Chapter Seventeen #2
Some time later, Nyah found herself standing in the light of the open fridge.
She knew she needed to eat, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of food.
Instead, her entire being felt consumed by a realisation that had burrowed into her mind like a relentless parasite.
The people who’d taken Skye’s life had been living within arm’s reach all this time.
The thought was corrosive, eating away at the fragile peace she’d managed to cobble together.
Red rage simmered within her, a bitter brew that threatened to boil over as she envisioned her mother, oblivious and distant, too busy sleeping with another man, the very man who’d buried her daughter’s body, while danger lurked just beyond her garden fence.
This twisted her way of thinking, relieving her of some of the guilt.
Wasn’t it as much her mother’s fault, in spite of the intense blame Claire had placed on her?
Shutting the fridge empty-handed, her body shuddered with a mix of emotions—fear, anger, sorrow—as she struggled to comprehend how such evil could have been so close to home. Even though it was an ungodly hour, she needed to make a phone call before she drove herself insane.
‘Dad, I’m so sorry to wake you,’ she sobbed as soon as his sleepy, gentle tone met her ear, ‘but I still feel like it’s all my fault.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, please don’t think like that.’ Her father’s voice broke through her reverie, calm and steady despite the storm raging in her heart. ‘This was never your fault, not in the slightest.’
‘I…I can’t understand how I missed any of the signs…’ Her voice faltered, the words tangling on her tongue.
‘None of us could’ve known,’ Robert said gently, but his reassurances felt a little hollow as she continued to be buffeted by the gale of her remorse.
‘Your mother was beyond wrong, blaming you like she did. She was the one sneaking around with a man who eventually played a hand in taking our darling Skye’s life.
’ His voice had grown stronger, protectively so.
‘If anyone should take some of the blame, it’s Claire. ’
‘I know you’re right, but…’ Nyah started again. ‘It’s just so hard to comprehend how he was right there, watching her, spying on all of us.’ Her voice was filled with sorrow and regret as she looked to her dad for the kind of absolution that she innately knew she’d only be able to get from herself.
‘Yes, it is a very disturbing thought, and also one we need to try and get past, because we’ll never truly understand the workings of a distorted mind.’ His tender tone reached out and hovered between them.
‘I could’ve stopped it,’ she whispered. ‘I should have stopped it.’
‘Nyah, please don’t do this to yourself.’ Her father’s tone was weary. ‘Is Caleb there with you?’
She tried to reply, but no words came; they remained lodged deep within, a tangled mess of sorrow and regret.
‘Nyah, you’re worrying me.’
‘Sorry, Dad, I know I need to pull myself together.’ She stopped pacing and sank down on a dining chair—the last thing she wanted was to add more strain to her father’s kind heart. ‘I’ll be home tomorrow, and then we can heal through this together, as a family should.’
‘Yes, exactly, that’s what I want to hear from you,’ her father urged, touching her heart with a tenderness that seemed almost foreign amid the chaos of emotions. ‘We will get through this, you and me. I promise you that much.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ His unwavering resolve led her back into the sanctuary of reality, but even within its fortified walls, the weight of grief still hung heavy in the air. ‘I love you lots.’
‘I love you with all of my big old heart.’ He sighed. ‘Tomorrow can’t come quick enough.’
Nyah wished she could wholeheartedly agree with him, but it was hard when a big part of her heart would be left in Wildstone, with Caleb. ‘I look forward to having one of your wonderful hugs at the airport, Dad.’
‘Ditto, sweetheart.’
They spoke for a little longer, then said their goodbyes.
The silence that followed when she ended the call wrapped around her like a thick blanket woven with threads of anguish.
But as much as it hurt right now, her dad was right.
One way or another, they’d get through this.
They had to, because the world would continue its indifferent spin, unaware of the fractures in their universe.
And she really needed to eat something.
With each step, her feet made a soft whisper against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the silence of the house along with the pitter-patter of Jet’s paws close behind her.
He hadn’t left her side all night. The curtains, now drawn to shut out the world, cast long shadows that danced with the light from the lone lamp she’d switched on in the corner of the room.
Wandering into the kitchen, she opened the back door to let Jet out for toilet duties, feeling adrift as she grabbed a loaf of bread from the freezer, and the butter and jam from the fridge.
Popping two pieces of bread into the toaster, she pushed the lever down, and stood, watching, waiting.
The house around her lay still, the walls echoing with the ghostly reverberations of her earlier despair.
She needed to rise now, and hover a little higher than the sorrow, before it gained the power to engulf her.
A shaky breath escaped her as her breathing slowed.
Then, methodically, as Jet scampered back into the house and to her side again, she made her very late dinner, or early breakfast, of toast and tea, ate and drank because she needed to, then decided she needed to try and sleep.
Caleb couldn’t, wouldn’t, see her as broken as this.
After making her way upstairs and into the spare room, she didn’t bother to change into her pyjamas.
Jet followed her and curled up beside the bed.
Slipping beneath the doona, she drifted in and out of fitful sleep while images of Skye flickered behind her eyelids like phantoms. But it was the physical toll of her grief that pressed her down, pulling her back into the depths where no light could reach as she continued to drift in and out of sleepy consciousness.
Each time she neared the surface of awareness, her exhaustion would push her back to that place, where the only witnesses were the silhouettes of furniture and the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
And it was here, in this altered state, that she began the slow, imperceptible process of healing.
It was not a conscious effort. She wouldn’t have had the strength for that.
Instead, it was simply the natural resilience of her spirit, battered but unbroken, finding a way to endure when endurance seemed impossible.
And while the echoes of her cries no longer filled the empty spaces of the homestead, the heaviness of her grief and guilt remained—a burdensome coat she’d learn to wear until the day came when its threads would start to fray and loosen, giving way to healing.
***
Glancing up at the clock, Caleb stopped filling out reports and calculated the time until he could end his shift and get home to Nyah.
There were still two long hours until he clocked off at seven am.
Talk about every tick dragging time’s hand like a lead weight.
He knew she was strong, but this ordeal had shaken her to her core, and the thought of her alone in that big empty house squeezed his heart with a pang of helplessness.
He wished he could erase the trauma she’d endured, make it all disappear with a wave of his hand.
But life wasn’t that simple, and he knew that healing would take time.
He hated having to leave her when she was going through absolute heartbreak, but duty called—he’d taken as much time off as he possibly could the past week.
Groaning, he pushed back from the desk and stood.
He wanted her to stay, and not just for a while longer, but forever.
If he found being a few miles away from her tough, the next afternoon was going to prove to be even more of a challenge.
Her life back in Cairns called her. Who was he to try and stall or stop her?
Wildstone wasn’t her home any longer, hadn’t been for a long while.
And she needed her father. Robert also needed her.
Together, they needed to heal from their immeasurable loss.
He wished with all his heart that he could jump on a plane and go back to the tropics with her.
The homestead was going to feel empty without her there to fill it up with love.
Gazing out the front window of the station at the night-cloaked street, he sighed.
Despite the heavy weight of her impending departure, he knew he had to make the most of what little time he had left with her.
Come sunrise, he’d have just under seven hours before Hope came to take her to the airport, and he planned to make every single second count.
He’d make her breakfast, take her for a walk along the river, and maybe even sneak in a visit to the old miner’s cabin where they used to spend hours cuddled up by lantern light, dreaming about their future.
Anything to remind her of how they were, and how they could be so in love again, if given the chance.
Either way, it would be their last precious day together before distance wedged itself between them once more.
The very thought almost brought him to his knees.