“And?”
“He’s getting worse.”
“How so?”
“He’s…” She groaned softly. “He’s fading. If that makes sense? I don’t know how to explain it. But the time alone hasn’t done him any favours. His letters sound empty.”
I gulped. “I’ll book the tickets tonight.”
“Thank you.” Cassie’s voice dropped. “Come visit us soon, okay? We miss you.”
I hung up, unable to accept such an excruciating invitation.
Cassie had thanked me from the bottom of her heart.
But what about my heart?
What about that?
What about the mess this would cause, and the inevitable hurt Jacob would give me?
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Hope
* * * * * *
“YOU HAVE TO leave now? Like right now, right now?” Michael yawned as he sat at the kitchen table and smiled gratefully at the bacon and egg bagel I’d made him. He blew me a kiss before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I’ve already booked a flight and cleared a few days with work. It’s a family emergency. I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t urgent.”
“It’s urgent because you need to tell this guy his grandfather is dying?”
My heart sank, miserable and moping. “Yes.”
“But his own family can’t pick up a phone and tell him?”
“He hasn’t got a phone—not answering his old number anyway. He’s not on social media. There’s not even a guarantee he’ll still be at this hotel by the time I get there. But I have to try.” I washed my hands in the sink from my own breakfast and eyed my suitcase by the door.
It hurt to admit, but I’d packed every stitch of my belongings—not just the necessities I needed to travel. I’d spent long enough living unofficially with Michael to be blasé about leaving stuff. An odd bra, a pair of mismatched socks. A dress or two.
However, in the inky dawn with Cassie’s voice still in my head, I’d searched the apartment for any trace of me.
I’d stuffed it all into the suitcase.
I didn’t leave a trace.
What did that say about me?
What were my intentions?
Was I saying goodbye to Michael?
Was I playing with fire that wouldn’t just burn me, but char me to dust?
Since talking with Cassie, I’d managed to book a flight to Bali leaving this afternoon, arranged a room at the same hotel where Jacob sent the letter from, and emailed work that I could still do script edits and amendments, but I’d be out of the country for a few days.
How easy it was to wrap up my life.
How simple and straightforward to just walk away without any reluctance or dismay—the exact opposite of what it felt like to leave Cherry River.
I hated that.
I cursed that because it showed me—no matter how often I told myself I was over Jacob—I wasn’t. And it wasn’t just him I wasn’t over. I wasn’t over his mother or family or home or lifestyle. I was envious. Immensely envious such a wonderful place existed without me. And I was furious because Jacob turned his back on all of it.
Turned his back on me.
“I’ll miss you, Hope.” Michael abandoned his breakfast, coming to cocoon me at the sink.
“I’ll miss you, too.” I spun in his arms, rising on tiptoes to kiss him. “I’ll video call you when I’m there.”
“And every day you spend away from me.”
“Every day.” I smiled, all while my heart worried what sort of chaos I was about to head into. Jacob was a battlefield, and who knew if I’d stay scar free this time?
Then again, I had a giant scar from him already, gorged deep into my stupid heart.
Kissing me again, Michael murmured, “I love you, Hope. Perhaps, when you get back, we can go away together. A romantic holiday with lots of sex and cocktails and midnight strolls on the beach.”
“I’d like that.” Squeezing him tight, I wriggled out of his embrace and strode toward my suitcase. “I’ll be counting the days until I’m home.”
“Me too.”
We stared and smiled, and with a slightly shaky hand, I opened the door, walked through it, and closed it.
The click was as loud as cannon fire.
The symbolism of shutting myself off from Michael was all too real.
Because the thought of going on a romantic holiday with him was nice. He was nice. Our relationship was nice. Everything was nice.
But…I didn’t want nice.
I wanted rough and painful and hard work and sweat and tears and everything that made life beautiful and ugly.
I wanted those scars, those battles, those moments of utter calamity.
I wanted to get dirty and messy and sunburned.
I wanted to fight because fighting for what you wanted made it all the more sweeter when you won.
I want to live as violently and as vividly as possible.
As I hopped into the cab and rode to the airport, all I could think about was a fourteen-year-old boy I’d met at a movie premiere.
A boy who feared hugs.
A boy who’d grown into a man.
A man I’d never stop loving.
* * * * *
For two days, I searched.
The hotel was basic but clean. My room small and Balinese in its decoration with a lovely balcony overlooking a sunset-perfect beach, manicured gardens with palm trees, and graceful turquoise pools.
It was heaven on earth, but Jacob wasn’t here.
When I’d first arrived, I’d spent the evening patrolling the hotel grounds, ducking into restaurants, padding barefoot on warm sand as the moon highlighted boat sails and hotels along the coast, twinkling like diamonds.
The next day, I’d called Cassie and told her the hotel had no registration of a guest under the name Jacob Wild.
They’d never heard of him.
Our one clue had led to a dead end.
She’d apologised for sending me on a stupid chase, and told me to go back to Michael—to forget all about Jacob. But…as I stood on the balcony that second night and listened to the soft waves slap upon the sand, something inside me shook its head.
