When It Rains: The bittersweet romance you won't want to miss

by Brooke Harris

  ‘This will teach you,’ I scream, closing my eyes and bringing my hands down with unmerciful force.

  A piercing crack beckons me to open my eyes. I find my father lying on the ground at my ankles, blood streaming from his skull like spilt rhubarb crumble.

  My hands drop by my sides, the whiskey bottle still tightly gripped in my right hand. My mother is standing in front of me. She’s shaking like a leaf in the breeze, but it’s not her sad eyes that I notice, it’s the large, jagged rock in her hand that her fingers struggle to span. A warm puff of sticky air to my near left calls my attention as Bridget puffs out so forcefully I wonder how she stays standing. Her hands shake as she cradles a shard of glass from the broken car window close to her chest. Ma, Bridget, and I stand around Pa’s lifeless body and stare at the man we know is responsible for some much hurt and pain.

  ‘On the count of three,’ Ma says. ‘One ... two ... three ...’

  We all open our hands and the bottle, rock and glass tumble to the ground. They lie at our ankles silent about the act one of them committed.

  ‘Annie,’ Ma whispers as she tosses her head over her shoulder to where Sketch lies.

  I don’t bother with words or even take the time to look at Ma or Bridget. I scurry the couple of feet to where my husband lies, and my knees drop to the ground next to him.

  ‘I’m here,’ I whisper as I lean over him, afraid to touch him. ‘I’m here, Sketch.’

  Sketch has a small cut on his right cheek. It’s deep and nasty, but there’s no blood anywhere else. It doesn’t look so bad. Why isn’t he standing up?

  I catch the bottom of my skirt in my fists and tug furiously in opposite directions. I tear away a long strip of satin and fold it in half to create a makeshift cloth. I dab it against Sketch’s cheek; it soaks up his blood and quickly changes from a beautiful blue to a dark crimson. Sketch’s eyes flutter open.

  ‘There you are,’ I sob. ‘You scared me for a minute.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He coughs.

  ‘Only you could apologise at a time like this.’

  ‘I ... I ...’ Sketch coughs again and blood hides in the corners between his lips. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

  My heart twists as I realise it’s not the bleeding on the outside of Sketch’s body that I need to worry about.

  ‘It’s okay. It’s okay,’ I say, not able to get the words out fast enough to reassure him. ‘Don’t talk. We don’t need to talk now.’

  I continue to dab his cheek, knowing the blood I dry up is not helping. But there’s nothing else I can do. My hand trembles, and I hate that he can probably feel it tremble against his face. He must sense how scared I am. I don’t want that. I have no business being scared and scaring Sketch in return. I must be strong for him now. The way he is always strong for me. But it’s hard. So damn hard.

  ‘Don’t cry, Annie,’ he whispers as he struggles to lift his arm and trace the tip of his finger under my eye to catch a single tear. The simple movement seems to zap more energy than he possesses, and his face grows pale. ‘I told you once I would love you all my life. I lied. I won’t just love you as long as I live; I will love you as long as there are stars in the night sky. As long as there is water in the oceans and as long as my memory has a place in your heart.’

  ‘Stop it now,’ I scold. ‘Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay. Help is coming. You’re going to be just fine. It’s just a little cut. A small one.’

  Sketch draws a reluctant breath past his lips, and I hear it rattle inside him as it fights its way past his broken chest to reach his lungs.

  ‘I love you. I love you so much,’ I whimper. ‘You can’t leave me. You have to stay with me. We’re married now. Together forever, right?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m getting a choice, Annie.’

  ‘Oh, Sketch, please,’ I stutter as my body begins to shiver despite trying so very hard to stay still.

  ‘If your beautiful eyes are the last thing I gaze into, then I can leave this world with a smile on my face. I want you to know it’s enough for me.’ Sketch coughs roughly, and I glimpse blood smeared across his teeth. Every word strips life from his body. I try so desperately to hide my fear, but I know Sketch sees through my façade as clear as if I were made of glass.

  ‘Hush, hush,’ I whisper. ‘Don’t talk. Save your energy. You need all your strength now.’

