by Jordan Ford
The castle had been abandoned since Helena was taken away. Tristan had checked it daily for the first week and then given up. The constant disappointment was too painful.
Before he could stop himself, he peered between the cracks, eyeing the long, unruly grass, then flinching when he spotted a woman on the porch.
At first he thought it was the dragon, but when he squinted to really study her, he noticed the woman was someone else. She had the same blonde hair but was taller than Helena’s mother, stood with her shoulders back, her chin held high. She carried herself with a confidence that Mrs. Thompson never could.
A new owner?
That couldn’t be right, could it?
Before Tristan thought better of it, he shouldered open the gate.
The woman flinched, her blue eyes rounding with shock before narrowing with mild annoyance.
“Can I help you?” Her accent was posh and sweet, reminding him of Helena.
His heart spasmed and all he could do was frown at the foreign woman.
She cleared her throat and walked down the rickety steps. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” he managed.
Her head jolted back. She was no doubt surprised by his rudeness. Stopping a few feet from him, she studied his face before her lips started to twitch with a smile.
“Your name wouldn’t happen to be Tristan, would it?”
He wasn’t sure how to respond. Who was the woman? And how did she know his name?
“Helena described you well.” She extended her hand with a kind smile. “I’m her Aunt Sylvie.”
“Helena,” he whispered, snatching the woman’s hand and shaking it like a lifeline. “Is she okay? Where is she? Can I see her?”
His questions were fast bullets, but she deflected them easily. Her expression crumpled with sadness. “She is as well as she can be…considering her condition.”
“But where is she?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Yes, you can!”
She responded to his shout with a gentle sigh.
“I can only imagine how you must be feeling. Helena has cried many tears for you, but she can’t see you again, Tristan. It’s over.”
His swallow was thick and audible.
“Her mother is in a very fragile state. We’re getting her help, but at this stage she still blames you entirely for Helena’s fall. We’re in the middle of a very slow, hard, painful journey…and your presence will only hinder that. You must let her go.”
“I can’t,” he croaked.
The woman’s eyes glassed with tears before she blinked and brought them under control. Her keen blue gaze ran down his body, her eyes narrowing at the corners. “What happened to your knee?”
“Oh.” He looked down at his torn pants and shrugged. “I just fell off my bike. I’m okay.”
Her lips rose with a kind smile, her nose wrinkling like Helena’s did.
He gazed down at himself again, his jaw working to the side before he nodded and said, “But she’s…she’s okay?”
“She’ll get there. We’re doing everything we can to help her heal.”
“Will she walk again?” Tristan croaked.
The woman’s expression crested with pain. “It’s not looking likely. It doesn’t help that her motivation is…well, nonexistent. She has a few bright moments, days where she seems stronger. But then I’ll find her crying in her bed, not wanting to get up and face the day.”
The soft words screamed volumes, making Tristan hurt in ways he didn’t know he could.
“Please let me be there for her,” he whispered.
“Even if I wanted to say yes to that, you know I can’t. I’m only here to box up the house and take back a few requested treasures. I’ll be leaving in a couple of days…and you won’t see any of us again.” Her eyelids fluttered, her tongue peeking out to lick her bottom lip before she bit them together. She rested the back of her hand on her hip and looked away from him, squinting in the bright sunlight.
A bird chirped from one of the giant trees along the fence line, its wings fluttering as it shot into the air. Tristan followed its path, raising his hand to shade his eyes.
The sky was a brilliant blue, crystal clear with the promise of summer. Tristan hadn’t even noticed how warm it had gotten or the brilliant green of the leaves in the trees.
Helena probably loved this time of year. She’d no doubt have something magical and poetic to say about such brilliant weather.
And whatever a sun will always sing is you.
Tristan’s chest squeezed tight, his airways restricting as he remembered the poem he’d given her in the hospital. His hopes had been so high and electric in that moment.
Now they were gone…turned to ash that could so easily fly away in the breeze.
As much as he wanted to stay there arguing with the woman, he was logical enough to know it was pointless. His arguments carried as much weight as his ash-like hope.
It was time for him to go and put his bike away—time to go back into his darkened cave.
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and started a backwards retreat. “Well, I should go and—”
“Wait,” Sylvie blurted, surprising them both for a moment.
Tristan’s forehead bunched.
She hesitated, obviously warring with some kind of indecision before giving in with a gentle sigh.
“I have something for you.” She held up her hand. “Please, just stay there.”
He did as he was told, watching the woman turn and disappear into the house. Biting the inside of his cheek, Tristan gazed at the crack in the pavement. Green shoots of grass were spurting between them—a splash of color on a dirty, gray canvas.
Tristan stared at the vibrancy of it, his vision going fuzzy as Helena’s laughter tickled the back of his brain.
Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud.
The poem came back to him line by line—a sweet, aching torture.
And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.
