~ Six Weeks Later ~
Tomorrow will be five years since Mereki was killed. I ended up working beyond my four weeks’ notice because Carrie only found a replacement a few days ago. Meg, however, is experienced and enthusiastic, so I’m handing over my apron to a much worthier employee for Carrie’s high standards of baking and passion for cupcake designs. I’m leaving town today to return to my hometown to say the goodbye I should’ve said to Mereki a long time ago. Josh is always on my mind and I miss him desperately, but the space has been good for me and when I return, I’ll make contact, with the hope we can find a way forward together.
As I hit the freeway, I open the windows to enjoy the warm breeze as I sing along to the classic hit, U2’s “With or Without You.” When I pause to listen to the lyrics, I promptly change the song because I don’t need Bono telling me he can’t live with or without someone. It’s too personal and completely counterproductive for what I am doing tomorrow.
I leave home at lunchtime and drive all afternoon, only stopping occasionally to fill up and grab snacks, arriving in the town I avoided for five years just as the sun dips below the horizon. Rolling slowly through the quiet streets, my emotions leap from one extreme to the other. A part of me is thrilled to be back here where I do have many wonderful memories. I relish the idea that being here will bring many of them to the forefront. However, a bigger part of me is filled with anguish.
Parking my car outside the familiar house, I take a long time to make it to the front door. I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to laugh nervously and cry inconsolably. Plucking up the courage I’ve been mustering for the past few weeks, I knock lightly.
The door opens, and I sway with the weight of emotion crashing down on me.
“Emerson,” Adina says. “It is so wonderful you’re here.”
“I . . . um . . .” I stutter, step inside, and literally fall into her arms. The devastation and joy at seeing Mereki’s mum is completely overwhelming.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She hugs me tight to her ample bosom.
She is the closest thing I have to a mother. I haven’t seen her in five years, and my decision to leave without looking back weighs heavily.
Mereki’s father appears from the kitchen, and our eyes meet. “Hello, Emerson,” he says, giving me a small smile.
Adina releases me, and I walk slowly towards the only positive father figure I ever had and stop in front of him. “Hello, Warrin.” My voice breaks as I say his name.
Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, and I rub my chest in an attempt to ease my aching heart. He looks so much like his son, and it rips me apart. A million emotions pass between us without another word being spoken. It’s all so horribly unfair.
“Hello, Emerson.” His voice is strained with emotion, and I fall into his open arms. “It’s so good to see you.”
I pull back and look him in the eye. “It’s so good to see you, too.” A few tears slip down my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, but I have to go into work now,” he says. “I’m on the night shift, but you’re staying a few days at least, right?”
I nod, swiping at my cheeks. “Just a few.”
“Then we’ll be able to catch up properly.”
After he’s gone, Adina puts her arm around my shoulders and ushers me towards the kitchen. We sit at the small table and I glance around, comforted by the familiarity of this room.
“It’s really so wonderful seeing you again,” she says. “We both missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I thought seeing Ki’s parents would hurt too much. Instead, my heart swells with love. “So much.” I shake my head and fiddle with a loose thread on the tablecloth. “Do you ever see my mother or Trent?”
“She left town soon after you and, last I heard, Trent’s in rehab. Adelaide, I think.” Her eyebrows knit together. “Developers bought your old house and demolished it. There’s a new housing estate out there now.”
I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t even know why I asked. I’m here to apologise to the woman who was the closest I had to a real mother. “Adina,” I say after taking a moment to organise my thoughts. “I should’ve stayed longer after I was discharged from the hospital. I should’ve been here for you and Warrin.” I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “But I couldn’t stand being here without Ki.”
She reaches across the table and takes hold of my hands. “You’d become each other’s whole world. We understood you wanted to get far away from here.”
I nod. “I couldn’t stay. It was too hard to confront reality, so I escaped from it instead.” My words come out quickly as if they’ve been trapped inside my mind for too long, begging to be let out. “The whole time I was talking to the police, I was thinking there had been some sort of huge mistake and Mereki was going to show up at any moment.”
