by HC Michaels
She slit open the envelope to read her father’s first words to her.
Dear Skye,
Forgive me. Letter writing is not my strong part. My English is not longer good either. I am a foolish old man with stones in my head where my brains should once be.
I am sorry for a lot of things. I should written you before. I have not known what I am to say back to you. I am sad you have cancer. My mama died from cancer in her ovaries many years ago. I thought you should know that. Your cancer is my fault. I passed it to you and I am frustrating for that.
You ask me lot of questions and I cannot answer all of them so I will answer the ones you ask mostly.
I do have more children. My wife for thirty years Antoinette gave me five sons. From them I have seven grandchildren. Six of them is girls. Antoinette died last year from stroke.
I do not work in ballet anymores. I live on a farm and enjoy quiet life. I have never been back to Melbourne.
I do not remember your mother well. I’m sorry if this is rude but the time I knew her was very busy and I met many people. I do remember that she danced like her ballet slippers were made from the clouds.
I did want to meet with you but my wife did not want. She hid your letters for me. I think there are many I did not see. I am glad to see your last one as it is an important one.
You are very beautiful in your heart and face. I pray for you to be healed. I’m sorry for your cancer and that this letter being slow.
Your Papa
Skye read the letter six times, memorising each line and trying not to correct his grammar. Part of her had always hoped her letters were going to the wrong address and he’d never known she existed. But it was clear that wasn’t the case.
She always imagined him as some glamorous artistic director wowing audiences across Paris, not as some farmer with five sons and a nagging wife.
Who would hide the letters a child had written to her father? It was criminal! His wife was probably jealous she hadn’t been able to provide him with a daughter. Thank goodness she had that stroke, or Skye might never have heard back from her father. Her Papa, as he called himself.
As awful as it sounded, it was also fortunate his mother had died from ovarian cancer. That had really made him sit up and take notice. It was hard to imagine this mythical grandmother. Skye had grandparents on her mother’s side. They were still alive, apparently, although it’d been years since she’d seen them. They hadn’t approved of her mother having a child out of wedlock, moving to country Victoria as a protest, no doubt afraid of being lumped with child-minding duties. Skye seemed to have that effect on people. Nobody had been happy about her birth.
Her mother had taken her to visit them a handful of times and it was like visiting strangers. They were polite, but lacked any warmth, preferring to pat Skye on the head rather than take her in their arms.
Eventually, her mother stopped bothering. She never told her why and Skye didn’t ask, afraid if she did her mother might make plans for another trip. She’d rather pull out her eyelashes one by one than sit at that hideous vinyl kitchen table drinking watered down orange juice while her mother tried to cover up the awkward silence polluting the air.
When her mother moved into the nursing home, she’d called her grandparents to let them know. She was certain they’d want to visit, but this only confirmed how little she knew them.
They told her how sorry they were to hear such dreadful news and quickly explained their pension didn’t allow much extra for them to be of any help. They were too frail to make the trip to Melbourne to see her, but would she please pass on their best.
Their best.
What the hell was their best? Raising a daughter like polite strangers, then abandoning her when she presented them with a chance of redeeming themselves.
Given that their best sucked, she never bothered to pass it on. Not that her mother would’ve understood what she was talking about if she tried.
Despite the ovarian cancer gene appearing to have some strength on her father’s side, the parenting gene seemed to be just as weak on her mother’s.
She had no hope, really.
Except now, a very faint glimmer had begun to shine. Her father had given her reason to think hope was possible. If she could find a way to forgive him then maybe he could be the parent she’d longed for all her life. Someone else to love her, who wasn’t her husband.
She shoved the letter back in its envelope, uncertain what to do about it.
Hope was a concept far too dangerous for her to deal with right now.
18 Days Before The Break
Amber turned in her chair and smiled to see Linda standing in her doorway. Despite her being the hired help, she was the only friend Amber had in the house at the moment. The hot gardener didn’t count as he wasn’t technically in the house. She wouldn’t mind if it he was, though. What was his name again? Probably no point trying to remember. He’d move onto another job soon enough. Gardeners always did.
Not Linda, though. She’d been here for years.
“Darling, have you got a second?” Linda asked.
Amber pulled the headphones from her ears and patted the bed. “Sit down. I haven’t seen you for ages. What’s happening?”
“Exactly my question.” Linda crossed her arms as she perched on the edge of the bed.
She often popped in for a chat, yet never had she seemed so awkward. They got along well, bonded by the fact they were both outsiders under this ridiculously white roof.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Amber. “What are you asking about?”
“Is Skye sick?” Linda tilted her head.
Amber’s jaw fell open. “You mean she hasn’t told you?”
Linda shook her head, her lips pursed together as if frightened she might say something she’d regret.
“Oh, well that’s a new low, even for Skye.” This was unbelievable. Didn’t Skye realise you just can’t treat people like that? Especially Linda, a perfectly lovely woman who Skye seemed to have no problem handing a list of shitty jobs to do every day. That sucked.