Sylvie’s steps on the porch pulled Tristan from his trance. He walked up the path to meet her. She stopped on the bottom step, clutching a shoebox to her chest.
His breath evaporated when he got near enough and she lowered the box. A white envelope was pinched beneath her thumb. Tristan was written on it in blue—Helena’s swirling letters making it look far more regal than it deserved.
She swallowed, running her fingers lightly over the box.
“She wrote this for you on one of her better days, then changed her mind and tried to throw it away.” Anguish washed over the woman’s expression. “But you must read it.” Her voice hitched. She cleared her throat and quickly regained her composure. “I was going to leave these on your doorstep before I left, but seeing your sad face and…” She sniffed. “I understand now why her feelings are so potent. She knows that letting you go is the right thing to do, but please understand that it’s been very hard for her.” She held out the box to him. “I found these in her attic as well, and thought…you might like them.”
Tristan took the box and letter, his breath shallow.
She looked to the ground, uncertainty flashing over her expression. Closing her eyes, she let out a slow breath before raising her chin to pierce him with her blue gaze. “I wish I could give you a different story…a way to contact her…a promise. But it would be foolish to do any of those things. You must treat this letter as Helena’s final goodbye. Please. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
Tristan swallowed, suddenly wondering if he even had the courage to read it.
His lips quivered as he drew in a breath and whispered, “Thank you. I think.”
She sighed, a sad smile cresting over her face.
The lump in Tristan’s throat was so thick and impeding, he didn’t know how he was supposed to say goodbye. Tears burned his eyes, threatening to fall. He locked his jaw against them, dropping his gaze to the crack in the concrete.
>
“Goodbye, Tristan,” she whispered.
With a slow nod, he turned and shuffled down the path. The box felt heavy in his hands as he stopped on the curb. Snatching up his bike, he pushed it down his driveway, dropping it outside the garage before clutching the shoebox to his chest and racing up to his room.
39
The Letter
Closing the door with his butt, he flicked on his light and then fell to his knees beside the bed. Treating the envelope with a mixture of reverence and fear, he gently propped it against his pillow, saving it for last. First, he opened the box and gazed inside, a shaky smile forming on his lips.
It was filled with paper cranes, and resting on the top was a leather necklace. He pulled it out, running his thumb over the oval disk with the flying bird painted on it. His hand shook as he gently laid it on his rumpled covers and sniffed. He turned back to the box and gazed down at the mountain of cranes.
Reaching inside he pulled out one from the top, reading the script on the wings.
Tristan played my prince today. He was magical.
He grinned, reaching in for another.
We started writing a play—“Rapunzel’s Rescue.” Tristan has a bigger imagination than he thinks. I hope I can make him see it.
Tristan’s eyes were a brilliant blue today. His uninhibited laughter is the sweetest music I’ve ever heard.
I had my first real kiss. Tristan’s tongue is bewitching. He tastes like peppermint and I shall dream sweet tonight.
Tristan’s arms around me make me feel like I can do anything. I’m not afraid when he is near.
Each crane made his heart swell a little bigger. It felt tight in his chest, like there wasn’t enough room to take it all in. Crane after crane written for him. He’d filled her life with them, given her so much in such a short space of time, yet…
Yet she’d given it all back tenfold. She’d redefined him, and the second she was gone he’d retreated back into the shell he was in before he met her.
Guilt and despair wrestled for first place. Blinking hard, he wondered if he could cope with any more. But he gritted his teeth and snatched out his last crane before slamming the lid shut.
His breath iced over, a cold puff easing out between his lips as he read the words.
So this is what love feels like.
Tristan and Helena forever.
She’d sandwiched her words within a love heart and Tristan couldn’t help a bittersweet grin. Tears stung as he brushed his thumb over the word forever.
“If only,” he whispered.
Dropping the bird on his “read” pile, he glanced at the letter perched against his pillow. He had no idea what she wanted to tell him and he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to read it, but his hand worked with a mind of its own, reaching for the envelope and tearing it open.
He pulled in a nervous breath as he unfolded the white sheet of paper. The writing was neat and flawless, and Tristan wondered how many times she’d composed the letter to get this final version.
He could picture her scribbling her thoughts, her long hair draped over her shoulder as she wrote to him.
Letting out a breath, Tristan held the paper lightly in his hands and began to read.
My dearest Tristan,
It is with deep sadness that I write, knowing we’ll never see each other again. My heart is broken, yet in spite of this pain, I feel a sense of peace. It’s a soft glowing light in the fog…and gives me the courage to tell you this…
No matter how much I may miss you, or how many nights I’ll dream about our time together, and how many days I’ll yearn to see you again…I now have the security of knowing that no matter what happens to my broken body, my heart will live on in you. I’ll experience the world through your eyes, and that is what gives me hope.
I always thought the greatest love stories were fraught with tragedy, and maybe I’m right, but you’ve made me believe in fairytales too. You, the guardian of my heart, have been my dream come true.
