by E. S. Carter
“Don’t make life hard. It’s hard enough. Laugh, tell stupid jokes at inappropriate times, dive naked into a freezing cold river because it’s a daft thing to do. Love, even if that someone can’t love you in return. Live, don’t waste time on the little things.” He takes a shallow breath and continues, “And if you should find someone to share all that with you, the laughs, the silliness, the adventure, the love. If they giggle at the jokes, if they jump into the river with you, if they pull you out of too much seriousness, and if they love you like you love them. And he does, Fflur. Then you grab that love with both hands and be damned about what anyone else says.”
I nod because there is no way I can speak, and I watch as Max’s eyes crinkle and the corner of his mouth tips up in acknowledgement.
I’ve tired him out. His blinks are becoming longer, and his head turns once more, his awareness back on Galen’s music.
“Do something for me?” he asks just above a whisper.
“Anything.”
“Ask Gal to play You Are My Sunshine. Tell him it’s the Johnny Cash version. He’ll know what you mean. Tell him to play it for your mother.”
“I can ask him to play it now.”
“No,” he says, but it’s barely a breath. “Not now. Later.”
Another tear slides from my eye and I squeeze Max’s hand as he falls back to sleep.
“I don’t hate you now,” I whisper once his breathing evens out. “I lo—”
The declaration gets caught on a silent sob, and I bow my head to my chest, and I cry.
Chapter Forty-Seven
I’ve tried for days to get Galen to have a few hours away from the house, but he always finds an excuse.
Mum might need him.
Max might need him.
The lawn needs cutting.
The fence needs painting.
One of the lawn chairs has a wobbly leg.
I resort to underhand tactics.
“Hey, Max,” I say when I walk into the bedroom to see him propped up on pillows with Mum helping him eat some broth. “You’re looking handsome today. I think it’s those new pyjamas. They really bring out the colour in your eyes.”
Max huffs out a laugh and winks at me when Mum gives me a stern look.
“What?” I ask. “They do.”
He knows what my game is—being light-hearted at seemingly inappropriate times.
Galen sits in the chair beside the bed, his gaze on the window and the bright winter sun.
“I was just popping in to take Galen for an ice cream.”
“Ice cream? It’s freezing outside today,” Mum declares, spooning another mouthful of broth for Max.
“I think that sounds like a bloody great idea,” Max says. His eyes flicking from Galen to me. “In fact, bring me home some mint choc chip. I have a craving.”
Oh, he’s better at this than me.
This time I’m the one that gives a sly wink.
“Do you?” Mum asks brightening. “You didn’t say earlier.” Then she turns to me and says, “Bring home a big tub. No, make it two.”
I want to laugh. I bet the last thing Max wants is ice cream, and I think Mum would buy the entire shop if he said he wanted a little of each flavour.
“Gal?” I push. “Are you coming?”
He snaps out of his thoughts and gives me a long look.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Yeah, Fflur. I’ll come for ice cream.”
I lick the top of my coconut gelato filled mallow wafer and stare at the man before me. His eyes are fixed outside, his ice cream sundae before him untouched.
The booth we sit in is directly below an air-conditioning vent, and despite it being winter in Wales, the ice cream parlour is freezing inside no matter the temperature outside. I shiver in my thick wool coat and adjust the scarf around my neck.
Maybe ice cream wasn’t the best idea.
“Your dessert is going to melt,” I say, taking another lick of mine and all but giving myself a full body freeze, let alone brain freeze.
“Huh?” he asks, his head finally turning to face me.
“Your ice cream? It’s your favourite.” I point to the untouched glass dish before him.
“Yeah, I guess,” he says absently, not paying attention to anything I’ve said.
“Gal,” I sigh and place my half-eaten treat on a napkin. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
Finally, a reaction.
“I don’t mean about us,” I say, voice lowered, eyes locked on his which means I don’t miss the brief second his gaze lands on my lips and flicks away.
“I can’t, Fflur,” he confesses, voice broken. “I can’t do this with you. I have to think about my dad.”
“We’re not doing anything, Gal. We’re just here being us, taking a timeout. Can’t you talk to me like you used to anymore?”
“No,” he yells, his voice reverberating around the empty store and the girl working behind the counter drops something heavy and metallic, making a loud clatter that doesn’t hurt my ears half as much as Galen’s one word. “No. I can’t talk to you. I can’t let you comfort me because I. Want More. Than. That.” He punctuates each word with a stab of his thumb to his chest before taking a deep and shuddering breath. “I want more, Fflur, and now isn’t the time for us. Now is the time for him, for them. So do me a favour—” he stands, rifles in his pocket for his wallet, and throws down some cash. “—Buy Dad some fucking mint choc chip and go home. Just go home.”
And then he’s gone.
Out into the air a few degrees colder than inside this parlour. Away from me and the warm comfort I’d hoped to provide.
When I arrive home a little over an hour later, the mournful strains of Galen’s guitar can be heard coming from upstairs.
How he got back here, I don’t know.
