Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  But not today.

  Today, I needed to grieve…truly grieve.

  To weep and wail and admit that there would always be a piece of me forever broken. A piece of me that would always be lost until my dying breath delivered me back to my loved one.

  But even in my grief, I had responsibilities. I had a son who missed his father, and I had a world that needed to continue.

  So, as I clawed my way to my feet, hugged Ren’s book to my chest, and stepped from the willow’s comforting fronds, I made a promise to keep going.

  To do what Ren had said.

  To let go…if only for a second.

  My eyes fell on Jacob.

  He sat in the middle of the hay field, golden all around him, gold sun above him, gold future ahead of him, and my heart did what it hadn’t been able to do. What I never believed I was capable of.

  It healed…just a little.

  It accepted…just a little.

  Our love story wasn’t over.

  It was just…paused.

  With my white dress fluttering around my legs, I strode into the sunlight, carrying truth and heartache and everlasting love.

  I was lucky.

  Eternally lucky to have loved and cherished and adored.

  And when that day came when this life was over, I would find that love again.

  I would go home to him.

  Because our story had never been about a fleeting romance or fairy-tale. It had always been about life.

  It was about love.

  It was about the journey from nothing to something.

  The travels from individual to pair.

  The adventure from empty to whole.

  And that was what transformed mortal into magic.

  It was what songs were made of.

  What hearts were formed of.

  What humans were born to become.

  The sun shone brighter, drenching buttery light everywhere it touched.

  The paddock was almost ready for baling.

  The land providing routine and clockwork timing.

  And as my son looked up from feeling my eyes upon him, he waved just like Ren used to. His hand switched into a come-hither, and I went.

  I held my head tall. I let my tears fall. I allowed myself the freedom to love in all its painful, exquisite heartache.

  And when I reached him, I sat in the wildflowers and hugged him.

  He hugged me back, fiercely, healingly. “Did you read the end like he said?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “You should.” He kissed my cheek as we pulled apart, so wise, so brave, so pure. “If he told you to, you should.”

  I laughed gently. “Just like I did everything he told me, huh?”

  “Yep.” He smirked, growing serious again. “There’s a whole box of books there. You should at least read one of them.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But what if it’s good?”

  “Then it will be good when I’m ready.”

  “But what if it makes you happy?”

  I swallowed another wash of tears. “You make me happy. I don’t need anything else.”

  He looked down, running his small hand through the blades of grass. “I miss him.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  He picked a purple flower and held it to me. “Would you read me the story? If Dad wrote it, and you haven’t read it either, it’s kinda like him coming back, right?”

  My chest squeezed as I took his gift and twirled the pretty petals. “Just because there are pages with his words on them doesn’t mean he’s alive, Wild One.”

  “I know. But…” He looked up earnest and imploring and hopeful. “I think he would want you to read it.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “Not until I know what he’s written.” I tapped his nose, so similar to mine. “Not sure if it’s suitable for eleven-year-old nosy parkers.”

  He grinned. “I think he’d let me read it.”

  “I think you’re getting too bossy.”

  “I think you’re afraid.”

  I sucked in a breath, jerking back a little.

  He noticed, crawling closer and hugging me tight. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  It took a moment for me to swallow my sobs. “You’re right, Jacob. I am afraid.”

  We sat huddled together for a while, letting the sun warm us even when the hollowness in my heart was always cold.

  Finally, Jacob pulled away. “Read it, ’kay? Don’t leave him in the box.”

  A tear escaped. “Okay.”

  “You will?”

  “I will. I’ll be brave. I owe him that much.”

  He nodded. “Yep and then you can read it to me.”

  I smiled, doing my best not to let my mind run away with questions. What had Ren done? What ending had he written? “We’ll see.”

  Standing, I took his hand in mine and headed toward the house.

  Jacob squeezed my fingers with yet another question. “Even though he’s gone…he would want us to be happy, right, Mom?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’s watching us right now?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Do you think he’s happy watching us?”

  I pictured Ren somewhere free in the forest, peering through leaves and fantasy to protect us from afar. “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, that settles it then.” His hand slipped from mine as he ran toward the house shouting, “Read it tonight. And maybe you’ll be happy, too.”

  EPILOGUE CONT

  DELLA

  * * * * * *

  2033

  THAT NIGHT, ONCE I’d cooked for Jacob and we’d watched some movie of his choosing, I curled up in bed and reached for the book.

  I didn’t want to.

  I wasn’t ready.

  But I’d made a promise to my son, and I couldn’t let my husband down.

