Her voice wobbled and she paused a beat. It was a beat Fin desperately needed as his chest hollowed out.I know that you love me, too.A silent sob rose in his throat, shaking through his chest, but he swallowed it down, almost choking on the thickness in his throat.
His father knew.He knew.
‘And I know that we’ll be fine. I just want you to know that I deeply regret our cross words and hope they will be our last ever.’
This time the sob could not be swallowed down and Sweeney glanced up from the page, her stricken expression glaringly obvious even through the blur of his tears. ‘He didn’t mean—’
‘I know,’ Fin choked out, as he swiped at his tears with both hands. He knew his father hadn’t meant theirlastlast words, but the fact that theyhadbeen stabbed at his heart with a hundred blunt knives. ‘I’m okay.’ He nodded his assurance as Sweeney looked at him, obviously torn up by his emotion and wrecked by her own.
He wasn’t okay, of course. Fin wanted nothing more than to collapse into a ball and cry—really cry. Because he hadn’t cried since his father’s death, not really. But stopping reading the letter now wasn’t an option.
‘Keep going,’ he urged.
Another beat passed before she returned to the task he’d given her. And it was ataskfor her, he could tell from the rawness of her voice and the tension in her jaw. She was doing it only because they were old friends and he’d asked, but she was clearly struggling with her own emotions.
‘There’s just the sign-off now.’ She didn’t look up from the page, just dragged in a broken breath and continued. ‘My deepest abiding love, affection and respect always from your darling…’ One more beat. One more broken breath. ‘Eejit dad.’
She didn’t look up from the page, her head downcast. Fin wasn’t sure if that was to give him and his tears some kind of privacy or whether she was grappling with her own; he was only aware of the quiet in the garage. And how antithetical it felt when all he wanted was to fill the silence with the sobs he was holding back.
Sobs that were burning in his lungs, battling to be set free.
When she finally looked up, her hand holding the letter falling to her side, there were two tears trekking down her face. The sight of them unlocked something inside of him and freed the first sob from his throat. In a flash, she’d taken the two steps separating them and slid her arms around him again, her cheek to his chest, his own arms circling around her shoulders.
Fin let go then, burying his face in her hair. Let the tears flow hard and the soft sobs fall unchecked as they shuddered through his chest. He’d yearned so badly for a do-over of that day, and the angst over it not being possible had been like a splinter under his skin.
But he’d found forgiveness in his father’s words. And comfort. They weren’t going to erase two years of guilt and shame in one fell swoop but it sure as fuck helped right now. His shoulders felt light. His heart felt freer.
Maybe him finding this letter had been what this trip had been all about? That feeling that had nagged and nagged at him about going home. Which had led to him reaching out to Sweeney about surprising their mothers.
And even though the surprise had been onthem, Fin couldn’t help but feel this whole thing had been preordained. By the universe. Or maybe by his father up there somewhere, somehow.
Fin wasn’t sure how long they stood there, leaning into each other, grieving together. He was just aware that, at some point, his sobs had stopped and the tears had ceased. Sweeney must have realised, too, because she eased out of his arms, her eyes red-rimmed, her face blotchy, his t-shirt damp.
Her voice strong now, she asked, ‘What do you need?’
Notare you okay. Not a platitude. Not something about her. Just focused on him and his grief and his needs in her usual goal-orientated manner.
That’swhat he needed.
‘I want to get out of here.’ He shoved a hand through his hair as he looked around the garage. ‘I need to kick a ball.’
Fin had always kicked a ball when he needed to quiet his brain. Something about the rhythm of boot on leather distilled the noise down to one point of focus. He didn’t really needthatright now, but the activity had become his go-to for whenever things were on his mind. It was probably just the exercise and the outdoors he was craving, given they’d barely been out of the house the entire two weeks they’d been here, but he wasn’t going to ignore it, either.
‘Back yard?’ she suggested, not even blinking at the request even though he knew kicking a ball back and forth wasn’t her favourite thing.
‘No.’ He shook his head. The back yard would be easier in many ways, but he was in full cabin fever mode and needed to get out. ‘The lake.’
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. ‘What if we’re seen?’
‘By the time we arrive, it’ll be half an hour off dark.’ It was still ludicrous to him that they were having to consider this kind of shit. Like they were some Hollywood A-listers. But with the volcano still actively spewing ash, this was their life for the next couple of weeks. ‘Most people would have left by then. And it’s a big place. We can find a secluded spot.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’
*
Half an hour later they were at the lake, which Sweeney was relieved to find almost deserted. They’d found a spot down on the narrow, gritty strip of sand the locals euphemistically called a beach. It was wide enough to kick a ball back and forthandfar enough away from the few remaining people for them to not be recognisable. There were a couple of teenagers on the jetty who were closer, but given they were indulging in some heavy-duty making out, Sweeney figured they’d be paying zero attention to the arrival of Feeney.
The sun was on its way down, casting hues of orange, red and gold across the lake that rippled gently in a light breeze and kissed the shoreline with a quiet swish. Cicada noise hung heavy in the cool, fresh air and, somewhere in the distance, every few minutes a riot of kookaburras heralded the coming of the night with a cacophony of laughter that grew more raucous as it multiplied, spreading from tree to tree to tree.
