“He’s a smart man, your Sam,” she says with a genuine smile. “Will he be coming with you tomorrow?”
“No.” I clear my throat, shifting on the seat. “He’s on his way to Sydney, actually. I arranged for him to be interviewed on television early tomorrow morning. He won’t be back until Saturday.”
“How exciting.” She perks up in her seat. “Is he nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit with a heavy sigh. “It was supposed to happen yesterday, but they changed the date. I promised him he wouldn’t have to go alone, Mum. I promised I’d be there for him, every step of the way.”
She looks confused. “Then what are you doing here?”
I’m being selfish.The thought slams into me, forcing the breath from my lungs. But it’s true, isn’t it? I’m putting my guilt and my pain ahead of Sam’s needs. I even said no when he offered to come to the cemetery with me—not because I didn’t want him here, but because I did. Having him with me would have made me feel better and I never believed I deserved that kind of comfort.
Heaving a sigh, I stare at the flowers I put on my sister’s grave. What the hell am I doing here? Claire isn’t here. I don’t even know if I believe in an afterlife, but I do know she isn’t here.
Wherever she is, Claire would never want me to live like this. Because my sister wasn’t selfish and she wasn’t cruel. She was beautiful and bratty and kind. She loved me, even when we didn’t get along, and I loved her back.
Claire would want me to be happy.
Gasping in a breath, I release it slowly. “Mum, I think I need to let Claire go.” The idea settles in my chest, lighter than the burden I’m used to. “You’re right. It’s time for me to move on with my life and allow myself to be happy. I want to be happy.”
Squeezing my hand, Mum turns towards me on the bench. “Then go,” she says with a wide smile. “Find Sam. Be with him.”
I tug her into one last hug, letting out a watery laugh. “I love you, Mum.”
“And I love you, Tris. Always.”
We part ways. She returns to her car as I hurry back to mine. Fat raindrops begin to fall the moment I close the door. As I drive away, my mother’s parting words echo in my heart and I do something I never thought I’d be capable of again.
I believe her.
TWENTY-NINE
______
SAM
I don’t want to do this alone.
The words have been on repeat in my head for three days now. I haven’t tried to push them away or drown them out. They’re true, after all. Attempts to deny them would just make them louder. Instead, I’ve made an effort to give them the space they need, while the rest of me has gotten on with what had to be done. Changing my flights, having Tristan adjust the accommodation he booked, calling Shelley to confirm the change, psyching myself up to go through with any of it.
Now, as I approach my boarding gate at the airport, the words have long since fallen into a rhythmic pattern—steady and monotonous. The syllables have begun to string themselves together, making the words themselves largely indistinguishable. Which leaves me with the beat of the rhythm. I don’t mind the beat; it keeps my feet moving.
Once I find the right gate, I take a seat beside the full-length glass windows looking out over the tarmac. Outside, men are loading trolleys full of luggage onto the airplane that will transport me from here to Sydney. My first time taking to the sky. Somewhere beneath the stress headache that’s building behind my eyes, I’m a little bit excited. With yet another deep breath—any more and I may hyperventilate—I dig a couple of painkillers out of my bag and swallow them down with some water from the small bottle I bought at one of the airport shops.
Eventually, boarding begins. I join the line, watching the other passengers for cues on what to do, and make it to my seat without any obvious blunders. Shoving my small overnight bag in the overhead compartment, I sit down and buckle in. Then, I check my phone for last minute messages—there aren’t any—and I turn it off before returning it to my pocket. I have a book to read during the flight, some mints to suck on when the plane lands so my ears will pop, and my bottle of water. I’m good to go.
Beside me, the seat that would have been assigned to Tristan remains empty.
I don’t want to do this alone.
The ache in my chest threatens to overwhelm my already stressed system and I turn to stare out the small window. I understand why he’s not here and I want to be all right with it. Tristan’s grief is something he’s struggled to deal with for years. He needs me to be patient.
But the truth is, I’m not all right with any of this. I’m scared and frustrated and lonely. I need him… and he’s not here.
A dull roar starts up and I jerk to attention. The engines have started. It’s time to leave.
I don’t want to do this alone.
The beat of the words intensifies as the plane pulls away from the gate and heads towards the runway. My heart sinks. Any chance Tristan had of showing up at the last minute to surprise me is gone now. I didn’t expect he would, but there was no way I could quash the tiny part of me that kept right on hoping.
