Chapter Five
CHAPTER
The oppressive hum of the air conditioner was the only sound that greeted Nyah as she stepped into the lawyer’s office, a sterile sanctuary of order far removed from the tangled mess of her thoughts.
As the door snapped shut behind her, she involuntarily shuddered at the icy blast of air that skated over her skin, the sensation reminding her of the frosty chill that had settled in her heart.
Easing past the deserted reception desk so she could peer down the hallway, she heard her every sandalled step snap loudly against the tiled floor and echo through the stark space.
The scent of timber polish mingled with the faint mustiness of old books, creating an odd but somehow fitting aroma.
‘Hello?’ Patiently waiting for a response, she flicked her gaze over the walls that were lined with diplomas.
A door creaked open and a short, chubby man with a comb-over appeared, his glasses perched low on his red-mottled nose. ‘Miss Love?’ His voice carried down the hall.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ She nodded, her smile professional.
‘Please, come this way.’ He gestured for her to follow him, leading her to a large, imposing mahogany desk.
Taking a seat in one of the leather chairs positioned in front of it, she couldn’t help but feel like she was on trial.
Sitting opposite her, the lawyer moved with precision and purpose as he dug into a folder then presented her with an envelope that read The Last Will and Testament of Claire Gertrude Johnson .
So, her mother had legally taken her maiden name again.
‘Your responsibilities,’ he began, his tone devoid of warmth but not compassion, ‘will include the settling of your mother’s affairs.’ Over the rim of his glasses, he watched her closely, as if searching for any sign of emotion cracking through her stoic facade.
Grasping the edge of her chair, she offered him no insight into her tumultuous emotions, remaining passive in the face of this daunting task.
‘Your mother also left this for you.’ He slid another envelope towards her.
With hands that betrayed none of her inner turmoil, she accepted the letter, the handwritten script visible through the envelope’s thin face.
She turned it front to back. On the outside it was blank, although its weight seemed incongruent with its size, heavy with possible implications and unspoken confessions.
She brushed her fingers against the edges, coarse and slightly frayed, like the remnants of their bond worn thin by years of estrangement and silence.
Wondering if her mother’s words were to be scathing, or perhaps contrite, she found herself staring at it, her heart pounding.
‘I’m not privy to what exactly is said,’ he continued, as if reading her mind. ‘Your mother did mention that it has something to do with…’ he paused, cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, ‘your sister’s disappearance.’
She had no control over her sharp intake of breath.
Skye .
The name always came as a whisper, a ghost slipping through the cracks of her defences.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall as she summoned all the strength she’d cultivated over years of grieving and hardship.
This, right here, was a direct line to a woman consumed by bitterness, with possible clues to a mystery that had overshadowed her family for far too long.
Mum.
Gathering her nerve, Nyah folded the envelope with reverence before tucking it away in her handbag. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
The lawyer simply inclined his head in understanding. After a few breaths, he continued with the legal jargon that spoke of tangible things—assets and debts—not the intangible love she yearned for.
‘Firstly, the family home…’ he continued, detailing the process of valuation and sale, oblivious to the tightening grip Nyah had on the arms of her chair.
As he listed off each item and its value, or lack thereof, memories flooded back to her—the happiness echoing through every room, the warmth of her mother’s hugs, and even the faint smell of her mum’s favourite musk perfume.
‘Her outstanding debts will need settling as soon as possible,’ the lawyer continued, sifting through more papers. ‘There are lists of creditors, account statements.’ Each word felt like another stone added to the burden resting on her shoulders.
‘Of course.’ Her voice was laced with determination. ‘Is there anything else I need to know about?’ Her question hung in the air.
‘Those are the primary concerns,’ the lawyer confirmed, folding his hands atop the folder. ‘I understand this is a lot to take in, so make sure to take your time as you review these at your own pace.’ He stood and pressed the paperwork forward.
Time waits for no one.
Every passing second felt like both an enemy and an ally as she reached out and took the thick file, its contents a roadmap to closure. ‘Thank you,’ she said, standing with the poise of someone who faced life head-on.
They headed out of the room and with each step towards the door, Nyah braced herself against the torrent of memories threatening to sweep her away.
‘Please feel free to contact me if needed.’ The lawyer held the door of the office open for her.
‘Thank you.’ Stepping out, she was greeted by the warm glow of the sun, a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled even deeper within her.
However, even as sorrow wrapped around her heart, there was also a peculiar resolve that took root.
It had her believing that Wildstone could be a place of both mourning and discovery, if her mother’s letter contained anything worth following up.
She truly wanted to believe it would. Stopping in the shade of a weeping willow tree, she reached into her handbag and retrieved what her curiosity hungered for.
Her fingertips traced the edges of the blank envelope as she held her breath.
The paper inside pulsed with the unspoken words of a woman who remained an enigma even in death.
But, as much as she was longing to, she couldn’t read this here.
She’d have to wait until she was back in her rented bungalow, where if she needed to break down, she could.
Exhaling the breath she’d been holding, she strode forward, her heavy sigh wrapping around her like the tendrils of a ghostly embrace.
Soon enough, she’d know her mother’s final words.
***
As darkness descended fully, Nyah stood by the window, gazing out at the town that had both shaped and shattered her.
Feeling the shocking words of the letter she’d read over and over now burning into her soul, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, creating a barrier between her and the outside world.
She could almost feel the township of Wildstone pulsing with life, as if a heartbeat was ingrained within the land.
If only this savage countryside would reveal the secrets she so desperately needed to know, so she could answer the swirling questions that were preying upon her emotions.
At the very least she now had confirmation that she’d been right in staying away from the woman who’d birthed her, because Claire Johnson had no heart.
Sniffing, then blinking back tears as she turned away from the window, she lifted the letter clutched in her hand and mouthed the words again.
Nyah,
If you are reading this, clearly, I am gone.
Please make sure you carry on searching for your sister, as I have done since your father, and you, left me to start another life. Unlike the both of you, I did not get on with mine, instead, I sat here, waiting, hoping, praying, that Skye would walk through the door.
She never did.
You need to know that there is a possibility that she is not your father’s child. He does not know this. Tell him, don’t tell him. I only married Robert because I was young and pregnant with you, and he was able to provide us a stable life.
Yes, I had an affair, for many years.
No, I am not sorry for it because I loved the other man.
Regardless of my actions, Skye is still your sister and she deserves to be found.
Alive, or dead.
Claire (your mother)
Sucking in a shaky breath, she folded up the letter and tossed it into the bedside drawer.
So much for half expecting to read her mother’s heartfelt apology.
Who was this man her mother had been seeing behind her father’s back?
And why hadn’t he stepped forward, if he had any knowledge that Skye was his?
Did he still live here? Was he as desperate to find Skye as she and her dad were?
What a crazy mess. She shook her head sadly.
Her poor dad had always been a loving husband and father, doing everything and anything he could to try and make her mother happy.
Now she knew he’d been fighting a losing battle from the get-go.
And as for her relationship with Claire, no wonder she’d always felt resented by her stern mother, especially once Skye had come along to brighten their world—her mother had married a man she didn’t love all because of her.
Closing her eyes against a stampeding headache, she groaned.
She needed answers, but confronting the shadows of the past terrified her.
And although she wanted to be able to do it alone, she knew she needed the support of a person who’d loved her since childhood.
She just hoped she’d welcome her back with open arms, given the fact that they hadn’t had much contact for more than a decade.
Hope Hart had friended her on social media, but Nyah had muted Hope’s posts, for no reason other than not wanting to see painful reminders of Caleb in her newsfeed.