Sitting on the suitcase I squeeze the zipper shut and drag the heavy bag off my bed, taking one last look around the house before I head to the front door with my suitcase in tow. When I pull the door open, I get the shock of my life when I find that I'm face-to-face with Jonathan.
"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on a plane," I demand, reacting slightly aggressively from the surprise of his sudden arrival.
“I still have security looking after your house.” He runs a hand through his messy hair. Actually, everything about him is a mess, in his worn-looking t-shirt and baggy jeans, he looks like he just climbed out of the gutter. "And I cancelled the flight. I don't want to go without you."
My mouth drops open and tears push against my eyes. "You have to go without me,” I force out. “I broke up with you, remember?"
He shifts closer, and my formerly numb body buzzes with life. I don’t think he’s showered for a week, but damn, he still smells so good. "I remember that you were grief stricken because you just lost your father and were looking for someone to blame.”
“I am to blame. I was supposed to get that leaking roof fixed and instead of calling a roofer, I called you then I didn’t give it another thought. He’s dead because I fucked up.”
“No, Red. He died because he fell. You’re not the only adult in this situation capable of making a phone call.”
“I promised, Jonathan,” I yell, lifting my hand and trying to take the ring he gave me off. “I broke my promise to my mother, and I’m breaking my promise to you too.” The bloody ring won’t budge past my knuckle.
“Stop.” He places his hand over mine. “Pushing me away as if us not being together will somehow make this better isn’t going to work. You think it will, but it won’t, Red. It’s just going to make your loss so much more profound. And I’m not letting you throw what we have away. I'm not going anywhere. My life is shit without you in it, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to be ready again. But I'm not giving up on you. I’m not giving up on us. Not now. Not ever.”
"Jesus Jonathan, what is with you and your inability to take no for an answer? You and I can't work together. Not anymore. I don't want you in my life!" I yell, gritting my teeth to keep my tears at bay.
"I’m in your life, Red. And I’m not leaving. You’re the mother of my child for fuck’s sake. Like it or not, we’re in this together for good.”
“No, Jonathan, we’re not,” I say, tears blinding me. “There is no baby anymore. I…I lost it.”
He stumbles back. “What?”
“There’s no baby, Jonathan. It’s gone, my dad’s gone, and I need you to be gone too.”
“Red.” He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, so tight I can barely breathe. “I’m so sorry. None of this is your fault.” For a while I let him hold me, and I breathe in his scent as I take one last moment of enjoyment in the warmth of his arms around me. Then I push away from him and wipe at my eyes, regaining my control, knowing that what I’m doing is right for both of us.
"Mum will be wondering where I am," I tell him, trying again to take the ring off. “I can’t get this off.”
“Good,” he says. “I’m not taking it back.”
I close my eyes and burst out in frustrated tears. “Please. I need this to be over. I need to look after my mother and forget about you and your promises. Please, Jonathan, I’m begging you, if you love me at all, take this ring and walk away from me. I want you to go. Go and make your movie and do something wonderful for your career. I don't know what's going to happen from here on out, but I don't want you waiting for me when I'm not sure I'm ever going to be the girl I was a week ago.”
“This can’t be over. I love you, and I know you love me too.”
My brows knit, and somehow, I manage to wiggle the ring free from my finger. “I'm always going to love you,” I say, taking his hand and placing the puzzle ring in his palm. “That's never going to change, but things are different now and I can't be with you as well as do the things I have to do to take care of my mother. It's just not going to work for us. So please, if you do anything for me; go. Play that amazing role and win yourself an Academy Award. I know you're good enough to give an epic performance that will wow the world and prove to even your harshest critics that Jonathan Masters is a man of immeasurable talent.” I release the ring and the puzzle falls apart in his palm, a mess like my heart. “Be amazing, Jonathan. Do that for me instead because I will never forgive you if you don’t."
His hand closes around the ring and he swallows a few times as if he's trying to digest my words before he responds. "I don't want to go without you."
Reaching out, I place my hand in the centre of his chest and look up at him. "I think the one thing we've learned lately, is that we don't always get what we want," I say, rising up on my toes and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I’ll look for you in the magazines and on the big screen."
“Red.” Pulling me into his arms, he brings his mouth to mine and kisses me with restrained passion, pouring emotion. I don’t want him to let go, just like I’m sure he doesn’t want to let go. But we both know that now isn’t the time for us. We either missed our window, or were never truly meant to be.
“Goodbye, Jonathan,” I whisper as we part.
“I promise to come back for you,” he returns, and later that night when I’m getting ready for bed, I find the promise ring tucked in my pocket.
Thirty-Five
Sandra
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
It’s the mantra of the funeral, the apology that means absolutely nothing to the person receiving it.