The same girl who’d befriended the stray dog that everyone else was afraid of poked up her head with curled fists and hot determination.
I hadn’t let that dog chase me off.
I hadn’t let Jacob chase me off until things happened that were too much to bear.
I’d flown halfway across the world to this tropical paradise, and Jacob was here.
I could feel it.
I would find him, even if it meant months of searching.
Months of nothing.
Months of turning my back on my carefully constructed life.
If I stayed here, I might lose everything. My job. My home. My boyfriend.
And the scary thing was…it was almost a relief more than a regret.
Calling Michael, while standing on that balcony, breathing in Bali air and my heart full of the past, I did my best to be present in our conversation. To laugh when he joked, to be sympathetic when he said he missed me, to be the girlfriend I’d been to him for the past year.
But I didn’t know if it was the physical distance that shut off my heart or the fact I’d been thrust on a path that would hopefully lead me back to Jacob, but I no longer felt tethered to him.
I was adrift.
I was acting.
I hung up feeling like the biggest liar in history.
* * * * *
For a week, I searched.
I grew used to the local currency and way of life and travelled farther afield, leaving behind the hotel district and travelling to areas said to be hotspots for people who liked to get away from tourist mania. Beaches where only the locals hung out. Restaurants that didn’t get flooded by guests at happy hour.
Each time I entered a new place, I scanned the crowds.
Luckily, by hunting in local areas, the tanned skin and bl
ack hair of the Balinese people were a perfect backdrop to highlight a blond-haired farmer who didn’t belong.
Only, in each place, there was no such find.
At each bar and café, broad smiles and eager questions welcomed me. They happily answered mine, shaking their head without recognition at a photo Cassie sent of Jacob on my phone.
No one had seen him.
No one knew a man named Jacob Wild or even Ren Wild—in case he was using his father’s name.
It was as if the letter was sent by a ghost.
By the end of the first week, I was disillusioned but not defeated. I gathered more maps from the hotel lobby and spent the evening circling off-the-grid beaches that didn’t have road access.
The ones where only die-hard surfers made the pilgrimage, fighting jungle and rocky paths to surf waves only a select few had.
Instead of trying to catch a taxi to such places, I hired a driver for the day, giving him the list of locations I’d come up with.
To start with, the driver rolled his eyes and told me there was nothing of interest at the destinations I wanted. That the only people who went there were potheads or hippies. As I looked like neither in my calico dress with hair carefully brushed and a large floppy sunhat, he did his best to persuade me to see the silversmiths in Ubud or the turtles in Tanjung Benoa instead.
But then, he made a fateful error.
Pointing at one of the bays I’d circled, he tutted under his breath. “This one no good. This one where bad spirit hang out. Only one white man go there and he never come back.”
Everything inside me stilled. “What do you mean bad spirit?”
“Temple there. Temple for the dead. If not given many sacrifices, it take your soul.”
My heart soared. “I changed my mind. Take me there first.”
“No. Cannot. Too dangerous.”
“You said one white man went there. How long ago?”
“Long time.”
I kept my patience even though anxiety rushed through my veins. “How long is long?”
“Ten months?” The driver shrugged. “He dead for sure.”
“Do other people go there? Not just the white man?”
“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Locals go. They say prayer. Small village there. Fishermen village.”
A muggy breeze sprang around my legs, kissing my sandals and up the back of my thighs. Goosebumps darted over every inch of me.
I felt touched by something other than air.
Was it fate or some kind of psychic knowing?
Was it Della pushing me in the right direction to find her son?
Either way, I wouldn’t accept a refusal. I was going to that village.
Even if I have to drive myself.
Patting my nervous driver on his arm, I climbed into his rusty, air-conditioned Toyota. “Let’s go there right now. Don’t worry about the other places. I only want to go to that one.”
He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “You crazy, lady.”
“I know.”
Crazy to chase after a man who’d almost resorted to physical violence to get me away from him.
Crazy to drive across Bali to an area where bad spirits lived.
Crazy to risk everything for one boy.
The driver looked at the heavens, shook the map in my window, then stalked to the front of the car.
I didn’t say a word as he plopped into the driver’s seat, cranked the engine, and weaved through chaotic traffic. “You not blame me if you die, lady.”
I rested my chin on my hand, staring at colourful shrines and pretty sarongs blurring into a rainbow as we drove. “I won’t die. Don’t worry.”
“I worry,” he muttered. “I worry long time. You should not travel alone.”
With an aching heart, I murmured, “If I find what I think I’ll find in that village…I won’t be alone for much longer.”
“What you say?” The driver looked at me in the rear-view mirror.
“Nothing.”
For the rest of the trip, I watched the world pass me by and hoped.
* * * * *
I’d come to the wrong place.
Four hours ago, I’d argued with my driver to wait for me, hiked down an overgrown trail he’d pointed at, and ignored the painful blisters from my sandals as I’d arrived at the prettiest beach imaginable.
