Henry leads me down a long hallway to a room at the very end. He opens the door and steps back, his arms gesturing to the right, as if the room is a prize on Sale of the Century. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you.”
He turns to walk away and then pauses, one finger in the air as if he just remembered something. “Would ...” He turns back around. Doubt clouds his features. “Would you like to speak at Joel’s funeral?”
No.
My body seizes, my spine rigid.
I hate public speaking. Right down to my very core.
“I’ll leave it open for you on the day.” Henry gives a small smile and walks away again, calling over his shoulder as he leaves. “Think about it.”
The second I step foot inside Joel’s room, his smell hits me. Outside it’s all quiche and wine, but in here it’s masculine and spicy, and a scent that’s so uniquely him. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, trying to get as much air into my lungs as I can, trying to make every particle hit every corner of my chest.
When I open my eyes, it takes a few seconds to adjust to the shadows. The room is in darkness, the curtains drawn, all the objects left around just abstract shapes.
I inch over to his bed and sit down on the very edge. It doesn’t feel right to be in here without him. It feels as if I’m stepping on private ground. In a place I shouldn’t be.
Spying his bedside table, I reach over to open the drawers—
But I can’t. My hand doesn’t want to invade his privacy like that.
This was a place he never invited me to go. A part of him he didn’t want me to see.
Eyeing all the books on the shelf above his bed—Healing the Natural Way, Coping with Cancer, 101 Steps To A Pain-Free Life—I can see why. He was protecting me from who he was. The man he thought I’d never love.
It’s almost ironic that I’ve spent the last few months keeping secrets, only to find out the biggest one of all was kept by the boy I’d pledged my heart to.
I’m tempted to look around, to learn more, but it doesn’t seem right. Instead, I pull back the covers of his bed and slide my body underneath. It smells so strongly of Joel here. It’s a heady cocktail of pain and pleasure, and one I’m not afraid to mix. I suck it back, deep into my body, and I wait for release.
I suck in a deep breath and fall asleep to thoughts of heartache and loss and Joel.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I sit on the cliff-top, the letter in my shaking hands. Below me, the sea crashes against the rocks, a turbulent relationship based on emotion and solid foundations. Like so much of my life. Like so much of me.
I kick off my flip-flops and dig my feet into the hard red dirt. Small rocks prick at the soles of my feet, and wind whips at my blonde hair, curls flying around my face in a chaotic fury.
I bite down on my lip, thankful that I’m the only one here. That the tourists have taken today off, or that they’re out getting bagels and double-shot skinny mocha low-fat fair-trade lattes, or whatever the hell it is they do.
I stare at the white piece of paper, my nemesis. She’s been taunting me all week, but I haven’t been able to face her. It’s a demon I’m not strong enough for. There’s so much here in this one little parcel—sorrow, regret, heartache.
But for the first time in a week, I see something else.
Love.
And it’s eking out from the seams, clawing its way into the air and sneaking into my lungs with the air that I breathe.
I slide my finger under the seal and push through the resistance, tearing the paper. The letter is thin in my hand as I pull it out. I place the envelope on the ground under a shoe and suck in one last breath for comfort. Because this is it. This is the last time I’ll hear from my love.
The last time he’ll have words meant only for me.
Tears prick at my eyes as I begin to read.
Dear Ellie,
There’s no easy way to start this letter. I’ve written it a thousand times—drafted the words I want so badly to say to you in my head over and over until they’re as trite and cliché as a pop song, as scripted as a Shakespeare play.
The thing is, Ellie Mayfield, you’re so far from in the script.
You were never in my schedule. Even though I thought of you often, I didn’t think we’d ever reconnect. I think that’s why you so completely took my breath away. Why you so completely stole my soul.
There are so many things I want to write—and none of them seem enough. When I fell into you again, it was too easy to pretend that life was like it was when we first met. Once upon a time, I thought we’d get married. I thought we’d buy a house with a white picket fence, and have beautiful little blonde-headed babies who ran around and teased their friends next door for years on end. I know guys aren’t supposed to think of shit like that, but I did. I met you and I breathed you in. I couldn’t imagine anything without you—the future included. You deserve to be cherished.
That’s why the first and most obvious thing I want you to know is, I want you to love again. I want you to have the whirlwind romance of your life. I want a man to sweep you off your feet, to treat you like a princess and to be there for you for every second of your amazing journey—and it will be amazing—and for you to fall head over heels for him. I want you to fall for him so completely that you never even think of me.
Except to reminisce on how my penis size is bigger.
Obviously.
At that, I giggle. Or, I try to giggle. Tears flow thick and fast down my cheeks, and it comes out more as a choked laugh, the emotion getting caught in my throat.
The second thing I want to tell you is that you are not a rule-obeyer. This whole time, you’ve told me how you play it safe, you obey the rules, but you haven’t! You’ve done these things—you’ve jumped, you’ve risked, and you’ve said it’s because I’ve been there to catch you—but it’s you. You’ve always been the one to catch yourself. I’ve been watching from the sidelines, cheering—and damn, have I been cheering—but that’s all I’ve done. You’re the hero in this story. It’s time you took the lead.
