Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  “Can we start now Dad?” he asked eagerly, hopefully, and Mike laughed.

  “It’s going to be a very big job buddy, so we might have to wait until we have a whole day to dedicate to it, okay?”

  Brodie’s face crumpled for a moment, then he shook off his disappointment and went back to his action figures. Rhiannon turned to her dad with an embarrassed frown. “I, um, haven’t had a chance to get you anything yet,” she admitted, blushing.

  But he took her hand, and Brodie’s, and smiled, the first genuine smile his kids had seen on him for more than three months. “This is all the present I need,” he said softly, and she could tell that he meant it.

  “So, time for the Yule log?” Brodie asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and excitement. Laughing, Mike picked up the knife and did the honours, and Brodie sighed with happiness as he tucked in to the dessert. Their mum used to bake a Yule Log each festive season, to match the wooden one she burned with Rose at their solstice ritual. This would have been Rhiannon’s first time accompanying her mum to the midwinter celebration, but although Rose had reminded her that she was welcome to take part on her own, she’d missed it in her self-imposed exile. Maybe next year.

  Bringing her attention back to the present, she asked her dad what he had planned for them for the next day. Their family had always loved Christmas, but she’d been oblivious that it was upon them, and she still struggled to imagine there was any way it could still bring her joy now that her mum was gone.

  “Well, Nanna Anne and Grandpa William are staying in a cottage in the Lake District for two weeks, and they said we’re welcome to go up and join them tomorrow, or at any time, if we’d like to. But we don’t have to do that,” he added quickly, trying not to scare his daughter with too much too soon. “We could just hang out here together, watch some movies or something, or we could visit Rose…”

  Rhiannon gazed at her brother, who’d been pale and listless on the couch just a few hours ago, and marvelled at the colour in his cheeks, the change in his energy and the joy in his eyes from just this tiny amount of family time. As much as she really didn’t want to leave the house, she had to admit she was just being lazy – and scared. These grandparents loved her and Brodie, and she knew how much it would mean to her dad to be able to spend Christmas with his parents. And Anne and William would love to see them all too. She was aware of how worried her grandma had been about them.

  Forcing a smile, she shook her head. “What the hell, it’s about time we had a road trip, right?”

  Her brother squealed, looking thrilled again, and Mike gazed over at her with pride. “Thank you darling, for tonight, and for tomorrow. And for coming back to us.”

  “I’m just sorry it took me so long,” she sighed.

  She was saved from having to say more by Brodie, who had cut another piece of the chocolatey dessert and was digging in with a look of pure happiness on his face. After just a few bites his eyelids started to droop though, and Mike carried him upstairs and put him to bed while Rhiannon washed the dishes and tidied away their gifts. As she gazed again at the strange box of curtains and quilts and paint, she was surprised to acknowledge that she was actually looking forward to making her room over. It was time for new energy to come into her life. For a little sunshine to pierce her darkness.

  When her dad came back downstairs, she’d made him a cup of his favourite tea, and he sighed with pleasure as he took a sip. “We’ll have to leave really early tomorrow, is that okay?” he asked nervously.

  Nodding, Rhiannon headed upstairs to pack. She knew she’d be too much of a zombie in the morning to do it properly, so she opened her wardrobe and looked inside, then groaned. All her clothes were black, except for a navy top and a dark blue pair of jeans. In her initial grief and anger over her mum’s death, she really had thrown out every piece of colourful clothing she’d owned.

  Grabbing a couple of dresses, some jumpers and thick tights, she stuffed them into a bag with underwear and a toothbrush, then collapsed into bed. Smiling inwardly, she thought perhaps it had been a Christmas miracle that she was beginning to emerge back into the world…

  * * * * *

  A knock on her door early the next morning roused her from sleep, and she dragged herself out of bed, groaning that it was still dark outside. Quickly pulling on her jeans and the navy top – she remembered how bitterly her gran had complained about her all-black clothes when she’d stayed with them after Beth died – she headed downstairs for a quick breakfast, before she and Brodie piled into the car with their dad and hit the road.

  When they merged onto the motorway north, Rhiannon turned around to ask her brother something, but he was fast asleep, still in his Spider-Man suit, a look of peaceful contentment on his face.

  “He only let me take it off him last night because he could get straight into the Spidey pyjamas,” Mike grinned. “And he was still curled up with the web slinger plush when I woke him up this morning. Good choice of gifts,” he teased.

  “I’ll pay you back, I swear,” she said quickly. “And thank you again, so much, for saving my butt with that one – it would have destroyed me if I’d had nothing to give him. But I don’t have anything for Nan and Pop either,” she groaned. “Is there somewhere we could stop on the way?”

  “It’s all covered darling, please don’t worry.”

  “Thanks Dad.”

  As the sky started to lighten, Rhiannon gazed out the window and vowed to make an effort from now on, to be there for her brother, and to stop being so grumpy, angry and closed off. She wasn’t the only person who had lost so much, and she’d been absent for long enough. As devastated as she still was, the constant ache in her heart hurt a tiny bit less now, and while she knew she’d probably never be totally over the pain of her loss, she was coming to realise that life did go on, and her selfishness had to stop.