  ‘Annie.’ Sketch breathes with determination. ‘You have loved me more in a year than any man could wish for in a lifetime. You made my life, Annie; you made me whole. But I have to leave you now. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No. No. No,’ I cry, scooping his limp body into my arms. ‘I can’t lose you. Not again. I won’t cope.’

  ‘Miss me, Annie. But let me go.’ Sketch tries to reach into his pocket, but his arm is heavy and he struggles.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s in your pocket?’

  ‘The ferry.’ Sketch coughs.

  I slide my hand into his pocket, taking great care not to put any pressure against his leg in case I hurt him. I pull out a pair of tickets.

  ‘It’s not too late, Annie,’ Sketch pants. ‘You can still make the boat. See France. See the world... live.’

  I shake my head. ‘I can’t. Not without you.’

  ‘I’ll be right in here.’ Sketch lifts his weary arm, and I can see the pain written on his face as he presses his palm flat against my chest. ‘You can take me with you every step of the way. If I’m always in your heart, I’m always with you.’

  I lower my head until my back is hunched, and I rock back and forth, cradling the man I love close to my chest. I’m willing him to hold on a little while longer all the while knowing the battle is too hard for him to fight. A raindrop taps the top of my head. And other. And other. The rain I’ve waited all morning for begins to fall. Gently at first but within seconds, puddles form around us on the country road.

  ‘Look,’ I whisper, tilting my head back so I can stare at the sky. ‘Even heaven sheds tears for us, Sketch.’

  ‘When it rains.’ Sketch exhales slowly, and his body suddenly grows a little heavier in my arms. ‘Think of me when it rains.’

  ‘What about when the sky is clear, Sketch? And there are no clouds. Can’t I think of you then?’

  ‘When it rains, look for rainbows. And when it’s dark, watch the stars. I’ll be watching right back.’

  Sketch closes his eyes, and a soft, warm breath trickles past his parted lips and reaches mine.

  ‘I love you, Sketch,’ I say, pushing the words out as fast as I can. ‘I love you so much.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you among the stars, Annie.’

  ‘Among the stars.’ I nod. ‘The stars are ours, Sketch. Every time I see a shining star, I’ll see you. I promise.’

  Sketch smiles, and I watch a sense of calmness wash away the pain from his face. I bend forward and brush my lips as gently as I can against his forehead and kiss him. I reluctantly pull my back up straight again, taking care not to jerk his body that I cherish so carefully in my arms. A sudden, bleak silence hangs in the air where Sketch’s laboured breathing was just seconds ago, and I don’t dare to blink as I watch his chest. It doesn’t rise and fall anymore.

  ‘Wake up,’ I cry, rocking him gently. ‘Please. Please wake up. Don’t leave me. Please, Sketch, please don’t go.’

  I’m frozen like a statue. All I can move is my eyes. I sweep them over his face. I want to see the barely there freckles that sprinkle across his nose like cinnamon and his full, cherry lips, but tears swell and blur my vision. I don’t breathe as I wait, watching his peaceful body and hoping he’ll come back to me. But my heart knows he can’t. I felt him leave me. I know he’s gone.

  ‘No. Please God no,’ I scream, my mouth wide but not wide enough to let the pain escape. The pressure inside my chest is beyond intense, and I think I may die too. I wish for it.

  Rain kisses Sketch’s face, washing away the bright red blood from the deep gash on his cheek,
and for a moment, I convince myself that he’s just sleeping. He wears a beautiful smile, and his hand is still clasped around mine; loving me still.

  Bridget is suddenly beside me. Her face is grey like the clouds overhead, and she’s trembling all over.

  ‘Is he ... Is he ...?’ she splutters.

  I nod, understanding she can’t bring herself to say the word dead.

  Bridget throws herself to the ground and drapes her arms over Sketch’s body. Her usually beautiful blond hair is tinged with crimson blood, and I didn’t realise before that she’s hurt too, but I don’t know where. The only pain she yields to is the pain in her heart as she screams and cries. She loved him too. The whole town cared about and loved him. And he loved me.

  Mr Talbot comes into view with some people I don’t know by name, but I recognise their faces from the farmers market on Saturday mornings. Mr Talbot found help; I shake my head, but I don’t tell them it’s too late. I step back and watch as they try to desperately to revive the man I love.

