25. Charlotte Gallagher
Charlotte Gallagher
The plane hums beneath us. Grandad and Christina sit across from us, quiet, waiting. Dane picks up where I left off, carrying the rest.
“Jameson didn’t last long. A few weeks,” he says.
Grandad’s voice is low, almost to himself. “God… what an awful way for a child to die.”
“He went to sleep and didn’t wake up. He didn’t seem to suffer.”
It doesn’t make it hurt less, but there’s comfort in that.
Grandad exhales, more breath than sound. “Jesus… poor kid.”
Christina’s eyes stay fixed on Dane, waiting for the answer she’s afraid to hear.
“What about Ryan?”
Dane is quiet for a second.
“He survived seven years after we were stranded.”
“How did it happen?”
“He cut his hand cleaning fish. It got infected and wouldn’t heal. Then he got sick.”
Dane leaves it there. It’s enough.
Ryan’s death wasn’t as gentle as Jameson’s. Some truths don’t need to be spoken aloud.
The infection set in fast—fever, swelling, the kind that spreads through your whole body before you can stop it. No need for his mum to hear that.
Christina doesn’t react right away. Then something in her shifts. “My poor boy.”
I turn toward the window. Watching a mother take in that kind of loss feels like stepping into something that isn’t mine.
“Ryan took care of us—especially in the beginning. He kept us alive when we didn’t know what we were doing,” Dane says. “You would’ve been proud of him.”
“That was my Ryan,” she says after a moment, pulling herself back together. “He was always like that. An old soul. You’d say something to him, and he’d answer as if he’d already lived twice as long. Of course he stepped up. That’s exactly who he was.”
She’ll never fully know who he became out there. The weight he carried. The way he kept everything from falling apart.
This is all she has. I can see it in the way she goes quiet again.
Brisbane comes into view beneath us—the river cutting through, the city spreading out in muted color. I press my fingers lightly to the window, grounding myself in something solid.
We land without fanfare. No crowd or noise this time. Just quiet. Thanks to Grandad, most likely.
A car is already waiting.
“Thank you, Michael, for letting me fly with you,” Christina says.
He glances at her. “This wasn’t a time to hold grudges.”
I turn that over, sensing there’s more beneath it.
Christina slows near the car. “Darling, my car’s this way.”
Dane and I glance at each other.
The idea of separating—even for a few minutes—doesn’t sit right. My body rejects it before I can think it through.
We don’t split up. We never have.
“Mum, this is a lot for us. The last couple of days have been a huge adjustment. Charlotte and I haven’t been apart in fourteen years.”
He pauses briefly.
“I think being separated right now would be harder than either of us needs.”
Christina studies him. “Dane… I thought you were dead. For fourteen years.” She takes a breath. “There are people waiting for you. People who love you.”
A brief pause.
“You have a stepfather. And two little sisters.”
I feel it land in him.
“Okay… that’s a surprise,” he says.
“They’re excited to meet you,” Christina says quickly, something softer breaking through. “They’ve been asking about you for years.”
“I want to meet them.” He glances at me, then back at her. “But not tonight, Mum. I’m not leaving Charlotte.”
Christina looks at me then. There’s a question in it, unspoken.
I hold her gaze. She’s the one who looks away first.
“Tomorrow then, darling,” she says. “We’ll spend the day together.”
“Definitely,” Dane says. “Tomorrow.”
Grandad’s estate comes back to me in pieces as we arrive—the drive, the gates, the house set back from everything else.
Not much has changed. It’s still large. Still quiet. Staff move through the background without drawing attention to themselves.
Inside, everything is in order, clean, and exactly where it should be.
It feels… distant from what I know. From what we’ve been living in.
A woman appears beside Grandad. She greets us and leads us through without hesitation. Rooms. Towels. Where everything is. Dinner, if we want it. Whenever we’re ready.
Everything is taken care of for us.
We spend a little time with Grandad, but it doesn’t last long. The day catches up with him. I can see it in the way he sits, the pauses between his words.
“Time for this old man to turn in,” he says, already halfway down the hallway. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Get some rest, you two.”
And then he’s gone.
Our rooms are across the hall from each other. I stand in mine and take it in—white, clean, separate. No wind. No tide. No movement in the walls.
Just stillness, and the sound of my own breathing.
And the awareness of where he is.
I sit on the edge of the bed and wait. The door opens without a knock. It never needed one.
Dane steps inside, closing it behind him, and we just look at each other for a second.
“This is going to be a problem. People are going to expect us to act like siblings.”
“We’ll deal with it.”
He crosses the room and sits beside me. We stay there for a moment, then he leans back, and I follow without thinking. We fall into the same shape we always do—his arm around me, my head against his shoulder.
“You’ll have to go before morning,” I say.
“I know.”
His hand moves once through my hair, then stills. His breathing slows, steady, and mine follows.
We wanted this for years—a way off the island, a way back to everything we left behind.
Now we’re here, and it isn’t simple. It isn’t the relief I thought it would be.
Everything feels… complicated.
And I’m not sure I want it.