  And she kept her promise. Brodie was overjoyed to have his sister back, and they spent long hours roaming along the lakeside when the weather was clear, returning with rosy cheeks and freezing noses, more than ready for another mug of hot chocolate. When it rained they curled up on the massive couches under warm blankets and watched cartoons together, or played board games with their dad and their grandparents in front of the roaring log fire.

  The absence of Beth cast a pall over all of them, and Brodie wasn’t the only one who woke crying in the middle of the night. But Rhiannon was overwhelmed to realise that her pain was lessened a little by the love and support of her family, and her father pulled her aside a few times to thank her again for being there for Brodie.

  And on a personal level, she was making progress. After Christmas lunch, her grandma handed her a large soft package, and she let Brodie help her unwrap it. Just a day ago she would have been furious, and lashed out, but today tears welled in her eyes – tears of gratitude, embarrassment, dare she say pleasure? – as she pulled out a riot of rainbow-coloured dresses, skirts and tops, each of them in a vivid, cheerful hue or bright mix. Rhiannon threw her arms around her grandparents in turn, then rushed into her room, tore off her black clothes, and slid into one of the multi-coloured dresses. It shocked her, just how different, and how much brighter, she felt out of her gloomy black uniform.

  After seeing how dramatically the new clothes lifted her mood, her dad nervously confessed that he’d never gotten around to taking all her colourful clothes to the charity store when she’d wanted to throw them away, so they were all still waiting for her at home, neatly bagged in the attic. While a momentary stab of anger ran through her, that he hadn’t respected her wishes, mostly she was happy, and relieved, and she hugged him and thanked him for knowing her mind better than she had in the turmoil of her grief.

  For six days the three of them stayed in the lakeside cottage with Anne and William, and Rhiannon was glad to see her dad starting to laugh a little more readily. There was still great sadness though, and twice she came upon her dad and his mother crying together in the kitchen as they tr
ied to comfort each other. With a shock she remembered that Anne’s first husband had died when Mike was young, just after he’d married Beth. Perhaps her son’s distress at losing his wife was bringing back sad memories for her too.

  Yet as Rhiannon watched Anne and her second husband William together, she smiled. He was such a loving, supportive spouse, and had always been a wonderful grandfather to her and Brodie. And as he and his wife banded together to ease Mike’s sorrow, her mum’s words came back to her, imploring her to encourage her dad if he found love again.

  As hard as it was for her to imagine it, her grandparents made her realise that it might be possible to have two great loves in a lifetime.

  Chapter 20

  A New Hope

  Rhiannon…

  Mist rolled in over the lake and black clouds loomed low across the sky as Rhiannon shared a pre-dawn breakfast with her grandparents. Her dad joined them as she was brewing a second pot of coffee, then they packed themselves and Brodie into the car, with many more bags than they’d arrived with, farewelled Anne and William and headed home.

  Sprawled out in the back seat, her little brother slept again, physically worn out from all their nature walks, and mentally exhausted from the constant attention and excitement of the festive break. Rhiannon was awake though – really awake, for what felt like the first time in ages – and in a reflective mood.

  “One holiday down and a new one to get through,” she said, rolling her eyes. Then she consciously adjusted her tone. “I don’t mean that. I’m sorry I almost missed Christmas, but I know it’s New Year’s Eve today. What do we have planned?”

  Her dad smiled across at her. “Well, Rose invited us over for dinner tonight, but we’ll both understand if you’d rather just chill out at home and have a quiet night in. I really appreciate the effort you’ve made all this week, and how difficult it must have been, so I promise you, there will be no hard feelings on anyone’s part if you don’t feel up to socialising again tonight.”

  Rhiannon sighed, her default response of late, then shrugged off the habitual gloom. “It’s okay Dad, I’m not quite as delicate as you think. That sounds really lovely.”

  When they pulled up at home a few hours later, Brodie woke up, brimming with energy, and eyes alert. “It’s time to change your room Rhi-Rhi!” he shrieked, and sprang out of the car and ran to the front door, presents forgotten in his excitement.

  Her first instinct was to refuse, to delay, to put things off, but it was New Year’s Eve. What better way to usher in a new year than with a makeover, of her room and her self? Her father raised an eyebrow at her in question, trying to determine whether she needed a way out, but she just shrugged and followed her brother inside, then raced him up the stairs.

  After three solid hours of hard work, the curtains were hung, her bed was made over, and all of her walls were painted. One wasn’t quite as professional looking as the others, since Brodie had insisted on painting his wall all by himself, but Rhiannon loved it because of that.

  By the time they finished, their arms were aching, the fumes were starting to get to them, and they suddenly realised how hungry they were. Packing up their brushes and paint tins, they headed downstairs for a very late lunch. When Brodie collapsed on the couch and fell asleep as soon as he’d finished the last bite, Rhiannon put the kettle on, and her dad dashed upstairs, returning with a silver-wrapped parcel tied with purple ribbons. With a sad smile, he handed it to her.

  “What’s this? Seriously, I got more than enough presents for Christmas, I don’t need anything else!”

