Chapter 25 #3
Shuddering when the icy air hits me, I quickly close the door and take in Dec’s garden in the dark again, not that there’s much to see, just various levels covered in snow.
But I imagine it’s beautifully landscaped beneath, and I can’t wait to see it in springtime.
I take myself to the small, sheltered nook to the right, where a built-in hot tub’s been built, and perch on the edge of it.
Silence. No breeze, no wind carrying the sound of traffic from the main road.
No kids playing nearby, or the sounds of people going about their daily business on the surrounding streets or in neighbouring gardens.
Total silence. Everyone’s inside their warm homes waking up with smiles and excitement for the day.
Kids tearing their way through wrapping paper, cheering his visit.
I fold one arm across my chest and eat the croissant, despite not being even a little bit hungry. I have no idea how I’ll get through a whole Christmas dinner. But I will, just like I will get through today.
The branch of a nearby red Japanese Maple tree catches my eye, dusted with snow and hanging lower than the others, encroaching on the covered sheltered area where I’m sitting.
I stand and look down at my small feet in Dec’s big slippers and hum as I shuffle along in them so to keep them on my feet.
My chewing slows when my eyes confirm what they thought they saw.
An icicle that’s thick at the top and tapers down almost a whole foot, but it’s not complete. It doesn’t narrow to a sharp point. It’s broken halfway down, and near the top, at the thickest point encased in ice, is a white feather. A perfect white feather.
And resting on the branch above it are two other white feathers. Except those ones aren’t frozen in ice. They’re free, just sitting there, having floated down from the sky. Three feathers. Two uninhibited, one . . . not.
I swallow, tilting my head, and an overwhelming urge comes over me.
Not to break it and free it. It would surely be damaged, the fine feathers ripping.
It needs to melt for it to come out of the ice perfectly.
This urge is something else, something unexpected.
Not that I don’t want to see her, but I had planned to visit before lunch.
She likely won’t even be awake at this godforsaken hour, but I need to see her.
I shuffle back to the doors and heave them open. Dec looks up from pouring milk on Albi’s cereal as I kick his slippers off. “Do you mind if I go see my mum?”
Albi immediately stops in his tracks, the plane lowering. “You have a mummy?”
“I do,” I say, smiling at his astonishment, but feeling overwhelming sadness for him too.
“Daddy doesn’t have a mummy,” he declares. “Like me. I don’t have a mummy either. I just have a daddy.”
How this boy breaks my heart. “And an amazing daddy he is too.”
“Yep! Daddy has a daddy, but we don’t see him much, do we, Daddy?”
“No, fella, we don’t.” Dec comes to me. “I’ll take you.”
“No, no,” I reply quickly. I can’t pull him away from his boy today. “Please, don’t insist or be grumpy about it. I can walk. I’d like to walk.” Besides, it’s not even six, yet. By the time I’m ready and have walked there, it’ll be closer to eight, a more acceptable time to visit.
Doubt creeps onto Dec’s face. He’s not happy, but he relents, and I’m grateful. “Fine.”
“Can your mummy come for Christmas?” Albi asks.
“I’m afraid not, Albi. She’s quite old. She can’t walk anymore, and she’s a little . . . forgetful.”
“Mr. Percival is very old, and he can walk. He’s nearly a hundred!”
“I know, what a champ, eh?” I reach up on my tippy-toes and land a kiss on Dec’s cheek before ruffling Albi’s mop of hair as I pass him. “I’ll be back soon to help prep dinner.” I hurry up the stairs, as April comes down them.
“We have to talk or it’s bad luck,” she blurts, stopping halfway down as I climb the steps.
“Are you superstitious?” I ask, amused.
“Terribly. Blaine walked over three drains on Monday, and my car broke down the next day.”
I laugh. “I’m just going to see my mum.”
“Is Dec taking you?”
“No, I’m going to walk.”
“Walk? But Dec said the care home she’s in is near Paddington. Are you mad?”
“It’s not that far, honestly.”
“Let Blaine take you.”
I place my hand on her arm. “I’d like to walk.”
Understanding gets her, and she nods, lips straight, and says no more about it. “See you soon.”
I take the stairs and flick on the shower, letting it warm up as I brush my teeth seeing as well as feeling how tight my skin is.