“I knew it. What’s wrong with her?” asked Linda.
“Ovarian cancer.” Amber winced as she waited for the reaction.
Linda jumped to her feet like the bed had been infested with cockroaches and clutched at her chest. “Oh my god!”
“I know. It’s a shock, hey?” Amber shook her head. “Didn’t you read about it online?”
Linda ran her hand through her hair. “I stopped reading her blog ages ago.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell you,” said Amber. “You shouldn’t have to read her blog to find out something like that.”
“It’s none of my business, I suppose.” Linda shrugged.
“Yes, it is. I should’ve told you.” Amber stood and gave Linda a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
Linda hugged her back. “It’s not your job to tell me.”
“It’s just that we haven’t talked for ages.” Amber let go of Linda and sat back down on the bed. “Most of the time you’re here, I’m at school.”
“So how bad is the cancer?” Linda asked.
“Pretty bad.” Amber pulled her face into a grimace. “She’s started chemo. Her hair’s falling out.”
Linda nodded. “That’s why I asked. I’ve been finding it all over the place.”
The thought of Skye’s hair falling out gave Amber the heebie jeebies. She rubbed her bare arms to repress a shiver.
“Does her mother know?” asked Linda.
Amber raised her eyebrows. Linda knew Skye’s mother had dementia. Surely, she must realise Clara was beyond retaining such kind of information.
“If she knows, she would’ve forgotten,” said Amber. “She still thinks Skye’s married to her first husband. She doesn’t even know Dad exists, even though he pays all her bills.”
“That poor woman. What a tragedy. To lose your mind at such a young age.” Linda shook her head and tutted.
“She’s
not young.” Amber said, puzzled. “She must be in her fifties at least. Sixty maybe. Older than Dad, at least.”
“One day you’ll get old, too.” Linda sighed.
“What would you do if you were like that?” asked Amber.
“If I’m ever like that I want you to visit me and put a pillow over my head, you hear me?” Linda smiled.
“Are you serious?” Amber laughed.
“Of course, I am.” Linda sat back down on the bed. “I could think of nothing worse than rotting away in a home like that.”
“I know what you mean,” said Amber. “It must be awful for her. Awful for Skye too, to have to watch it.”
“Life can be so cruel.” Linda put a hand on Amber’s arm. “Enjoy life while you’re young, Amber. Make the most of every minute.”
“I don’t suppose anyone’s told you I’m moving out,” said Amber, realising that if nobody told Linda about Skye’s cancer, she’s unlikely to know about this, either.
“What? No, Amber. No.” Linda reached for her hand and held it. “Where are you going?”
“To Mum’s.” She squeezed Linda’s hand. “Dad said Skye needs quiet to recover.”
“But you’re not noisy.” Linda tutted. “You’re quieter than a mouse. You look like one too with those silly headphones on all the time.”
“Ha ha.” She rested her head on Linda’s shoulder. She was going to miss her. If only she worked for her mum instead of her dad. Not that her mum could afford a cleaner in a million years. Amber was going to have to clean her own bathroom over there.
“When are you going?” asked Linda.
“Soon. Dad paid some guys to build me a new bedroom in Mum and Jeff’s backyard. The builders have already started.”
“What will I do without you?” Linda patted Amber’s head. “I’ll never know what’s going on.”
“Then you’re lucky.” Amber sighed. “Sometimes I think it’s better not to know. Knowing things just makes you feel like shit.”
“Language, Amber,” Linda warned.
“Sorry.” She smiled. Her dad never pulled her up on her language anymore. He probably didn’t notice with the amount of swearing he did. She liked it when Linda treated her like a surrogate daughter. “It’s true, though. Why do you think I like my headphones so much? The more things I know around here, the more miserable I feel.”
“Smart girl. It took me years to figure that out. Pity my ex-husband didn’t agree. He insisted on telling me everything.” Linda let go of her hand and stood up.
Amber grinned. “Oh yes, tell me more.”
“Enough. These stories aren’t for your ears.” Linda laughed.
“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “I told you about Skye.”
“And I appreciate it. Now, would you like your sheets changed?” Linda fussed with a corner of the bed. “I’m just about to put a load of washing on.”
“No thanks.” Amber waved her away. “You did them already this week.”
“Skye likes hers changed three times a week,” said Linda.
“Do I look like Skye?” Amber batted her eyelashes.
“Good point. You’re much more beautiful.” Linda blew her a kiss. Amber knew she was just saying that, but it was nice to hear someone other than her mother thought she was beautiful. What a shame her father had married Skye, rather than someone like Linda. She could handle having a stepmother if it was someone actually nice.
Theo couldn’t believe his luck when court was adjourned early. If he moved fast, he could catch Skye while she was still at chemo. It was about time he got over his fear of needles. He’d just have to look into her eyes and pretend everything was normal. If he didn’t look at the needles directly, they didn’t have to be real. He could do it.