“You were dealing with far too much. I wish Warrin and I’d insisted you stay, but we weren’t coping either.” She squeezes my hand. “You have to know we love you like a daughter, and you’re always welcome in our home.”
I nod but can’t find any more words.
After a few moments of silence, she stands, walks to the oven, and pulls out a baking dish. “I made lasagna. Are you hungry?”
“A little,” I reply, not wanting to be rude despite my churning stomach.
After we’ve eaten, we move to the lounge room and sit next to each other on the couch. I look at the woman who I’d hoped would be my mother-in-law one day, and I see the toll losing her only child has taken. She appears to have aged far more than the five years it’s been, and the worry lines around her eyes are deep grooves of emotional toil.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
She shuffles closer to me. “We’re finding peace one day at a time. I’m more worried about how you’re doing.”
“I’m still finding peace, but I’m closer than I’ve ever been before.”
She nods. “There’s no timeframe or road map for the grieving process. We all do it differently, and no one should judge anyone else for finding their own path.”
We sit in silence for a few moments.
“I hate that justice was never served,” I say in a whisper. “I can’t believe no one was ever charged.”
“I know, but it wouldn’t have brought him back.”
I nod. “That’s true, but the idea that he’s dead and no one . . .” I can’t finish the sentence. The fact that Jacob and Trent had rock-solid alibis when the attack happened meant I’d had nothing to offer the police to help with the investigation. There were so many out-of-towners there that night for the live music that, without any witnesses, the case was a dead end.
She sighs. “I spent years feeling angry, resentful, and bitter, but then I realised I was letting strangers steal my life, too. I was focusing on something I couldn’t change, however much I wanted to. It was killing me, and I think it was doing the same to you.” She stands and moves over to a wooden desk in the corner, piled high with papers and books. Opening a drawer, she pulls out a stack of opened envelopes, then returns to the couch. “Thank you for sending me these,” she says. “The last one particularly brought me so much joy.”
A few times a year, I sent them a letter to let them know I was alive. I never had a lot to report, but I wanted to keep in touch in some small way. The most recent one I sent only a few weeks ago and was a drawing I did of Mereki fishing.
“He was with me when I wrote those letters,” I say quietly, handing her the letter and pointing to the drawing. “I know it makes me sound crazy, but I felt his presence so strongly for so long, and it stopped me from grieving. I knew I was in denial, but I didn’t care. I could see him so clearly. It was as if he was holding on for me.”
Tears escape her eyes, and her hands cover her face. “Oh, Emerson. I wish you would’ve talked to me sooner.”
“He stopped showing up recently, and I hated it. I tried to pretend he had good reasons for his absence, but I know now I was letting him go.”
“I’m envious of you,” she says through her tears. “On my darkest days, I would call out to him, begging for a sign that he could hear me. I felt ridiculous, but I just wanted to see him again. I wanted to hold my son and tell him I loved him. I wanted him to tell me one of his wonderful stories and for me not to tell him they were all nonsense.”
I nod, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I loved his stories, too. Did he ever tell you about the girl who made the river flow again?”
She shakes her head. “He didn’t, but he wrote them all down in a journal, so I’ve read the story of Miann and Iselele.”
My eyes widen with joy, and my hand covers my mouth. She stands again and disappears down the hall, returning a few moments later holding a cream-coloured book. When she hands it to me, I bring it up to my nose, eager to smell the pages. It’s an instinctive reaction to something that Mereki once held and obviously treasured.
I open it and start flicking through the pages, overjoyed to find all the stories he told me and some he didn’t.
“You can keep it,” she says. “I think he would’ve wanted you to have it. I’m sure you were the inspiration in one way or another for every story he wrote since the two of you met.”
I nod, clutching it to my chest in gratitude. Later in bed, my eyelids become increasingly heavy reading about Darlizabeth, the fearless warrior, defending her children against the killer serpents of the Red River of Sythe. As slumber claims me, my last thoughts are of Mereki, the first great love of my life, the benchmark for all other men, and how he taught me about the infinite length and breadth of my heart. I wake up, however, thinking about Josh.