Chapter Two
CHAPTER
Two days after finding out her mother had died, kneeling in the mid-morning sunshine reaching through the parted kitchen curtains, Nyah gently traced her finger along Ragnar’s faded leather collar.
He was sprawled across the cool, tiled floor, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.
Their morning run had been a quick one along the Palm Cove foreshore.
Oblivious to the impending departure of his owner, he looked heartwarmingly peaceful and content with his rubber duck tucked beneath his front paw.
Swallowing a sob, Nyah blinked back tears.
This would be the first time she’d ever left him for more than a workday and it felt as if she was ripping off her right arm.
‘Hey there, big guy,’ she whispered, her voice filled with affection.
As he blinked open sleep-heavy eyes, his tail thumped against the floor in response to her presence.
‘You’re going to stay with Dad and Rae for a little while,’ she continued, her words laced with sadness.
‘So you be a good boy, won’t you, and don’t go digging any holes, or toileting where you shouldn’t, or barking at the postman,’ she offered him a cheeky grin, ‘because we all know you can be a right nincompoop at times.’
Listening intently, Ragnar gazed at her with complete trust, his kind brown eyes making it look as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Holding back tears, Nyah pressed her forehead to his, breathing in the familiar scent of his sun-warmed fur.
Here was loyalty embodied in a creature whose whole world revolved around life’s simple pleasures and her cherished companionship.
He was the reason she’d learnt to live within the moment.
‘And FYI, Rae promised extra treats, too,’ she added as she straightened, forcing confidence into her voice despite the unease that tugged at her heart.
‘Lucky you, hey, being spoilt rotten.’ Rae’s free-spirited nature made her more than just a stepmum to Nyah—she was like a second mother to Ragnar as well.
Giving one more loving smile to Ragnar, who now had the duck between his teeth, she straightened and turned towards her bedroom.
A half-packed suitcase lay open on the bed, its cavernous mouth waiting to swallow pieces of her life for the nerve-racking journey ahead.
She stopped in the doorway, arms folded, torn between stepping forward and stepping back.
It would be so much easier to stay. Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself to focus on the inevitable—there’d be no hiding from her mother this time.
Or from her crushing grief, deep regret and buried guilt.
Her hands moved with precise and deliberate movements as she finished off her packing, folding soft bohemian blouses, summer dresses, T-shirts, jeans and denim shorts, and carefully tucking away her favourite Ariat boots that had been sitting in the back of her cupboard—a necessary protection against Wildstone’s rugged landscape.
Thongs, her usual footwear, weren’t going to suffice.
Grabbing the two carefully selected books that she’d plucked from her shelf, she ran her fingertips over their well-worn spines.
Wayne Dyer’s self-help book had guided her through so much, and as for the other, it was a hand-me-down novel she’d been aching to finish, but life hadn’t afforded her the luxury of time.
The final seven chapters of The Handmaid’s Tale would be a welcome distraction from the turmoil she was facing—the book was proving even more enjoyable than the television series she’d watched with undying dedication.
Amid the practical necessities, she placed a small pouch of stones and crystals, given to her for protection by Rae.
No matter that she was sceptical about their apparent powers—it was a piece of home to ground her, and in Rae’s kind-hearted words, ‘a powerful talisman to help ward off any lingering ghosts or doubts’.
If only the thoughtful gift could erase every bit of her anxiety and heartbreak—now that would make this trip a heck of a lot easier.
With a final pull of the zip on her suitcase, her preparations were complete.
Memories, some sharp enough to cut, and others smoothed by time’s persistent tide, awaited her in Wildstone.
Just how she’d navigate the bumpy path down memory lane was anyone’s guess.
All she could do was her best. Hoisting her weighty handbag onto her shoulder with a resigned sigh, she wandered out of her room and her gaze lingered over her cottage, only two streets back from the famed Palm Cove beach.
