Shelby
Chapter Three
Serenity Ridge, Australia
Ashy begged me to spend the weekend in Serenity Ridge, and despite my initial reservations, as if I would ever say no to her. A weekend of wine, cheese and no responsibilities. It was a no brainer, so we set off.
Bessie was a sturdy old beast and the miles we were tracking across the country only added to my admiration of her thirty-year-old wheels and sturdy silver soul.
I shouldn’t have been apprehensive about the location though; it was everything she said and more. We took turns to choose our locations, and Ashleigh knew how much the landscape mattered to me and was always far more selfless than I ever was, again proving any worry was ridiculous.
I could not have loved it anymore, even if I tried.
The place was alive. There was no other way to describe it with the vineyards thriving in perfect harmony with the land.
And consequently, I felt alive among the gentle breeze which carried the sweet earthy aroma of ripening grapes and freshly turned soil.
We’d tasted our way through enough wine to last a lifetime, but I’ll never forget those late nights and tranquil brisk mornings. Those were my favourite .
Serenity Ridge – you were a dream.
W e wandered the vineyards, the terroir perfect for our first stop.
The majestic tranquillity of the synchronised rows – of what would soon become alcohol – surrounded us as we walked towards the rolling hills.
As Mum documented, the deep scent of ripening fruit and freshly volcanic earth underfoot was breathtaking.
Rich in minerals to produce the complex wines Serenity was renowned for among the country, I felt incredibly lucky to be here.
Of course, this information came from the pamphlet strategically placed in our rooms, our own personal advertisement of the setting.
And now, as the sun was retreating on our first day, it also felt ethereal.
“Mum wrote that Aunt Ash chose this place for its beauty, and I can understand why,” I said, gesturing to the symmetrical rows which blanketed us from the world as Corbin hummed his agreement.
Serenity Ridge wasn’t the first stop for Mum and Aunty Ashleigh, but it was one which elicited feelings of nostalgia within me.
She wrote about the landscape so beautifully that it drew me here on a molecular level.
Only now, it was somehow more magical because I was here with Corbin.
Somehow it felt as though retracing their footsteps many years later was always meant to happen.
As if there were unwritten pages Mum knew but never shared.
Carrying my sandals in one hand and loving the feel of the ground beneath my feet, my right hand trailed along the vines as I admired the late afternoon light.
It was a quiet day here, or so we’d been told before we set out for our walk, but it wouldn’t have mattered.
My parents loved noise. They loved the commotion and chatter of people.
The sharing of stories and love while hosting over a glass of wine – a Sunday afternoon ritual in our house.
Thus, it was no surprise Aunty Ash brought Mum to visit a place like this and was precisely why I wanted here to be our foremost destination.
“Mum still has wine on a Sunday for Aunt Talia. Only now, she sits out the back with her thoughts.” He spoke softly, mindful of my melancholic temperament as we reached the end of the vines and the opening of the mountainous range.
‘A wine now means no whining later…’ Mum’s singsong voice washed through me. She loved a glass of red but never alone, it was either with my dad or later over the phone with Aunty Ash.
I halted, leaning in to smell the herbaceous leaves.
“I often think about how lucky Mum was to have two great loves in life,” I smiled morosely before looking back towards the orangey leaves of the tree.
I knew he would understand exactly what I meant because his mum was the same.
Their friendship was insurmountable. Surviving children, husbands, international relocations and bodies of water.
Nothing could ever break them apart – well that was until mum’s hideous diagnosis.
Incurable illnesses could do that no matter the love or strength of the bond.
“I remember my parents arguing one night toward the end,” he began, “and I can’t even remember what it was about but Mum was so mad because she’d missed a call from your mum, and it only infuriated her further.
She screamed at Dad that she would divorce him if he ever made her miss another of Aunt Talia’s calls.
” We both laughed, him at the memory and me because I could see her saying this and meaning it.
“They really were unbelievably dramatic,” I said, a barely there smile ghosting my face as he nodded.