Mum sits on the stairs listening, her eyes closed, her head lowered.
She snaps her head towards me when I open the door, her eyes quickly blinking as if I’ve woken her from a daydream.
I nod my head towards upstairs. “Has he been home long?”
“Hmm,” she muses softly. “About fifteen minutes maybe.”
“He’s been playing ever since?”
“He has. This same melody over and over.”
“Max’s song.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “But it’s not Max.”
I walk to the stairs and sit on the one beneath her, her feet against my thigh.
“No,” I agree as we listen to the sadness that pours from the strings. “It’s not Max. He’s more like a jig or a jive. Lively, almost out of control.”
“I hope he finds that song. I know it won’t be now, but after, I hope he will.”
“We’ll help him,” I promise. “He’ll find it.”
That afternoon, Max’s nurse tells us to prepare for his passing in the next week or so. She said these things can’t be predicted, but that his organs are shutting down and the progression of his illness would speed up and not slow down.
When she leaves, Mum kisses a sleeping Max and lies down with him on their bed, and Galen disappears.
I know I need to call Rhys. He’s been around as much as he can, but with his job at the school he’s been unable to take time off like the rest of us.
“It’s almost time,” I tell him quietly, feeling like I’m confessing the most terrible sin, feeling the burden of this responsibility weighing down on my soul. “If you can be around more often, great, but don’t punish yourself if you can’t.”
“I’ll call in sick,” he says without hesitation.
I busy myself in the kitchen, wondering if anyone has an appetite and if I should I attempt to cook, when Galen comes in through the French doors, boots muddy, jeans wet up to his knees and his hair and shoulders soaked to the bone.
“Where did you go?” I ask, uncaring of the mess he’s making on the floor I just cleaned.
“To the brook.” He leans down and undoes his muddy
laces before awkwardly toeing off his black leather boots and then dumping them straight into the rubbish bin.
I watch him with a morbid fascination. His movements staccato and choppy, his gaze purposely avoiding mine.
“Why did you go there in this weather?”
My eyes flick outside at the heavy rain and strong winds. “You must be bloody freezing.”
As if my words are the catalyst to an autonomous response, Galen’s entire body shivers.
“Come here,” I say, grabbing a towel from the laundry room and walking back into the kitchen with it open wide.
He hesitates for just a second before walking towards me.
I begin by drying his hair, then his neck and face, and then I ask him to take off his light jacket and drape another towel over his shoulders.
“What were you doing out there?”
He keeps his eyes on the floor when he confesses, “Looking for flowers. They always seemed to help you, and I needed… I needed something to—”
Without any other thought than this man before me, my family, my love, needs me, I step forward and wrap him tightly in my arms.
He freezes for a single beat of my heart before allowing my touch and falling into my embrace.
“What does my name mean?” I ask quietly, and I feel him still.
“Flower,” he whispers hoarsely into my neck.
“I’ll be all your flowers, Galen. I’m here, and you don’t need to look for any others. Take me. Use me.”
He shudders but doesn’t respond. Eventually, his arms wrap around my waist, and the wetness from his sodden clothes seeps into mine like I’m his sponge.
If only I could absorb some of his pain so easily.
That night, I go up to Mum and Max’s room before I head to bed to check if Mum needs anything.
When I peek my head around the door, I find Max asleep, with Mum lying on one side of him, head tucked into the space between his shoulder and neck, and Galen lying on the other. He’s on his side on top of the sheets, head propped on his outstretched arm. I grab the blanket from the chair and carefully lay it over him before taking one last look at the trio in slumber.
Are they all dreaming?
They all look so peaceful, and I close my eyes tight and take a mental snapshot of the scene.
Max surrounded by nothing but love.
Love and life.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Max passes away ten days later.
Galen plays You Are My Sunshine at his funeral.
He dedicates it to Mum.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The rain is heavy, everyone rushing from the church to the graveside under big black umbrellas that look like preternaturally large crows in the gloom, but when Max’s casket is lowered into the ground, the rain stops and bright winter sunshine dazzles the congregation.
We each throw a different flower into his grave.
Mum, a Primrose—the flower of eternal love.
Galen, a Gladiola—a symbol of remembrance.
Rhys, Larkspur—a desire for laughter.
And I add Gardenias—a symbol of children and family.
Max may not have been my father, and I may have resented him for a long time, but I also loved him, and he loved me.
He was, is, a part of my family and my heart aches that he only got to be with us for a short time.
While all the others leave, Mum, Galen, Rhys, and I stay. We huddle together until the sky opens once more.
“He’s telling us to leave,” Galen murmurs as the rain gets heavier.
“But I don’t want to,” Mum cries, her voice hoarse, barely audible through her sobs. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I’ll never be ready to say goodbye. I miss him, Gal. God, I miss him so much.”
“This isn’t goodbye,” I vow. “This is until later. Goodbyes are only for things we can bear to lose.”
We carry the weight of Mum’s grief and lead her to the car. Once home, we tuck her weary body into a bed that still smells of the man she loves and stand watch until she falls asleep.
