the live music that, without any witnesses, the
case was a dead end.
She sighs. “I spent years feeling angry, resentful, and bitter, but then I realised I was letting strangers steal my life, too. I was focusing on something I couldn’t change, however much I wanted to. It was killing me, and I think it was doing the same to you.” She stands and moves over to a wooden desk in the corner, piled high with papers and books. Opening a drawer, she pulls out a stack of opened envelopes, then returns to the couch. “Thank you for sending me these,” she says. “The last one particularly brought me so much joy.”
A few times a year, I sent them a letter to let them know I was alive. I never had a lot to report, but I wanted to keep in touch in some small way. The most recent one I sent only a few weeks ago and was a drawing I did of Mereki fishing.
“He was with me when I wrote those letters,” I say quietly, handing her the letter and pointing to the drawing. “I know it makes me sound crazy, but I felt his presence so strongly for so long, and it stopped me from grieving. I knew I was in denial, but I didn’t care. I could see him so clearly. It was as if he was holding on for me.”
Tears escape her eyes, and her hands cover her face. “Oh, Emerson. I wish you would’ve talked to me sooner.”
“He stopped showing up recently, and I hated it. I tried to pretend he had good reasons for his absence, but I know now I was letting him go.”
“I’m envious of you,” she says through her tears. “On my darkest days, I would call out to him, begging for a sign that he could hear me. I felt ridiculous, but I just wanted to see him again. I wanted to hold my son and tell him I loved him. I wanted him to tell me one of his wonderful stories and for me not to tell him they were all nonsense.”
I nod, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I loved his stories, too. Did he ever tell you about the girl who made the river flow again?”
She shakes her head. “He didn’t, but he wrote them all down in a journal, so I’ve read the story of Miann and Iselele.”
My eyes widen with joy, and my hand covers my mouth. She stands again and disappears down the hall, returning a few moments later holding a cream-coloured book. When she hands it to me, I bring it up to my nose, eager to smell the pages. It’s an instinctive reaction to something that Mereki once held and obviously treasured.