The heat was losing its bite, which made it the perfect time – the perfect moment. The mountainous backdrop of the distance masked by the afternoon sun was more than I ever could have dreamed.
Dropping my shoes, I reached inside my purse and fastened my grip around the scatter tube holding a little of both my parents and a whole lot of my heart.
The timber was smooth, filed to perfection and I knew when I pulled it out, the earthy tones of the exterior would perfectly match the environment.
“After we moved to Canada, I found it really difficult to sleep,” I said, my eyes still firmly on the leaves.
“If you’d asked, I would have said I was fine.
A well-adjusted child who found the cross-continent change easy.
But my parents would have disagreed,” I huffed a laugh, twirling the tube in my hands.
“I couldn’t sleep unless Mum and I did ten for ten .
I would start by tickling her back with the timer strictly set to ten minutes.
I never went over and as soon as that beeping started, I would roll over as if my life depended on it.
An eager beaver ready for my turn. And then she would run her fingers along my back.
I wasn’t sure if I always fell asleep before the timer went off, or if, more likely, she never set one and simply stayed with me for as long as it took for me to settle.
But it was something we started again when I stayed with her recently.
Only this time, the roles were reversed,” I sniffed, feeling betrayed at the tears which were now flowing freely at the memory.
“Her tickling was distinctive. A little bit of nail, a little bit of fingertip and a whole lot of love. She would draw places she wanted to take me. Always outdoors and always beautiful and she would describe them to me as she did. I was never a lover of bedtime stories but hearing her breathe life into these places through only her words and a sketch on my back was magic. No one has ever made me feel as comforted as she did and that’s something I miss every single day.
” I watched the tears hit the earth below, the tiniest of droplets as I unscrewed the cap.
“I don’t remember my dad as much, but Mum spoke so beautifully about him that I feel as though he lived as long as her. She always was so good at bringing him to life.”
I paused, looking at the tube through my clouded vision. This one was swirled with elements of the colour Caribbean Sea - a carefully selected colour palette to accompany two of my favourite people.
I closed my eyes and pictured them, Mum forming much clearer in my mind than Dad but both sitting together, holding hands.
If they could see this, they would be nodding encouragingly and spurring me forward, only it felt so much harder than I thought it would be.
Once I did this, I would no longer have them with me in their entirety .
Was I ready for that?
I stood still, the tears falling for what could have been seconds or minutes, the pressure in my chest building.
A balloon filled with air, so close to bursting but unable to release the expansion of grief, of sorrow, of frustration.
Why did I think doing this was the right thing to do?
How could I do this and then just walk away?
Ready to just give up and go, I felt the featherlight touch of fingertips gliding over my spine. A little nail, a little fingertip, a lot of heat. The unmistakable feel of companionship melting my tension with every stroke.
“I’ve got you,” Corbin whispered, the push I needed to unscrew the lid. “Remember, this is a moment of love, not loss. A part of their spirit will stay here now.”
I focused on the reassuring cadence of his voice, the caress of his support through the cotton of my shirt and the sanctity of his words.
Carefully, I poured the tube onto the earth beside us, dropping like whispers before settling gently into the embrace of Serenity Ridge.
I thought about times long ago, when it was Mum, Dad, Blake and I eating breakfast in a country only my father was familiar with.
How much time we spent together because we knew no one else.
How strong their love was that Mum followed him back to his native land, wanting only what was best for him, only for him to have a stroke less than two years later.
Making us a reluctant trio desperately trying to navigate life without him.
And now, I brought my parents here, to spend eternity in the place they found love. Together again.
It felt cyclical and absolute. Exactly as it should be.
We didn’t speak as I resecured the lid and slipped it into my purse.
Nor did we speak as I collected my sandals and we walked back towards our accommodation, a little lighter despite my heart feeling sad.
And we definitely didn’t speak when I reached for Corbin’s hand and laced our fingers together, his receptive embrace was exactly what I needed, for the second time today.
“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink,” I announced through the open door of our interconnected rooms. “Emotions make me thirsty.”