  Finally, someone notices my father’s body and they hurry to help him, assuming he’s been hurt in the crash too. I watch in disbelief at the carnage. I’ve lost both men in my life. One a monster. The other a hero.

  As numb as I feel, I still notice my ma’s hand on my shoulder. I drag the back of my hands across my eyes, but tears are falling faster than I can dry them. ‘Sketch tried so hard to save us,’ I cry.

  ‘And he did, Annie. He saved you.’ My mother looks at the spot on the ground where my father has fallen. The ruby anger that usually sits in his cheeks when he’s been drinking is missing, and his face is grey and washed out like the concrete road next to him. ‘You’re free as a bird, Annie.’

  ‘What is freedom if I can’t share it with Sketch?’ I sob loudly.

  ‘Sketch will always be your husband now, Annie.’ My mother smiles through her delicate tears. ‘Your hero. Keep his memory in your heart, and you will always have him close.’

  Ma drops her eyes to the ferry tickets in my hand. She curls he fingers around mine and nods her head.

  ‘Take care of Mr Talbot,’ I whisper. ‘Sketch wouldn’t want his father to be lonely.’

  My mother pulls me close to her and wraps her arms tightly around me. She kisses the top of my head, and without another word, she turns and walks away.

  Hustle and bustle reigns around me. People shout and pull and twist Sketch’s body trying to shake life into him. My heart aches as I smile at their valiant efforts. At the efforts of the community I grew up in. The only place I have ever known as home. But it’s time to find a new home. For a while, at least.

  ‘Hello, Sketch,’ I whisper, placing my hand against my chest to feel my heart beating against my palm. I clutch the ferry tickets tightly in my other hand. ‘Let’s catch that boat together.’

  I put one shaking foot in front of the other, and I walk away. I don’t look back at the frantic scene behind because I know Sketch isn’t lying on the roadside. He’s walking right beside me; I just can’t see him with my eyes, but I can feel him with my heart.

  Forty – Four

  ‘Nana. Nana, look up,’ I urge. ‘The clouds have parted.’ I point upwards. ‘We can finally see the stars that you’ve waited for. Aren’t they beautiful?’

  My grandmother doesn’t reply. Her head tilts towards the sky, and a satisfied smile lights up her pale face.

  My mother is kneeling on the grass in front of Nana’s wheelchair. Her head is gently resting on Nana’s knees, and her hands dangle by her sides as if they’re heavy and not part of her body. Her shoulders tremble as she cries softly. My father stands next to my mother, towering over her protectively. His hand carefully strokes her shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. I’ve never seen my father cry, but silent tears trickle down his rosy cheeks now.

  I reach for Nana’s hand. Her skin is even thinner than I remember, and it’s cold like the granite worktop in her farmhouse kitchen. It startles me, but I don’t let go.

  ‘She was waiting for him.’ I swallow as I look up at one star that twinkles brighter than all the others. ‘She was waiting for Sketch to come for her.’

  ‘Is she gone?’ Ben sniffles. ‘Is she really gone?’

  ‘Sketch came to take her,’ I say. ‘He promised he’d be waiting among the stars. And he was. He really was. They’re together again.’

  Ben shakes his head and his lip twists. ‘No. She can’t go. Not yet. They said there’d be more time. Days. The doctors said we’d have days in the hospice. They said we’d have time to say goodbye. I didn’t say goodbye. I never said goodbye. Nana, come back. Oh, please come back?’

  Marcy stands up and makes her way around the back of Nana’s wheelchair to switch off the oxygen tank. Ben’s eyes follow her, and his heartbreak is palpable.

  ‘I think your grandmother had other ideas, Ben,’ Marcy whispers. ‘This plan is almost sixty years old. Sketch and Annie are together in the orchard again at last. I think Annie knew the hospice wasn’t for her. The orchard was always destined to be her last stop.’

  Ben eyes Marcy pensively, and I can’t tell if heartbreak or acceptance illuminates his face, but something unfamiliar to me glistens in his eyes. It’s probably a combination of both.