  Mike took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “This one is from your mum,” he explained gently. “I wanted to wait until you could open it in private.”

  Stumbling backwards, Rhiannon clutched at the sink behind her and tried to steady herself. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to flee from the room, from the house, from the world – or tear at the ribbons and open it right away.

  It took a moment for her breathing to return to normal, then slowly she reached out and took the parcel. Offering her another sad smile, her dad walked out into the lounge room to give her some privacy, scooping Brodie from the couch and carrying him upstairs to his room to continue his nap.

  Sinking to the kitchen floor, Rhiannon clutched the parcel to her heart, until she finally worked up the nerve to open it. Nestled in the shiny paper was a gorgeous white dress, with layers of different fabrics creating texture and swirl in the long, floaty skirt. It was the complete opposite of everything she’d worn since her mum died, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to put it on, let alone go out in it.

  This dress said hope. It said peace.

  Yet she was so without hope, and so lacking in peace.

  As she spread the material over her lap, a card fell out, and her name on the envelope, in her mum’s distinctive handwriting, made her gasp. Her hands were shaking as she tried to open it, but eventually she managed to slip the card out. It was pretty, like the dress, with a sweet white bird on the front, and the word hope emblazoned on a banner beneath it. It was the perfect card for this dress. For this moment.

  Smiling through her tears, she read the words inside.

  My darling Rhiannon,

  If you are reading this card, it means I am no longer with you, and I am more sorry about that than I can ever express. I know Christmas will be difficult for you, for all of you, but I trust that you will be the light within our family, the sweet and gentle warrior who keeps your dad and Brodie together, and the warmth at the centre of our home now that I am gone.

  As the new year rolls around, I wish you the strength to deal with my loss, and the ability to grow from it, rather than being diminished. I know you will be kinder and more open-hearted, not less, as a result, because you have always been my strength. You are the strongest, bravest and kindest person I know, and I implore you to remember that.

  As the years pass, I wish you the confidence to always know your true worth, and just how much you deserve to be loved. I wish you the passion to follow your dreams, and the dedication to work to make them come true. And I wish you all the blessings of love and contentment. I know you will face the world without fear, that you will forge your own path with courage and authenticity, and I only wish I was privileged enough to be able to see it happen.

  It devastates me that I won’t get to see you grow up, that I won’t be there as you graduate from uni, travel the world, get married, start your own family, progress in your dream career. Whatever you choose to do with your life, or not do, I want you to know always that I am so very proud of you. That I trust you, and always will. That I have such faith in you, and the choices you will make and the paths you will journey along. It makes me so happy to know that you will grow and blossom and learn and dream and shine your light for the whole world to see.

  My darling girl, I fell in love with you long before you were born. I adored you every single moment that I was alive. And I will continue to cherish you every second of every day, wherever I am now. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, the light of my life, the reason for my existence, and I hope you know how truly and deeply loved you are, and that I will hold you in my heart for eternity. And I want you to know that, wherever I am, you will be my love, and my light, and my hope forever.

  All my love, always... Mum xx

  The tears flowed faster, until Rhiannon couldn’t bear to be inside a moment longer, contained within these four walls that were closing in around her. Shaking with misery, she pushed herself to her feet and fled out the back door.

  * * * * *

  Without making any conscious decision, she found herself climbing the tor. As the hill got steeper, her breath came in short gasps and her cheeks reddened, but she pushed herself onwards, wanting to feel the stitch in her side, the difficulty breathing, the burn in her throat, the deep flush of the heat in her cheeks.

  When she reached the summit she collapsed o
nto the damp grass, and let her long hair fall around her face like a curtain, hiding her away from the world. Hot, fat tears ran down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook as great sobs racked her body. She’d been holding in her pain, still scared that it would overflow and hurt someone, or upset her father, but now it was like a dam close to bursting, and she knew that her control was about to slip and tear her apart.

  She wept for her mother, and the life she’d been cheated out of. She wailed for herself, for her dad and for her brother. She sobbed for the loss of her friends, their inability to understand her grief, and her reluctance to pull them into her despair.

  And she cried for her guilt. Guilt at the stress she’d caused her mum, guilt at not being enough for her dad or for Brodie. Guilt for burdening her friends with her pain. Guilt at not being able to handle her loss and despair in the more mature way her mother had expected she would.

  As the ferocity of her thoughts and tears finally slowed, she became aware of a presence next to her, and she froze, mortified that someone had been a witness to the violence and rawness of her pain. She tried to get her crying under control, to rein in her ragged breathing, even as she cursed whoever it was for invading her space, and prayed they would leave.

  Instead she felt an arm go around her shoulder – but rather than making her leap to her feet or cry out in fear, which would seem a normal reaction, an inexplicable sensation of calm and comfort washed over her. What was going on? Why hadn’t she run screaming down the hill the moment she’d felt the stranger’s touch? Why did she feel so peaceful, and so loved, and so safe, so protected? Her body felt languid, and dreamy, as though she was wrapped in a soothing cloud, and nothing and no one could hurt her. Even her heart felt a little lighter, a little less burdened by grief and loss.