‘Alright then. You can come with me, and I’ll make sure you’re safe. But wear your armbands in case.’
Amanda playfully slapped Sean with a dishtowel. ‘I’ll armband you! I’ve been swimming since before you were even an idea.’
‘I know, I know. Just teasing.’
After they had finished their meal, Sean stacked the dishwasher and was getting ready to leave when his mum stopped him.
‘I have something to give you. From your dad.’ She disappeared for a minute or two before returning with an envelope and a small jewellery box.
The last run-in Sean had with a jewellery box didn’t end so well, and if what was in this one was what he thought it was, he had to do this alone.
‘You don’t have to open anything here.’ Amanda sensed his hesitation. ‘But I wanted you to have it now. It seems like the right time.’
‘Is everyone getting a letter?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Everyone is. And everyone is getting something. This’ – she pushed the box into his clammy hand – ‘is yours. It’s nothing big, and we’ll do the will reading soon, but now feels like I should give it to you.’
Holding whatever this mini heirloom was, Sean thanked his mum. ‘I’ll open it at home. I think I might need a reinforcement dram.’
‘Yes. You could see if your lovely wife could be there, too.’ Amanda skimmed her eyes over his left hand but said nothing about the missing ring.
Thank goodness.
‘Aye.’ He styled it out and tried his best to meet hismum’s eye. His ‘lovely wife’ was one reason he knew he couldn’t deal with this anywhere besides alone.
Back in his own house, Sean steeled himself for opening the letter and box. Despite what he’d said to his mum, it wasn’t his style to sit down with a cup of tea or even a dram. He wanted to see the contents now.
At the kitchen island, he tipped back the lid of the jewellery box. Inside was, as expected, jewellery, but the appositeness of the item threw him, and he stepped back to take it in.
A sapphire bracelet with deep blue stones that sparkled like the inky Kintyre sky. It was exquisite. It would look beautiful on…
Someone whose job was to win bracelets.
How could his dad have known? He couldn’t. It was a poetic coincidence. Sean slid his finger under the seal of the letter and pulled out the thick, creamy notepaper folded inside. One solitary sheet. Long missives weren’t his dad’s thing. He leaned his back against the island and read.
Dear Sean,
This was your grandmother’s bracelet. I would like you to have it, to give to a someone as precious and iridescent as the bracelet itself. I know, one day, you’ll find that person. Perhaps you already have. Whenever it happens, hold on to her and love her with every ounce of passionand energy you have in that enormous heart of yours.
Dad.
Oh fuck! He could see his dad sitting at his desk writing this letter, before he lost the ability to write, having no idea how much his son would almost succeed on those wishes. The sharp sense of having failed his father clawed at Sean. Shards of salt water stabbed at his eyes, his legs opted out of normal functioning and gravity slid him down the wall, the letter crushing in his fist.
Fuck!
How was it possible to feel this empty and still have air in your lungs? To be so hollowed out and still have a pulse beating in your chest? Everything was gone – his dad, Cherry, his hopes of honouring the wishes in that letter. The regret was phenomenal.
Sean staggered one fist to his abdomen and forced himself to breathe and count.
In, two, three, four… Out, two, three, four. Come on, Seany, you’ve got this. You do. You do.
He didn’t. Meditation was never his strong point, and now was not the time to master it.
‘I tried, Dad. I did.’ Through blurred vision, Sean flattened the letter out onto his knee, like he’d done with Cherry’s bucket list the night they met. ‘To hold on to her and love her with everything I have. I can’t even explain how much I love her.’ His head fell back against the island. ‘I have no idea if she’s coming back.’
Tugging at his hair, the only tangible thing he could find, Sean let the volcano insideerupt, tears spurting. Hot. Burning. Inevitable. Months – years – of holding everything in, being a hero for everyone else, hurtling out, emotion no longer permitting suppression.
‘Fuck! Dad, I miss you… I miss you.’