  The thought of Ren’s voice locked in a cardboard box, ready to share his secrets, prepared to shed light on shared circumstances was too sad to refuse.

  It would be the hardest thing I’d done since scattering his ashes, but I owed him this.

  I owed him my strength to listen.

  Tears fell again as I cracked open the pages and re-read Ren’s letters.

  I cried.

  And cried.

  And when my tears finally slowed, I sucked in a wobbly breath, gathered my courage, and pushed the heavy, sweet-smelling papers to the end.

  One day, I would read the entire thing.

  I would break my heart all over again all while being privileged enough to read the innermost thoughts of my husband. But for now, this book would sleep on his pillow beside me, something to hug when it all got too painful, something to stroke when I whispered to him in the dark.

  One day, I would be ready.

  But not today.

  Today, I was barely clinging to sanity, shoved into the awkward admittance of wishing time away so I could find Ren sooner, all while begging the minutes to slow so I could have longer with Jacob.

  Ren was a natural storyteller—his skills honed from years of telling me bedtime tales and indulging my every whim.

  And tonight, just like old times, he was about to tell me a story.

  Our story.

  The only one I ever cared about.

  The pages fell to the final chapter and I stroked the letters as I breathed, “Chapter Fifty-Nine. Ren, 2018.”

  My mind skipped back to that time.

  A time when emotions were daggers and youth diesel on the fiery burn of desire. Everything was sharper then, more urgent then, more desperate.

  Countless memories unravelled, reminding me of what I’d done.

  How I’d been so hurt I’d lost my virginity to another.

  How I’d been so tangled in my unrequited agony that I’d broken Ren and myself.

  Only…as my eyes skimmed Ren’s side of the tale, learning how much he loved me, how distr
aught he was as he left me that note and walked out the door, a strange smile twisted my tear-glossed lips.

  The book didn’t end there.

  It didn’t stop in a standalone of tragedy but led into a heart-happy duet.

  And I understood what my brilliant husband had done.

  And I was braver.

  And I was thankful.

  And my fractured heart glued a tiny piece back into place.

  My fingers itched for my keyboard to finish the magic he’d begun.

  A final letter was waiting for me.

  This is where you come in, Della Ribbon.

  You’ll get another box soon.

  A box of chapters from the moment I admitted I was in love with you and kissed you for the first time to the second we got married, held our son, and grew as a family.

  I’ve been honest. I’ve shared everything.

  Now, it’s your turn.

  Finish our story, Della.

  But this one, blend fact with a tiny piece of fiction.

  Call the book The Girl and Her Ren—because that is what I am.

  I am yours.

  But fashion our story where we found that miracle.

  A story where I was healed, grew old, and lived.

  And at the end, insert this final paragraph:

  “And there, as the sun set on the summer meadow, Della Ribbon turned to her Ren, and said, ‘I’m pregnant with your daughter. I suppose you get to choose a girl’s name now.’

  Her husband turned to her, happy, overjoyed, madly in love and kissed her.

  They kissed for days because they knew no time could stop them.

  And when they broke apart, he said, “I love you, Della, forever and for always.”

  And they had that daughter.

  They had a family.

  They were forever bound through marriage and true love.

  Together.”

  And then, if our story is ever made into a film, the credits will roll.

  And the music will play.

  And the audience will know…

  That Della Ribbon and her Ren lived

  happily

  ever

  after.

  THE END

  Thank you for trusting me and coming on this journey.

  I hope you enjoyed Ren and Della’s tale…despite the pain.

  NOTE TO THE READER:

  WHY DID YOU KILL OFF THE MAIN HERO?

  Ever since the moment Ren and Della popped into my head, I knew how it would end. Ren was rather adamant that his tale would be based firmly in reality. And, unfortunately, reality isn’t kind.

  It was honestly the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write. On a daily basis, I worried if I was doing the right thing. I’d wake up with panic attacks wondering if I’d upset my readers, wondering if I was strong enough, and if it would be career suicide to do such an ending. But, each time I tried to prevent Ren from dying, he’d just throw it back in my face, and I knew I had to be BRAVE. That I had to accept this book wouldn’t be for everyone. And hope that, despite its bittersweet ending, the story of Ren and Della Wild would find the audience it’s meant to find.

  I hope, regardless of the tears, you were able to see the story for what it was.

  Brutal, heart-breaking, but somehow uplifting, knowing love never dies.

  I’m extremely grateful you read to this point and accepted that this story is firmly based in life. We all have different versions of happily ever after. Some last forever, some last for a while, and some don’t last at all. But in the end, true love carries on and I am a firm believer that once bound together, we will find each other again. Either through reincarnation, heaven, or some other divine intervention.

