Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  The quoits slipped from his hands, and he fell to his knees before me. “I know. And I’m trying to give you that. I really am. I just …” He burst into tears. “I can’t live without you, Ellie. I don’t know how.”

  “Yes, you do,” I said, sliding down to sit on his lap. “Of course you do. You’ll wake up, you’ll take a deep breath, and then you’ll kiss your children and live your life.”

  His shoulders shook as pain-drenched sobs tore out of him. “How am I supposed to do anything without you? How am I supposed to be a dad to our baby girl? She needs her mum. She needs you.”

  My chest tightened with his pain, so I looked to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and blinked back my tears. I couldn’t crumble now. Not here. Not on Christmas day.

  “What Christina needs is love,” I said, combing my fingers through his hair. “And she has that in abundance. If you all love her as much as I know you do, she’ll have everything she needs, and you will, too, because you have each other.”

  “But we won’t have you.”

  “Yes, you will. I’m a part of you both, so I’ll always be here.”

  My words were all I could offer him in that moment. I just hoped they were enough. I hoped he’d remember them, feel them, use them. I hoped that in the year to come, when my absence was ripping him open, that my words would sew him together again. Because that was the power of words, they destroyed but they also healed.

  “I promise,” I said, lifting the sleeve on his t-shirt to trace his ampersand tattoo. “I promise I’ll always be here.”

  Connor broke in my arms on the garage floor, and I let him. He needed the release.

  He needed to release me.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Ellie

  Knowing you’re dying was somewhat therapeutic, morbid as that sounds. But for me, it was true. My fate was written, my path set, so choosing to ‘get my affairs in order’ and focus what little energy and time I had left on the people and things that truly mattered, was, in a spiritual sense, sanative. Righting wrongs, appreciating the little things, dotting Is and crossing Ts, they’d all become my focus and saving grace as each day had gone by and I’d grown weaker and less able. But nearly two months on from leaving hospital, I somehow knew I was finally ready to let go, and I wanted to do that at the place where it had all started.

  “Are you comfortable?” Connor turned in my direction, Christina cradled in his left arm, a fishing rod jutting from the other.

  Sunlight bounced off the water’s surface, highlighting the copper in his hair and creating an almost angelic aura. My God, he was beautiful, just like the day I’d first met him. But unlike the golden hues accentuating his body and the copper flecks shining in his hair, the depth of Connor’s beauty truly came from within. The kindest most determined boy, and man, I’d ever known. He stole my breath now just as easily as he had back then.

  Smiling, I inhaled with difficulty but nodded, perfectly content to watch from my picnic rug as he gave our daughter fishing lessons.

  He acknowledged I was fine and continued, “Now, unlike Mummy, you’re already one step ahead,” he explained, jiggling Christina with his arm. “Because you’re so much quieter than she was.”

  I chuckled and coughed, which prompted him to abandon his post and take a seat behind me, his long legs a cocoon for my fragile body. “Do you want to hold her?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Connor placed Christina in my arms and then nestled into my back, resting his head on my shoulder. “She looks like Strawberry Shortcake in that pink bonnet.”

  “I know. It’s perfect.” I trailed my finger across her brow and tucked some loose, ruby red hairs underneath the elastic of her hat. “Your mother has great taste in baby clothing.”

  He scoffed. “She’s in her element, you know. She always wanted a girl.”

  “So did I.”

  “Really? You never told me that.” He moved to my side, so I could see his face. “What else haven’t you told me?”

  “Hmm… ” I playfully tapped my chin. “How about I hate the way you make your side of the bed?”

  “What?” His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with how I make the bed?”

  “You don’t tuck the sheet in. You just let it dangle to the ground.”

  “What’s the point of tucking it in if I’m only gonna pull it back out to get into bed?”

  I held up my free hand. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “But it was your message.”

  “Yeah, a message you asked for.”

  “Fine. What else haven’t you told me?”

  “I don’t like blackberry jam.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. So it’s super annoying when you butter one slice of toast, smother it in jam, then dip that jam-covered knife back into the butter to spread your next slice. Why can’t you butter them both first then spread the jam. That way, you wouldn’t contaminate the butter.”

  “Wow!” he chuckled. “It’s all coming out now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Best I get it off my chest now rather than haunt you with it later on.”

  Connor was quiet for a moment, my guess to process my talk of death and the afterlife. His acceptance of our fate had grown since breaking down on Christmas day, but it was still incredibly hard for him, and I got that. I got that he needed his many moments of quiet.

  “Will you haunt me if you get the chance?” Connor trailed his finger over my tattoo.

  “Haunt you, no. Watch over you, yes.”

  “You mean spy.”

  “Exactly.”

  He chuckled, but it was faint, almost non-existent, before wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling his nose into my neck. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “I know,” I said, my chest heavy with emotion. “But it will get better.”

  We both gazed out and over the river as the sun lowered on the horizon. Water lapped at the shore, birds competed to be heard, and the breeze swirled among the trees, the rustle of leaves a soothing lullaby.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the beauty of it settle within my bones.