“You’re so wrong,” I whisper, but my words are lost on the wind. I pick up a small round stone that was resting innocently next to my right foot and toss it up in the air, catching it with a snap of my wrist on the descent. I’ve never been the hero. I’ve needed him to catch me.
Haven’t I?
And finally, you are the bravest person I know.
Before you start objecting, know this. You’ve pushed so many limits with me—not only in those stupid bloody challenges, but in every aspect of your life. You risked everything emotionally, even though we both knew this was never in your plan. You’ve done so much to protect yourself from hurt, and I’m so sorry I brought that right to your doorstep. I’ve spent so many nights beating myself up over not walking away, but I couldn’t resist you. You’re a force greater than nature.
Sometimes, two people have a pull that connects them. It’s greater than time, or space, or a single emotion. It’s something out of this world. Something truly stellar.
That’s what I want you to know.
And even though we’re apart right now, even though we’re in different times, a different space—I’ll find you in the stars.
Make sure you look for me there.
All my love.
Joel
(And I mean all ...)
By the time I read the last line, I’m a blubbering mess. The wind cools my hot tears as they stain my cheeks, and the taste of salt teases at my tongue from the salt air and my own heartache. I press my lips against the letter, as if by kissing it I’m somehow kissing him, kissing Joel, kissing the man who is still managing to break my heart from somewhere out of this world.
I stay like that for hours, watching the waves crash against the rocks, watching the sun turn the sky orange then pink then grey, watching the container ships out at sea go from coloured lumps to lit up mysteries.
I stay until my legs and
butt become numb from their rested state, prickles itching at the underside of my body. I give a little shake to try and inject some feeling and healing into my body, dislodging the envelope I’d stowed so carefully. I pick it up, ready to store the most precious thing I own back into it, when I feel something still in there. Something I hadn’t noticed before.
Frowning, I pull apart the lips of the envelope. Inside, two items rest—one cardboard ticket, and one glint of gold brass.
I take the cardboard first, pulling it out in front of me. It’s a ticket, printed with a time and date three months’ from now, and the name of a company.
A very familiar name.
I laugh, and this time the noise carries on the wind, out over the cliff top. Because he bought me a sky-diving ticket. The bastard continues to push me, even when he’s not here.
The second thing in the envelope is smaller, and harder to grasp. My fingers fish around in the bottom of the envelope before they finally pull it out.
It’s a star, gold, with a small loop at the top to connect to a necklace or bracelet. It says everything and nothing all at once. It says he’s with me. It says I don’t need him.
It says whatever I need it to say, whenever I need it to say it.
Just like Joel always did.
This time when I cry, it’s for how perfect he is. How he’s handling his death with as much romantic prowess as he did his life.
How I miss him, so damn much.
And how I’ll look for him in the stars.
Always.
Forever.
Eternally.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The day of the funeral rolls around, and I still haven’t come to grips with my grief. It’s still too fresh. Too raw. Too absolutely freaking painful to process. But his envelope sits on my bedside table, and it gives me a small eon of comfort. It makes me want to try.
I get up early and take a long time in the shower, washing my hair, shaving my legs. I moisturise my whole body in some fancy lotion Mum got me years and years ago. I choose the pale pink silk dress that glides over my body with the kind of precision I’d use if I were selecting an outfit for my wedding day.
And in a way, it is.
It’s my first and last formal event with the true love of my life.
I’ve texted Mum about the funeral today, but she’s only offered up short replies. No doubt she’ll have another more important event on that prevents her from attending.
Lia and Hope wait at our front door at exactly ten a.m., two hours before the funeral starts. They’re both dressed in black, and both looking solemn, their faces drawn.
We walk to the car together. My two sisters, more my blood right now than my own ever will be, arms linked, faces stoic. It’s time to say goodbye.
The trip to Sydney is spent in silence—no loud music, no giggling stories, no are you okays. Just silence. Thinking time. And damn, do I need it to get my shit together.
We pull up and park four blocks from the funeral home. Cars line the street, testimony to the kind of love Joel radiated.
The three of us start the journey to the church. My heels wobble as I pick up the pace. We’re so close now, but I can’t get there fast enough. Lia grips her hand in mine, and gives me a squeeze. She says everything and nothing in that one small gesture. It’s exactly what I need to hear.
There’s one door to the church still open, but one has been closed. I sign the register, scribbling my name down, and then take a long, deep breath through my nose and out through my mouth. Calm. I need to be calm. I can’t go racing into the church like a grieving bull in a china shop.
“Love you,” Hope whispers, and I glance back at her. I look up at the wooden roof of the church patio, as if hoping to find the strength I need there
I’ll catch you if you fall.
I roll back my shoulders and walk into the room. Lia, Hope and I stand at the back in amongst tens of other mourners. Up front, Henry starts to speak. We make eye contact, and he gives me a slight smile.