Rhys is making tea in the kitchen when I come downstairs, Erin sat quietly watching him.
They both turn to face me when I walk into the room, Rhys coming straight up to give me a hug.
“Tough day, Sis,” he says into my hair, his arms squeezing me tight. I nod against his chest before pulling back.
“I’ve made a fresh brew, fancy a cup? I can lace it with some of the good stuff from the bottom cupboard?”
He winks at me, knowing he’s offering up Max’s good whisky stash that he always thought us kids didn’t know about.
“Maybe later.” I go into the laundry room and grab my old wellies, dragging them over my socked feet and tucking in my jeans. “It’s stopped raining. I think I need a walk.”
“Okay, we’re gonna stay the night in my old room in case Mum needs anything.”
“Thanks, Rhys,” I say as I slip into my thick coat and open the French doors. “I won’t be too long.”
I know he’s followed me.
Branches snap, and leaves squelch under the soles of his boots, but he doesn’t announce his presence until he’s at my side.
We both watch the swollen brook as it rushes before us, neither of us speaking for a long moment.
“Why did you follow me?”
“You told me I could,” he answers simply.
The wind whips strands of my dark hair across my face, and I lift my hand to tuck it behind my ear.
“Did I?”
“Yes. You did. You said you’d be my flower.”
The warmth of his hand as it slips into mine sends shards of heat up my arm directly to my heart.
“I’m in love with you, Fflur.”
“Don’t say that now, not today.”
“Then when?”
I don’t answer.
“I told Dad about us before he passed. He already knew anyway, but I’m glad I shared us with him. It felt wrong to hide it anymore.”
I shiver, and Galen tightens his hold.
“He told me that he knew you’d rocked my world from that very first day. He said it was like watching the start of a campfire, small embers that soon grew into white-hot flames.”
He shifts towards me and tugs me until I follow suit.
“You are my flower, Fflur, and I’m sorry for everything I did that kept us apart, but like you said today, you can never say goodbye to things you can’t bear to lose.”
He leans in as if to kiss me, his lips a mere breath away.
“I can’t bear to lose you, Fflur. This is our time. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Time.
There’s that word again.
One that has an uncanny way of showing us the things, the people, that really matter.
A word you cannot get back once spent.
A word that has only one thing more precious than it.
Love.
“Can we try? Can we—”
“Yes.”
His lips find mine before the soft hiss of the final letter leaves my tongue.
We’ve been here like this before.
My childhood bedroom a witness to feelings we thought were wrong.
But we were wrong.
This. This is right.
When the door at his back closes, Galen clears the distance between us, his arms wrap around me, and we stand bathed in each other’s embrace—wrapped up in warmth, and hope, and love. We rock from side to side, Galen humming something softly against my neck. Sunshine And Life.
I lift my head from his shoulder and place the softest of kisses on the smooth skin behind his ear. Galen’s arms tighten, pulling me impossibly closer—as close as two people fully clothed can get.
Breaking apart slowly, his eyes find mine and, just like always, that arc of electricity passes between us.
We kiss.
We touch.
We grasp.
We pull.
We stumble.
But
he never lets me fall.
The backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed, and we sink down onto it, Galen lying on top of me, his weight grounding me to the moment.
Shoes get kicked off. Clothes get removed and discarded, and the bed creaks and groans under us.
When not a stitch of fabric remains between us, Galen leans over me and kisses me long and slow, before pulling back to look into my eyes.
“This isn’t a one night deal, Fflur.”
“I know.”
“This is a forever deal.”
Then his warmth blankets me, and skin to skin we press and rock and grind and rub.
“Please, Gal,” I beg. “I need more.”
“I know what you need,” he whispers into my ear before nipping my lobe and sucking it into his mouth. I arch up, and his cock rubs deliciously against me, making me moan.
He releases me to fumble around on the floor for his jeans, and a moment later the crinkle of a wrapper echoes over the sound of my harsh breathing.
He takes his time, teasing me with his fingers, sucking on my sensitive skin, driving me closer and closer to the edge.
“I love you, Fflur,” he vows, the words spoken against my lips at the same moment he enters me with one long, deep thrust.
We both moan, and Galen doesn’t wait before he slides almost all the way out before pushing straight back in.
Again and again and again.
My nails scratch down his back and arms, and his hands hold me tighter.
My teeth nip at his lips, and his thrusts become harder.
My mouth sucks at his tongue, and his pace becomes frantic.
I convulse around him, calling his name. My inner muscles tighten around his cock, and he steals my breath with a kiss, thrusting so deep inside me that I don’t know where I end and he begins.
We crash over the edge together with a cry and a moan. Little grunts spilling from his lips as he rides out the last of his release.
Then his weight cloaks me once more, pressing me into the bed, my limbs like jelly, his cock still twitching inside me.
“Sorry, I’m crushing you,” he laughs and slips out of me, rolling to the side and gathering me in his arms.