  “Ellie!” Connor jolted, his voice panicked.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I thought …”

  I could feel his entire body relax behind mine.

  “Nothing. I thought nothing.”

  I relaxed again but had something else I wanted to say before taking a nap. “Connor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you promise me something?”

  “Of course. Anything, baby.”

  “Promise me you’ll bring our daughter here every year.”

  “I’ve already pencilled it in.”

  “And teach her to be kind, not nice. Nice isn’t fierce. Nice won’t protect her or intimidate her enemies.”

  “Got it. Kind not nice.”

  “I’m serious. Nice is weak. Nice will get her heart broken and her lunch money stolen.”

  “Who says she’s getting lunch money?”

  I smiled. “Such a tightarse. I’ve already written in her diary that she can.”

  “Hey! That’s cheating.”

  “Just promise me you’ll teach her to be kind above all else. I want her to show empathy, to give more than take but to never be taken from, and if she is taken from—”

  “Her big brother and her daddy will kick some serious arse.”

  I laughed, and it made me cough a little too much.

  Connor gently rubbed my back. “You all right? Need some water?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I sucked in a breath and let it out, ignoring the constrictive pain. “I want her to know how to protect herself too. That’s important. A girl’s best friend is herself. She needs to know that.”

  “She will.”

  “And teach her to fish, and to change a tyre, and to read a good book.”

  His warm lips caressed my cheek. “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” I coughed. “Tea
ch her to use her words and to use them wisely. Actually, fuck wise. Words aren’t always for the wise.” I leaned forward and kissed my little miracle on her perfect pouty lips. “Did you know that sword is an anagram of words?”

  “No, but I do now.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s a coincidence, because words are a sword. They can stab, slice, protect and deflect. They’re our weapon. Please teach her to wield hers.”

  “Okay, baby. I promise I’ll teach her all those things and more.”

  “I know you will,” I said, my voice soft, my breath softer. My eyes grew heavy once more, so I cuddled Christina tighter and snuggled further into Connor’s chest.

  “I don’t want you to leave me again,” he choked out, his voice a saddened plea.

  “I never left you, Connor, and I never will. I’ll just lie low, in the clouds, until you’re ready to join me.” I breathed in and out, in and out. “Ever after, remember?”

  He kissed my head. “Ever after.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Connor

  Ellie died in my arms that day by the river, and when Beth, Roger, and Chris made their way to the water’s edge from the campsite, I still wasn’t ready to let her go. But I had because she’d wanted me to, because I couldn’t keep rocking her back and forth forever, and because ever since the day we met—since I’d lost Aaron—she’d been preparing me to find the strength within to say goodbye when I would need to again. With her spoken words, her smile, her laughter, light, and love, Ellie had taught me there was always an and, and that in letting go, you still held on.

  You held on to your memories.

  But in true Ellie fashion, she’d had a back-up plan in case my hold slipped. Reminder notes. Much like Christina’s diary. And for the weeks that followed her passing, I kept finding her notes in the most random places, such as the underside of the sugar bowl lid.

  One, maybe two.

  That’s all you need.

  Yes, I’m watching.

  And in the linen closet, on top of the sheets.

  Tuck it in,

  nice and tight,

  out of sight.

  Yes, I’m watching.

  She’d even stuck one on my front door, next to Trevor Trout, which I hadn’t noticed until Mum pointed it out on the day of Ellie’s funeral.

  Kiss me.

  Kiss meeeeeeee.

  That discovery had led to my first breakdown since she’d died. We’d just buried her and celebrated her life at a wake I don’t even remember, and to come home and walk through the door as if she were there and talking to me had hit me hard. But as I’d sat slumped on the entryway floor, my head in my hands, my face tear-streaked, it had also shone a light on the purpose behind her notes; to let me know she was still there. Always. And no matter how distraught I’d been, that simple notion had picked me back up off the ground.

  It was now three months on, and discovery of her notes were few and far between, until I opened my guitar case and the familiar, ruled, off-white paper floated to the floor and landed by my feet.

  Bending down, my pulse quickened as I picked it up and unfolded it, finding the lyrics to a song Ellie had written on her own.

  Kinda Perfect

  You were there in the sun

  copper hair, my hole in one.

  Stole my breath

  Stole my heart

  Watched the stars

  We’d just begun

  It was all kinda perfect in our perfect kinda way

  In our perfect kinda way

  In our perfect kinda way

  Two souls that speak in silence

  touch each other from afar

  Locked in your head

  Locked in my head

  We will never be apart

  It was all kinda perfect in our perfect kinda way

  In our perfect kinda way

  In our perfect kinda way

  It was all kinda perfect in our perfect kinda way

  You are there in the sun

  copper hair, you’re not alone.