  WHY DIDN’T REN AND DELLA HAVE ANY MORE CHILDREN?

  The Ribbon Duet is the first story I’ve told where I’ve taken no liberties or added some ‘slightly fantastical’ element that perhaps wouldn’t happen in real life. I didn’t want to do that with this. I needed it to be fully realistic, and the reality is, by the time Della had Jacob, Ren was severely ill again, and then submitted to an extensive course of Chemo. I didn’t feel it would be realistic for him to be able to make her pregnant a second time.

  Obviously, miracles happen, but he’d already been given a miracle by far outlasting the usual prognosis for his disease.

  WHY ARE THERE ENGLISH PHRASES & SPELLING IN A BOOK BASED IN THE USA?

  First, I am fully aware that there is English Spelling and English Terminology in this book (because I’m English and also live in an English spelling country). It wasn’t a typo or laziness on my part. I wrote it that way because those are the phrases I use and with The Boy & His Ribbon and The Girl & Her Ren, I turned off all thoughts and just WROTE.

  Once the stories were on paper, I went over and changed all the spelling to US, started to remove phrases and words that aren’t common in the USA and began ‘Americanising it.’

  However, a friend suggested that instead of trying to set it in America, why not leave it as a story that is transient of time and place. Not once did I ever mention a town name or city or country. Partly because Ren himself wouldn’t know or care as child, but also because I wanted the reader to place Ren and Della wherever they were or even imagine a fictional world of their choosing.

  It could be set in Canada, England, Scotland, USA or New Zealand. It could fit anywhere and I liked that.

  However, the amazing Will Watt and Hayden Bishop (fully within their creative license) decided—when they started narration for The Boy & His Ribbon—that the characters could possibly be from South USA and gave them accents to match. As we hadn’t discussed my concept of it being a very ‘country neutral’ book, once I heard the audio, I realised I’d have to explain why there are some English Phrases spoken in an American accent.

  As the Audio was already recorded for The Boy & His Ribbon, it’s not possible to go back and edit certain English colloquialisms without disrupting the Whispersync capability.

  So, I decided to leave The Girl & Her Ren in the same manner so the ‘voice’ doesn’t sound different.

  I hope you can excuse the blend of two worlds and enjoy the story regardless.

  WHAT RESEARCH DID YOU DO FOR THIS STORY?

  A lot on Asbestos related illnesses and forced child labour.

  For anyone dealing with mesothelioma or know someone who is, I did my best to research and include realistic treatment options and terminology. As all things, there is only so much information available and I apologise if I incorrectly quoted facts.

  A few links that were used are:

  https://www.asbestos.com/cancer/

  https://www.asbestos.com/treatment/

  https://www.pleuralmesothelioma.com/cancer/prognosis/

  https://www.keytruda.com/

  https://www.rxwiki.com/keytruda

  Ren’s purchase to work a farm isn’t that far-fetched and there have been many documented issues of child labour around the globe, in both first world and third world countries.

  These are just a few:

  http://www.fao.org/childlabouragriculture/en/

  https://www.hrw.org/news/2011/11/17/child-farmworkers-united-states-worst-form-child-labor

  https://www.huffingtonpost.ca/craig-and-marc-kielburger/child-labour-is-canadas-i_b_1087892.html

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  The Son & His Hope (a standalone spin-off from The Ribbon Duet that can be read with or separately)

  “Things you should know about me from the very beginning:

  I was born to true love, witnessed the destruction it causes, and vowed never to let such agony happen to me. I am not a story-teller like my father. I am not a writer like my mother. I am just a son—their son.

  I am happy bei
ng alone.

  And that is all I ever want to be.”

  JACOB

  The day he was born, Jacob learned his hardest and longest lesson.

  It wasn’t a lesson a boy should learn so young, but from his earliest memories he knew where happiness lives, so does tragedy. Where love exists, so does heartbreak. And where hope resides, so does sorrow.

  That lesson carved him from the kid to the teen to the man.

  And nothing and no one could change his mind.

  HOPE

  I first met him when he was fourteen at a movie premiere of all places. A movie based on his parent’s life.

  He was stoic, strong, suspicious, and secretive.

  I was only ten, but I felt something for him. A strange kind of sorrow that made me want to hug and heal him.

  I was the daughter of the actor hired to play his father.

  We shared similarities.

  I recognised parts of him because they were parts of me.

  But no matter how many times we met. No matter how many times I tried.

  He stayed true to his vow to never fall.

  The Body Painter

  The Argument

  Please visit www.pepperwinters.com for latest updates.

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