The scent of too much perfume is heavy in the air. Everyone is still, listening as Henry talks about his son. The love of my life.
“He was a strong man. Even when he was a kid, he’d be out to change the world. To improve things. But not just to make things better—to make you feel better about being you. It was never more evident to me just how much he cared when around a week before he died, he told me so. He said ‘Dad, I love you. More than anything.’” Henry pauses, and looks up from the piece of paper in front of him. “‘But if you don’t go home and shower, I’m making Nurse Paige give you a sponge bath.’”
A soft ocean of laughter fills the room. It’s the sort of laugh that is quick to come as people search for relief from their pain. In times of trouble, we all need moments like these.
Henry continues to speak of what a great man Joel was. He holds it together, right ’til the very end when a few tears escape from his eyes, and he dabs at them with the white handkerchief he had in his right pocket.
The priest continues the ceremony, and several more people speak. Fiona steps up to the plate, and so does Joel’s grandmother, the woman who opened the door at Henry’s house when I visited earlier in the week. Henry looks at me, his eyes asking me if I want to go up and speak.
I don’t want to.
I hate public speaking.
I can’t think of anything worse to do.
But I have nothing left to lose.
One shaky foot steps down the aisle, then another. The sound of my heels on the tile is like a cannon shot in the otherwise quiet room. Heads turn and follow me as I walk, and whispers rustle through the crowd.
When I reach the podium, I clutch at its sides to hold me up. My knuckles are white against the blonde wood.
I look out at the sea of faces—so many of them gathered here to remember the man I loved. They’re all ages—young, middle-aged, old—and from all walks of life. Some are all in black, while others have donned vibrant hues of pink and turquoise, as if trying to prove to the world how okay they are. How they’re coping fine.
I take a deep breath, and open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
My knees are weak, and I blink back tears for what feels like the millionth time since this whole journey started. I swallow, then close my eyes for one moment. What would Joel do in this situation? Would he speak, square his shoulders? Make some crappy joke?
He’d tell me he’d catch me. Then he’d kiss my forehead.
I miss you so much.
“Hi. My name’s ...” My voice cracks, and I do my best to shake it off. “My name is Ellie Mayfield. And Joel Henley ...” Deep breath, Ellie. You can do this. “He was the man I loved.”
A soft murmur goes around the room. Some women shake their heads, no doubt thinking Vanessa had gotten a whole lot blonder and probably a little less into designer threads.
“I met Joel when I was just five. When no one else would choose me to be on their team in school sport—Joel picked me.” I pause, looking down. That overwhelming sense of pain crashes around in my stomach. “Joel Henley continued to pick me throughout the rest of my life. When we were fourteen, and he asked me to be his girlfriend. When we were sixteen, and he took me to our school formal.” I pause, and swallow the lump of loss that’s wedged in my throat. “When we met again, he wanted to choose cancer. And I ... I’m so glad he chose me.” I sob, and it echoes around the church courtesy of the microphone. My shoulders cave in, and why does it hurt so much? Why hasn’t someone figured out how to stop this thing called pain and prevent it from ever happening? “He was the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and he taught me so much. He taught me how important it is to live—and I’ll never ever forget that.”
My knees collapse under me. I hold my shins, folded over at the waist. The pain rips through me, tearing me in two. It hurts so damn bad.
“Hey.” Henry is at my side, offering that damn handkerchief over, and I nod and gratefully accept it. My vision blurs a
nd when I see a pair of silver stilettos I think I must be imagining them.
Only I’m not.
A warm arm snakes over my back. “You did so well,” my mother says.
I look up into her brown eyes, mirrors of my own, and manage a wobbly smile. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
She takes my arm, and I stagger to my feet. “I love you, Eleanor.” She pauses. “I haven’t always been there before, but I’m so sorry. And for you, my strong, independent daughter, I will always make time.”
And even though I’m in my darkest hour, even though I’m minutes away from saying my final goodbye to the man I love, a small flame of hope ignites in my chest. It’s not strong; it flickers dangerously close to winking out of existence altogether.
But this could be the start of something amazing.
And I know Joel would be happy about that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
We’re in the car on the way home when my phone rings. I jump, the noise breaking our silence so harshly. The ringtone is Taylor Swift, and I don’t even bother looking at the caller ID. I don’t have to.
I swipe across the screen and hold it to my ear. My hand shakes as emotion pours through me. I’ve never been a religious person, but I sent up a silent prayer.
Dear God, please let this be good.
“Ellie? Thank God you answered,” Dani says, her voice high-pitched yet quiet. “I’m in trouble. I need you. Please.”
My heart seizes in my chest. The world slows down and for a moment, for a heart-wrenchingly long moment, I consider letting her suffer.
After all, she threw me under the train at Mum’s last week. Why should this be any different?
Joel wanted me to stop letting them take advantage of me, to be my own person.
What he didn’t realise—what I didn’t realise until now—is that me saving her is me being myself. In trying to keep her alive, I’m doing what no one else in my family has done in the last year. Fight for someone else.
The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2) Page 22