Dense jungle cocooned turquoise sea and golden sand in a horseshoe of protection while an island just off the coast held a temple glittering with sharp spires and intricate woodwork against the sky.
If evil spirits lived here, their home was pure heaven.
For the first hour, I’d followed the shoreline to an area of jungle that’d been cleared, leaving behind a small community of huts and frond-roofed homes scattered amongst the foliage.
A few women noticed me, all brown and slim and part goddess living in this utopia.
They’d taken me under their wing, spoke enough English to understand I was looking for a blond-haired man called Jacob Wild, and took me to the elderly woman in charge for answers.
Desperate hope kept me company as I passed her my phone with Jacob’s photo on it. “Do you know him?” My voice trembled.
The woman with skin still perfect and hair slightly less black than her fellow villagers shook her head. “If man don’t want to be found. He won’t be found.” She passed my phone back to me.
I paused, trying to work out her riddle. “Is that a yes or a no?”
She shrugged. “You seek but not find.”
My temper escalated, but I daren’t get argumentative with a village elder in the middle of nowhere. Instead, I nodded. “Okay, I appreciate your time.”
“Bye, bye.” She nodded and carried on with whatever duties she was in charge of.
I left the clearing where fish dried on strings and coconuts lay in big piles ready to be used. The girls who’d helped me before had vanished.
Somewhere in the dense jungle, there was a path waiting to take me back to my driver.
This was yet another dead end.
Another false lead.
The sun slipped down the sky, and thick clouds brewed a storm on the horizon. My time was swiftly running out.
But I couldn’t leave without trying one more time.
Another couple of hours passed as I made my way into the jungle, following the crushed seashell paths around simple but elegant homes. There was something so fundamentally perfect and in keeping with the landscape that the houses morphed into the forest as a friend rather than an enemy.
Children played in small gardens, and a few elderly men sat on decks smoking pipes. Everyone was gracious and kind when I encroached on their property, asking if they knew anyone by the name of Jacob Wild.
No one recognised the man in my photo.
However, occasionally, I’d be stared at, thoughts racing in dark eyes, and secrets swallowed down tanned throats, and I’d get a wash of unease—the sense that they were keeping something from me.
Even though I believed they hid something, I didn’t know how to change their minds to tell me, and when the first fat raindrop plopped on my head, I knew my time was up.
If I didn’t hike back now, I’d end up sleeping on a windswept beach with lightning for a blanket.
With rain falling lazily, teasing me with the downpour about to arrive, I traversed the sand with hunched shoulders.
Out to sea, the temple no longer glittered with sunshine but cast an ominous shadow over the bay. The clouds above it were blacker than I’d ever seen.
Was that what the driver meant about the temple of the dead?
That it lured in unsuspecting visitors only to murder them with a change of weather?
Clutching my phone, I walked faster. Raindrops landed on my eyelashes, blurring a pack of children playing in the shallows. They weren’t fussed about the tennis ball-sized droplets hitting them intermittently.
I stopped.
I should just keep walking.
But the wind kicked up, blowing my dress, whipping it in their direction.
Fine, Della, one last try.
Kicking off my sandals, I jogged through the icing sugar sand toward the children. They paused as I drew close, eyeing me warily.
Slightly puffed, I kept one eye on the storm and one on them, dropping to my haunches. “Hello. Do you speak English?”
One tiny girl nodded. “Little.”
Bringing up the photo of Jacob on my phone, doing my best to shield it from the rain, I turned the screen to her. “Have you seen this man?”
Her cute face wrinkled. “No.” Backing away, she tucked herself next to a skinny boy who looked like her brother.
Another girl came close, her hair hanging down to her hips. She touched my phone, tracing Jacob’s shaggy blond mop and the surly position of his mouth. Behind Jacob was Forrest, the horse staring into the distance with sunshine picking up the strawberry roan of his coat.
“Pretty.”
I smiled. “Yes, very pretty. Have you seen him here?”
“Horse?” She pointed at Forrest. “Village over hill has horse.”
“And the man? Do they have him too?”
She bit her lip. “No.”
“What happening?” An older boy, early teens but as scrawny as a wiry monkey interrupted us, black glossy hair flopped over one eye as he squished between the girl and me. “You annoying my sister?”
I shook my head. “No. She’s helping me.” Angling the phone so he could see clearly, I asked for the millionth time, “Do you know this man? His name is Jacob Wild. He’s my friend, and I’m looking for him.”
The boy frowned. “That not his name.”
Everything inside me froze. “You mean…you know him?”
He crossed his arms over a powerful but skinny chest. “Sunyi.”
“Sunyi?”
He scowled. “Sunyi. Name is Sunyi.”
The girl pushed him aside. “That Sunyi?” She peered closer at the photo. “Not Sunyi. Hair not right.”
I looked from child to child as they launched into squabbling Balinese. Their voices pierced my eardrums, almost as loud as the thunder rumbling in the distance. Both made my heart pound as electricity and violence crackled in the air.
The boy tapped his finger on my screen, smearing water, arguing some more.
The Son & His Hope Page 40