Dad looked me in the eye, and I saw the weight settle in his gaze.
“I know a bit,” he said. “Josh wrote me a letter once. I still have it if you want to read it?”
The idea of a letter from my brother gave me a thrill of excitement, as if receiving a message from beyond the grave. That didn’t last long, however, as I remembered the content. Olivia’s had been hard enough to read, and I wasn’t in a place to deal with more without losing my sanity. I was coming to terms with the fact that I might need help to deal with my trauma soup. It had set up camp in my consciousness, overcrowding my mind with its waving red flags demanding notice. I had a feeling the island might sink if I added anyone else’s suffering.
I shook my head. “Not today. But I’d like to in the future—if that invitation stays open?”
Dad nodded.
“How come you’ve never talked to us about Bellamy? You must have seen how it affected us—Josh especially.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t raised to talk about that kind of stuff. It just wasn’t done. And I don’t think I have the...” He wavedhis hand in front of his chest, searching for the right word. “The emotional skills to do it justice. I was scared I’d make it worse.”
Well, I guess I know where I inherited my emotional capacity from. “I can relate to that feeling,” I said, following his gaze onto the manicured backyard. Was Charlie shaping the trees now too? I’d never seen them look so good.
“Do you want to?” Dad exhaled. “Tell me about what happened to you there? Because you can.”
My heart galloped, and water filled my eyes unexpectedly. I blinked it away as something long coiled in my stomach unfurled. He'd lifted the dam by opening the line of communication about what I’d been through, and it felt like he was acknowledging it for the first time. I didn't know if I’d share anything with him, but knowing I now had the option to created an ease within me I hadn't expected.
“Is this the only time you’re going to allow me to speak about it?”
Dad linked his fingers together and stared at the ground.
“No. You can talk to me anytime. If it feels important to you.”
He nodded as if he were telling himself, not me.
“Thank you,” I might do that. But I’d rather save it for another day.”
That was for my benefit, not his—but he still looked relieved.
“Can you think of anyone who might have left me the house?” I asked, changing tack. It didn’t matter as much anymore—not for me—but it might still hold something for Olivia.
Dad shuffled in his chair. His heart suddenly thundered loudly enough for me to hear. That caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to have more of a reaction to that question than he had to my comment about Josh. He looked... panicked. The sweat gathering along his hairline, the shift in his posture, the silence thickening between us—something wasn’t right.
“Dad?” I asked, my hands shaking involuntarily.
He covered his face with his hands and hunched over in the chair.
Oh god. Was he crying?
“Dad?” I said more urgently. Now he was freaking me out.
He reluctantly pulled his hands away. His face was flushed, his posture still folded in on itself like he’d been gut-punched.
“Do you remember anything from before that time?” His voice was hoarse.
I shook my head. He knew I didn’t. I was the youngest. I had no memories from before Bellamy. June had a few—fleeting images of Mum. Her singing a song, washing her ears in the bath, holding hands in the park.
Sometimes I used to shout at her and tell her she was making her memories up, otherwise I’d remember too. But part of me knew she wasn’t. She cherished those memories, and I was jealous of them. There was a hole inside me that longed to be filled, even by aglimpseof my mother. It didn’t even have to be a full memory. Her face would be enough. And to know she loved me. That she’d looked at me with the same smile that June remembered so clearly.
Of course I’d seen photos of her, even though Dad didn’t like to keep them around the house. There were the scrapbooks that sat on the dusty bottom shelf of the sewing room that retired when her body did from cancer treatment. There was a scrapbook of her and Dad's dating years and one each for Josh and June’s early years. I guess she'd expected she had more time to get to the one for me. She’d only started them a year before her death.
Dad cleared his throat again and stood, rubbing his chest as he began pacing the patio. The distress on his face had deepened.
“Dad, stop!” I stood up too. “You’re freaking me out.”
He leaned on his knees, panting. I didn’t know what a heart attack looked like, but he didn’t look far off. I reached out to steady him, but he shook me off.