I never saw you coming, and not once will I regret knowing you.
Now…as sole guardian, there are a few things I require of you. Things I shall never be able to do on my own.
This is an odd one to start with, but something I have always wished for. Get a tattoo. My mother will never allow it, and I can’t see my grandparents capitulating either. I’m locked in a body that won’t do as it’s told, and if I’m honest, I don’t know if I have the strength or will to learn to live with that. So, you must do this for me. Make sure it’s not a silly one you’ll regret after a year, but an epic one that’s meaningful…something that represents us.
I also want you to start a bucket list. Things you must do before the end. I would like it to include:
~ Visiting castles that fairytales were born in. I want you to stand on the turrets and imagine yourself as king. Picture me by your side, your ever-loving queen. Lavenders blue, lavenders green, remember?
~ Take me to Rome and Paris. Walk me through Sherwood Forest. Sail me down the Nile and then marvel at the pyramids. I want to see Petra, Victoria Falls, the Great Wall of China…the Taj Mahal.
~ Write me stories as you go. They can be real or pretend, I don’t mind either, but I want to experience these places as if I were by your side. Make them good, so one day I might find them in a library or bookstore. I know you have it in you, Tristan. You could be a master storyteller. Don’t hide yourself away. That would be a travesty.
You need to find the braveness inside you and cling to it. You are no longer the faint-hearted boy I met in the attic, but a knight—a defender of the weak. Men like that fight for justice and they protect those around them. Live up to your name and become the man you were destined to be.
Look for all the beauty and magic this world has to offer. Walk with your eyes and soul wide open and make every heartbeat count, so that you can give back and leave the biggest, brightest footprint this world has ever seen.
And lastly, this is something I really must insist upon…don’t miss me. Instead, make me paper cranes and fly them into the sky. No matter where I am, my spirit will catch them, because wherever you go or whatever you’re doing, I’ll always be with you, oh keeper of my heart.
With all my love,
Helena
Tears scorched his eyes, winning the battle and trickling down his face as he folded the letter closed with trembling fingers. Gripping his mouth, Tristan swallowed, his jaw quivering. He couldn’t believe she’d tried to throw it away; it would have been a tragic loss. He was grateful for Aunt Sylvie’s intervention.
Holding his head in his hand, he covered his eyes and let out a disjointed whimper. He wasn’t sure how to think or feel. Hope still battled with the shallow pain of knowing he’d never physically carry her again, never hold her or rewrite plays with her. Never sit beside her to read a book or smell her jasmine hair.
Opening the letter, he read the last few lines again. He didn’t want to not miss her…but as he soaked in her words, he slowly came to the resolution that he didn’t have to miss her, because she was there. She’d always be there.
Rubbing his chest, he willed his heart to beat with her song as he reread the letter twice more.
“I’ll keep you with me,” he whispered. “I’ll never let you go.”
Sucking in a breath, he sat back, sniffing loudly and swiping a finger beneath his nose.
“I won’t let you down, Helena.” He nodded, gripping the cover of his bed as determination fired through him. “You’re going to live this life with me. I promise.”
His heart swelled inside his chest as tendrils of hope weaved through his system, igniting, lighting, freeing him of the darkness.
Pushing himself up, he moved to the window and flung his curtains open, drinking in the summer sunlight.
He pictured her bright smile as she tipped her head to the sky and closed her eyes, flinging her arms wide and basking in the warmth of the sun. There she was. He grinned, and she smiled within him
. He could feel it.
“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re here.”
40
The Ghost of Sunshine
Biking to school the next day somehow felt easier. Helena’s letter sat in Tristan’s pocket—a sheet of paper that he knew he’d carry with him daily for many years to come.
Parking his bike, he looked up at his school, a determined smile cresting within him. He could do this. He was going to enjoy the rest of his year, because he was taking Helena into the halls with him, and that’s what she’d want him to do—enjoy, smile, capture those worthy moments in the day and write them down for her.
Waltzing along the corridor with a light step, he turned right and spotted Mikayla. She was pressed against her locker, Owen towering over her with his scathing laughter.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.
Mikayla’s little nose scrunched, her mouth dipping with a resigned frown.
Tristan’s first instinct was to hang back and step up once Owen had left. He’d hug Mikayla, rub her back, and let her know that everything would be okay.
Helena would like that.
But knights fight for justice, her sweet voice whispered through him. I want a better story than a comforting hug. Live up to your name, Tristan!
The command electrocuted him into action.
“Hey!” He pointed at Owen. “Leave her alone.”
Everyone in the hallway went still, their mouths dropping open with surprise.
The mute one spoke?
Tristan ignored the curious gaping and continued forward, training his eyes on Mikayla’s aggressor.
He waited until he was standing less than a foot from him before speaking again. A righteous anger burned inside of him, fueling his words and tone.