  Feel my breath

  Hear my heart

  Reach the stars

  We’ve just begun

  Wiping tears from my eyes, my fingers trembled as I held her note. She’d purposely tasked me with a song to finish once I was ready to pick up my guitar. It was Kinda Perfect.

  “You Sneaky McSongwriter Head,” I choked out, knowing she was watching.

  I ran my hand over my face, bewildered at her brilliance, then read over the lyrics again, a riff already forming in my mind. It was all kinda perfect in a perfect kinda way.

  Christina squealed and kicked her legs on her bouncer beside me, her arm outstretched. She was completely mesmerized by her clenched fist, which made me laugh. It was her favourite pastime, watching her hand as if it were mystical. And it was my favourite pastime watching her watch her hand.

  “I’ll tell you who’s perfect,” I said, taking hold of the neck of my guitar. “Your mummy, that’s who.”

  Lifting it out of its case, I noticed a stack of neatly folded notes sitting underneath that sprang loose. “Jesus, Ellie, when did you become such a slave-driver?”

  I picked them up and unfolded them to find each page empty bar a single, underlined song title.

  Wish You Were Here

  She Talks to No One

  Hold My Hand

  That Day

  Sugar McCoffee Head

  Bursting into laughter, I closed my eyes and blinked back tears. “Sugar McCoffee Head? Really?”

  I don’t know how she’d managed it, but when I missed her most, I smiled. I smiled at her selflessness, her spark, her intelligence, and her love. But most of all, I smiled at her unspoken words. The ones she’d left me.

  “Okay, baby. Sugar McCoffee Head it is.”

  Humming to find a key, I strummed the strings of my guitar then sang,

  Sweet on the tongue, bitter in my mouth.

  She’ll stop you, that redhead.

  She’ll stop Sugar McCoffee Head.

  “How ‘bout that?” I asked Christina. “Do you like Mummy’s song?”

  My baby girl squealed again, and this time, she smiled just like her mother: twinkly eyes and plush cheeks.

  Hopping off my stool, I squatted down and picked her up, sitting her on my hip and lightly supporting her neck. She wasn’t quite at that milestone yet, but she was getting there.

  I guess we both were.

  As each day went by, Ellie’s absence grew thick and, yet, her presence was almost palpable. At night, when the house was silent, I was certain I could hear her breathing, a soft lullaby that helped me drift to sleep. I felt her when the breeze blew the leaves on the trees, when the sun broke through the clouds, and when a rainbow arced into the sky. Every time I saw a bow, a stick, pizza, and Madonna, she was right there beside me.

  Ellie was everywhere, and I knew she always would be.

  Six months on, I stepped onto the tour bus and was pleasantly surprised by its space and lavish fittings. There were two tables flanked by black velvet seats together with a kitchenette and television, and past that was a door that led to a bunked sleeping area and a bathroom. At the rear of the bus would be my room, which had a single bed and a cot.

  “Wow! It’s a hell of a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” I said to Jackson, who was following my guided steps through the vehicle.

  “Not bad, eh?” He flexed his brows, boasting a rather satisfied grin. “So, are you in?”

  The bus, suitable for an eight-month-old baby, was supposed to be the icing on a nationwide tour cake worth several million dollars, but I’d been hesitant to accept the offer. Christina was still so small, and it meant I would be away from Max for weeks on end.

  But I’d made a promise to Ellie to resume the tour I’d started nearly a year ago. Except, the support act tour I’d postponed was now a tour of my own. ‘Ever After’, my debut album, had gone platinum in the year since its release, selling in excess of a milli
on copies worldwide. Saxon Reed was hot property, and focussing on him and my music was the perfect remedy to help me move forward.

  “Yeah, all right. I’m in.”

  “Excellent!” Jackson slapped my back. “We’ll make this work. You have my word.” He flicked through the paperwork on his clipboard and tapped a particular page. “One other thing …”

  I raised an eyebrow in anticipation.

  “I need you to approve the tour nanny.”

  “The tour what?”

  “Tour nanny, to assist you with Christina.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t need assistance.”

  “You will. You can’t take her on stage, mate.”

  Uncertainty twisted my stomach. “I know that.”

  “Good. Then you’ll also know that someone will need to care for her when you’re occupied.”

  “I do. I just assumed it would be you.”

  “ME?”

  “Yeah. You’re great with her.”

  Jackson laughed dismissively and pushed the door-open button on the microwave before peeking inside and closing it again. “Maybe for a quick hug and hello. Beyond that, my experience with babies is about as extensive as it is with baboons.”

  I took a seat on the lounge that lined the left side of the bus and moved the curtain aside to look out the window at the car park at Sony Records. “I don’t know, mate. I don’t like the idea of a stranger taking care of my girl.”

  “She comes highly recommended, and if you meet her and spend some time with her before we leave, she won’t be a stranger.”

  Letting go of the curtain, I ran my hands through my hair and rested them there.

  “At least take a look over her portfolio.” Jackson handed me some paperwork.

  I sighed. “Fine. But I’m really not on board with this idea.”