It was her sanctuary, and had been for almost two years, filled with a beautiful light and sea-filled airiness; a stark contrast to the darkened corners of her haunted childhood home back in Wildstone.
Thank goodness her father had taken her away from such a morbid life.
As she was catapulted back to the pivotal day her heartbroken father had driven her away from Wildstone—and the woman who’d given him a black eye and bloodied lip in a fit of rage—her fingertips brushed over the birthmark at the nape of her neck.
It was a silent reminder of origins that could not be denied, and the woman who’d almost died giving birth to her.
If only Claire could have drawn comfort from her and her father, instead of condemning them, unfairly, for Skye’s disappearance, how different life could have, would have, been.
Not that she’d want to give up her tropical lifestyle now that she’d lived it.
Nor miss out on knowing the angelic heart of her stepmother, Rae.
Not for anything, or anyone.
Drawing in a deep breath, filled with the familiar scent of the ocean, she heard the crunch of tyres pulling into her driveway.
Traipsing through the lounge room with her suitcase in tow, she felt the weight of her decision pressing down harder.
Each step she took towards the front door was a deliberate march into the unknown, her heart fortified by the knowledge that when she returned, Ragnar’s wagging tail and her dad’s loving embrace would be waiting for her, as unwavering as the rising sun.
With a half-asleep Ragnar scrambling to her side, she dropped her handbag and leant to hug him one more time.
Her fingers sank into his thick fur and it was then, and only then, that she allowed herself a moment to cry.
Unravelling as footfalls sounded on her front verandah, her blue eyes met Ragnar’s warm brown gaze, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.
‘Make sure you keep Dad and Rae company while I’m away, okay?’ Her voice wavered, but she masked it with a playful lilt. ‘And make them laugh heaps, which should be a cinch for you, you big goofball.’
A knock sounded and, blinking her tears back, she swung the door open to her father, hunched over his walking stick, with Rae hovering closely at his side.
‘Hey, you two.’ There was no way she was holding it together now that they could see straight through her.
‘I’m sorry, I’m trying not to be a sook, but…
’ A choked sob was followed by another flood of tears.
‘Oh, sweetheart, come here.’ Robert’s voice was a deep well of strength as he gently pulled her into his fatherly embrace.
Rae followed suit, until the three of them were clasped around each other in a united hug. The familiar scents of sandalwood and Deep Heat, comforting yet tinged with the sting of imminent separation, filled her as she held onto them.
After a few moments, Robert held her at arm’s length, his eyes crinkling with pride, sorrow and deep understanding. ‘You’re so brave, Nyah,’ he said, his thumb brushing a tear away from her cheek. ‘Braver than you’ll ever know, my darling girl.’
Rae stood beside them, with Ragnar now sitting on her feet, her presence a quiet beacon of support.
‘Hey, sweetheart.’ She offered a tight smile, one hand resting over her heart as if to keep her emotions tucked safely within.
‘Call us any time you need to, and we’ll be right here, waiting for you, when you get back, okay? ’
‘Thanks, Rae,’ Nyah managed to choke out, before she squared her shoulders, sucked in a fortifying breath and turned back to Ragnar. ‘Be good, my buddy,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ She leant in and planted a final kiss on his head.
The next few hours flew by in a flurry of goodbyes and logistics, and then she found herself aboard the commercial plane, high in the sky, settled into her window seat, her mind churning like the clouds outside.
Having missed out on a seat on the much smaller charter plane that carried most of the miners directly to and from the town, she’d have to endure a thirty-five-minute taxi ride to Wildstone, but those were the breaks.
It was the least of her concerns. The steady hum of the engines was a constant drone alongside the buzz of memories flitting through her consciousness.
Shadows loomed, long and dark, stretching back to Wildstone, where voices whispered about guilt and unanswered questions.
And yet, alongside those harsh voices, she could make out a muffled strain of a sweet melody, a tune of possible redemption and the closure she’d been seeking for nearly half of her life.
If only that could be true.