  ‘Is there more, Holly?’ Ben asks, his eyes dropping to the manuscript resting in my lap. ‘Is there another chapter we can read? Who killed Nana’s pa? Was it Nana? Or her ma? Or that Bridget lady? Did Nana go to France? Did she catch the ferry on time? I need to know. We need to know, don’t we?’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. That was the last page. I’ve read it all. There isn’t anymore. Nana’s story is over.’

  My mother lifts her head. She slips her hand into her coat pocket and pulls out a neat piece of paper with my name handwritten on the front. She offers the crumpled paper to me with a shaking hand. I recognise the writing straight away. It’s the same handwriting as the manuscript I’ve just finished reading.

  ‘It’s from Nana,’ my mother explains. ‘She gave it to me a couple of weeks ago. She told me it was for you, but that I wasn’t to give it you until the time was right; a time you could really understand.’

  I scan the cream, rectangular paper as it wobbles in my mother’s grip.

  ‘Have you read it?’ I choke.

  ‘No. Of course not. It’s for you.’

  I run a hand through my hair. My fingers catch in some knots at the back, and it pulls at my temples. I can’t take my eyes off the slim piece of paper folded in quarters between my mother’s fingers. There can’t be much written on such a small page, I think. Why didn’t Mom give it to me sooner, when I could have talked to Nana about it? It’s too late now. I swallow a lump of stubborn air and try to fight the pain pumping through my veins. But the heartbreak is all-consuming. It drags me forward until I’m hunched and bent like an old lady, and a loud, chesty groan forces my mouth to open wide.

  ‘If you don’t know what it says, how do you know when the time is right?’ I snap unfairly.

  ‘I know your grandmother,’ my mother cries. ‘And I know the time is now.’

  ‘Read it, Holly,’ Nate encourages. ‘Annie must have something important to say.’

  I stretch my open palm out to my mother, and she places the small, folded piece of paper into my hand. My fingers curl around it instinctively. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Nana’s voice washes over me, helping me to be brave.

  ‘Just read, Holly.’ I hear the words as clear as if Nana whispers them into my ear right now.

  I open my eyes again. Nate is nodding, and Ben is smiling through his tears. The biggest smile of all is on Nana’s sleeping face, and I replay Marcy’s words in my mind. Nana has had a plan all along. And reading this letter, under the stars, as all of us are together for the last time is part of it and exactly what Nana wanted.

  I stroke the flat of my hand over my grandmother’s knee as she sits next to me in her wheelchair.

  ‘You always know best, Nana,’ I say
.

  I uncross my legs and shuffle to stand. Nate hops up quickly. He’s on his feet before I’m off the ground. He takes my hand and helps me up.

  ‘Read it, Holly,’ he says, standing behind me with his hand grazing my shoulder.

  I bend forward suddenly and throw my arms around Nana’s neck and kiss her face. My tears trickle down my cheeks and fall onto hers like drops of salty rain. She’s cold and still, but I feel her near me. I know she’s still here. She’s watching and waiting for me to read her letter.

  ‘I love you, Nana.’ I sigh. ‘I love you so much.’

  I take a step back and turn to face my emotional family. I lock eyes with my mother, and she nods and tries to smile.

  I unfold the paper and take a deep breath.

  ‘My dearest Holly,’ I begin, pausing as my voice crackles and breaks.

  Nate takes my free hand in his, and the warmth of his skin drives up through my palm and calms me. I carry on.

  ‘Congratulations, my love. A baby is a wonderful gift. And you will be a fabulous mother. I know it’s scary to think you might lose someone you love so much. Someone you adore before they are even born. But every day is a gift. If all you are gifted is one day, make enough memories in those twenty-four little hours to last a lifetime. Because once you hold that precious baby in your arms, Holly, you are a mother, and nothing can ever take that away. Nothing.

  Sketch and I didn’t have much time as a married couple. But I wouldn’t trade those moments of happiness for a lifetime with anyone else. You see, just because Sketch didn’t walk this earth with me didn’t change that I was his wife. Just as you will always be your baby’s mother. Even if your little one isn’t in your arms, he will always be in your heart.

  So open your heart, Holly. Be grateful for the time you do have instead of being bitter about the time that’s snatched away from you. Love, live, and most of all, look at the stars. Because I’ll be looking right back.

  All my love forever and always,

  Nana.’