He walked into the hospital like he was eight feet tall. He was a good husband. Skye would see how much he cared. But when the nurse told him she didn’t have an appointment for Skye for the afternoon, his eight feet quickly shrunk back to his usual six.
Why hadn’t Skye told him plans had changed? Most likely because he’d told her he’d be spending his day locked in a courtroom.
He called her from his car, unsure which direction he should head—to his chambers or home. Was she even at home?
“Hello,” she said, picking up the call. She sounded terrible, like she had the flu, gastro and tonsillitis all at the same time.
“Hi. I’ve just left the hospital looking for you,” he said.
“Oh, babe, they changed my appointment to this morning. I’ve been and gone,” she croaked. “I’m back home now.”
“You sound awful.” He turned left, heading towards home. “How are you?”
“Not great but struggling through.” She let out a long sigh. “I’m in bed now.”
“I’ll be home in ten minutes, okay?” He pressed down on the accelerator. “I’ll sit with you.”
“You’re busy, don’t worry,” she protested. “Linda can bring me anything I nee—”
He heard her put down the phone and retch, the sound reverberating through the audio system of his BMW like some kind of messed up death metal song.
Poor thing. What a cruel disease this was. Why did it have to happen to her? She was one of the healthiest people he knew. She took such good care of herself. All that yoga and discipline with what she ate. This shouldn’t be happening.
“Sorry,” she said, coming back on the phone.
“Oh, babe.” His heart hurt to hear her like this. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold tight.”
“I’m okay,” she insisted. “I feel better now to get that out. I’m going to hang up now, though. I need to sleep.”
“Sure. I’ll be there soon,” he promised. “I love you.”
She hung up without another word. She really was unwell.
By the time he reached her, she was in a deep sleep, her face so pale she looked like a blonde Snow White. Not that she’d be blonde for much longer. There was so much hair on her pillow. Her arm was tucked up beside her head, with blood seeping through a dressing in the inside of her elbow. A dark bruise was poking out from the bandage.
It must be pretty nasty under that dressing. He shuddered. She was just too damn delicate to be having needles shoved into her body like that.
He went to get a towel and gently placed it under her arm, brushing away the loose strands of hair and adding them to the bucket of putrid vomit next to the bed.
She didn’t even stir. His poor angel.
He picked up the bucket, took it downstairs to the laundry and tipped it into the trough.
“I can do that,” said Linda from the doorway.
“It’s okay.” He turned on the tap and watched all signs of Skye’s illness wash down the drain. If only he could cleanse her body of the cancer as easily as that. “Where do you keep the disinfectant? Skye might need this bucket again.”
Linda walked over to him and smiled. “Move over, I’ll do it.”
“Thanks,” he said, too exhausted to answer. Seeing Skye like this was draining him.
He heard a door slam from the direction of Amber’s room. He cringed, hoping she hadn’t woken Skye. It was a big house, but the noise of slamming doors had a tendency to weave its way into any room. Particularly any room Skye was in.
Linda held out the clean bucket. “Would you like me to take this up to Skye?”
“No, I’ll do it.” He took the bucket. “I might lie down with her for a bit.”
“Amber told me about her ... illness. I hope you don’t mind.” Linda shuffled on her feet as she adjusted her crisp, white apron.
“Amber told you?” he asked. “You mean Skye?”
“No. Amber,” she said.
“Skye didn’t say anything to you?” he asked.
Linda shook her head.
That was odd, even for Skye, although she really didn’t like to be fussed over too much—except by him, of course.
“I’m sorry, Linda. She should’ve told you. Or I should’ve. I
think we just assumed each other had talked to you.” That must be it. Skye would’ve thought he told her.
“It’s not a problem,” she smiled. “I just would’ve liked to have been able to help her a bit more. She’s been so unwell.”
He nodded. “She has. I’m really worried about her.”
“She’s very thin.” Linda wrung her hands together. “She’s barely eating, and I’ve been cooking her favourite meals all week.”
“I know. I’ll have a talk to her about that. She has to keep her strength up.” He took a step towards the door.
“Amber’s a good kid, you know.” Linda had a nervous tone to her voice. It wasn’t like her to speak to him about anything other than how he wanted his socks folded in his drawer or whether he’d like to have his breakfast in his den.
“She’s a great kid,” he agreed, unsure as to where she was heading with this.
“She told me she’s moving out.”
Right. So that’s where she was heading. He didn’t need a guilt trip from his housekeeper right now. He was having no trouble feeling guilty all on his own.
“That’s right,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, Skye needs me.”
“Yes, of course.” Linda picked up the disinfectant and sprayed the trough.
Theo went back upstairs, shaking his head. He liked Linda, but women her age had trouble minding their own business. Just another reason why he’d married a younger woman. Skye never tried to meddle in his life. Well, she had asked him if Amber could move out for a while, but that wasn’t meddling, it was a necessary part of her recovery.
“Get better, babe,” he said under his breath as he made his way back to the bedroom.
He wanted his life back. No, scratch that. He wasn’t greedy. All he wanted was his wife back.