All that crying. I shower, washing my hair too, and when I’m drying off, I walk back into Dec’s bedroom and find a hairdryer on the bed.
April. I appreciate her so much. Not just for the hairdryer.
I moisturise and blast my hair dry, dress quickly, and grab my phone, hurrying downstairs and pulling my coat off the stand.
“Wait,” Dec says, coming down the hallway.
“What?”
He takes my coat from my hands and holds it up for me to get it on, then turns me, ties the belt, and pulls the lapels upright so they’re shielding my face.
He bunches them with his fists and uses them as leverage to pull me close.
“I love you,” he says quietly, looking me dead in the eyes.
“I’d come with you happily, if you need me there. ”
And I know he would because he’s a good man. I nod and push my mouth onto his. “Thank you. Back soon.”
The streets are empty. It’s as good as a phenomenon, as if I’m walking in a world where only I exist. The overnight snow has settled and remains undisturbed by tires or feet, making me feel a little guilty for spoiling the even perfection as I leave boot prints in my wake.
It’s truly beautiful, the rising sun casting a rainbow of colours across the white canvas.
I need this. A walk, some quiet, not to dwell, but to be grateful.
I’m so bloody grateful. And yet, that doesn’t mean I can’t be sad too. I accept that now.
When I’m just half a mile away, my phone rings in my pocket, and it takes me a stupid amount of time to get my glove off and my hand inside to pull it out. My pace slows when I see the care home number on my screen.
And my heart drops.
“Hello?”
“Camryn,” Deirdre says, and just by the tone of her voice I know. I just know. “I hate to make this call, especially today.”
“Has she gone?” I ask.
“Five minutes ago. I went in to wake her. She looked very peaceful.”
A choked sob escapes, my hand covering my mouth.
“I’m nearly there.” My words are broken.
Hardly audible. “I’m on my way to see her.
” My feet go from a walk to a jog, to a run.
“Please, don’t let them take her yet,” I beg.
“I’m ten minutes away.” I hang up and run, my legs heavy as I wade through the snow to get there as fast as I can.
The tears falling as fast as I’m running.
Deirdre’s waiting in the reception area when I get there.
I’m out of breath, and yet I could run for another hundred miles if I needed to.
She looks at me with unbearable sympathy and pulls the door open to let me past reception.
“They’ve not taken her yet, have they?” I ask, my panic obvious as I run down the corridor to her room at the end.
“Not yet.”
I burst in and find it shrouded in darkness, the blinds all closed. I jar to an abrupt stop and drop my gloves to the chair, creeping toward her bed. It looks like she’s simply sleeping. I’ve sat here in this room countless times and looked at her like this.
I perch on the edge of the bed and reach for her hand, but falter when the cold registers in mine.
Freezing. I rub them over my thighs to both warm them up and get some feeling back in them, before I take her hand in mine and stroke over the top.
I can’t take my eyes off her face because, actually, I’ve never seen her look like this since she was brought here.
Peaceful.
No longer a feather in the frost.
Free of that dreadful disease that took my mum away from me long before now.
I feel a significant shift in me, a lift in the weight of worry that’s lain on my shoulders.
I’ve been grieving her loss for years, and today almost feels like the final stage.
At least, for that part of my grief. I don’t know how long I have left grieving Noah.
Forever.
She waited.
She waited to go until she knew I was okay. That there was someone to look after me. She waited until she wasn’t leaving me alone. “Couldn’t you have waited just a few more minutes, Mum?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Just a few more minutes for me to get here?”
My muscles give, and I fold over at the waist, sobbing. I bring her hand to my mouth. Smelling her. Kissing her.
“Camryn,” Deirdre says on a sad sigh, resting her hand gently on my jerking shoulder.
“Can I stay with her?” I ask, snivelling. “Can I stay with her until they’re here?”
“Of course.”
She squeezes my shoulder before she releases me, and a few moments later, I hear the door close.
I breathe in, sitting up and wiping my face.
“We need some daylight, Mum,” I say, setting her hand down gently and making sure she’s comfortable.
I go to the window and open all the blinds, basking her room in natural light.
The sun has finally made it into the sky.
And it’s snowing again, thick snowflakes tumbling from the sky.
It’s another day that shouldn’t be so beautiful.