They’re sorry for our loss.
They’re sorry for our loss.
Being sorry does nothing.
Sorry is the most overused word in the English language, and after today, I’ll be glad if I never hear how sorry someone is again.
I don’t want them to be sorry for my loss. I want them to feel their own loss. I want them to understand what an amazing man my father was and how special the relationship was that he had with my mother. I want them to understand that man represented half of my mother’s heart, and that she’s broken without him. I want them to understand what an injustice his absence in this world is. I want them to feel as lost as we do.
“I’m so sorry,” another mourner says, and I nod in response, keeping my arm around my mother as we wait for everyone to leave the church where the service was held. I don’t even know most of these people, and I wonder how in the world they knew my father, but it is some comfort to me, knowing that he was loved by so many people during his time on this earth.
As the church empties, there’s only a few mourners left and Aunt Liz takes mum to the car while I finish up and organise transport for all of the flowers and photos that were put around the casket with my uncle. The casket is gone now. It was taken away to be cremated as per my father’s wishes. Just the thought of the moment causes me to stop what I’m doing and release a choked sob—the curtain closing, the casket disappearing into the floor, the pulley system cranking and clicking, an ominous sound that made things so final…
“Sandra,” a female voice says, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know what to say.”
I turn to find Lisa standing beside me, and the first thing I do is wrap my arms around her and sob. I’ve missed her so much.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for months.”
“I know and I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible friend to you, and I should have been here when you needed me. Do you think you can forgive me?”
I nod and notice that Marcus is standing not far behind her. Douche Bailey. “Hey.” He lifts his hand, looking a little uncomfortable in the situation. “I’m really sorry about your father. I didn’t know him, obviously, but Lisa said he was a really good man.”
“Thank you.” I nod, swall
owing hard as I release Lisa from my grip.
“And I’m sorry about your house too. Whatever the bill was, send it to me. I’ll fix you up.”
“Jonathan fixed it,” I state, my voice small and quiet as a giant pang hits the centre of my chest. I miss his stupid famous face.
Lisa smiles. “He can be a good man when he wants to be.”
I nod. “He can.”
“Do you want some help here? Anything you need, just ask. I’ve got a bit of best friend repairing to do.”
“Thanks,” I say, handing her a bouquet of flowers to carry. “We’re loading all of this into my Uncle’s ute outside.”
“Here, let me help too,” Marcus says, reaching out to take flowers himself. I load them both up with all they can carry and then do the same myself, leading them out the side door where my uncle’s ute is waiting.
“When did you get back?” I ask Lisa, as we lay the flowers as carefully as we can in the truck’s tray.
“A couple of weeks ago. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. We went and we… this is the absolute worst time to tell you this but we eloped in Hawaii, and we barely got back when Jonathan called to tell us what happened.”
“Jonathan told you?”
“Yes. I think he really cares about you, Sandra. He called and told me everything, and said that you could do with a friend today. I’m so sorry I haven’t been here for you lately. So, so sorry,” she says.
“I’m sorry too,” I say. “Jonathan and I just kind of…fell into each other. But it’s over. I’m not seeing him anymore. This is all way too messed up.” My tears fall and she gives me a hug.
“It’s OK. But isn’t life messed up?”
I nod. “Way more than I want it to be.”
My uncle loads the last of everything into the back of his ute and secures the cover, asking if I have a lift back home or if I want to ride with him.
“I need to go,” I tell Lisa. “It was good to see you though.”
“You too. I just wish the circumstances were a little better. I still owe you a tell-all story.”
Nodding, I press my lips together in a sad smile and get into the cabin beside my uncle, giving her a light wave as we drive away. It’s then that I notice, standing against his Mercedes, Jonathan. My heart leaps up into my throat as I press my fingertips to the window, and watch him, watching me. It means so much to know he was here. I didn’t realise how badly I’d wished for it until the relief hit me just now.
He lifts his hand and offers a shadow of a smile.
I contemplate asking my uncle to stop the car. But I don’t.
I move my fingers, waving goodbye. Something about way he looks at me tells me I won’t be seeing him any time soon. He’s leaving.
My phone dings.
Jonathan: I promise to return to you. When you are ready, when you want me, when you need me, no matter where I am in this world, call and I’ll run to you. I am forever yours ❤️
Thirty-Six
Sandra
Six months later…
Dad’s funeral—saying goodbye—was the beginning of what would be a very long healing process for both my mother and myself. Most days I’m just trying to get through, helping mum by getting her to perform normal tasks that most people do without question. I make her eat; I make her brush her teeth and hair; I make her bathe. She’s so lost without Dad that she’s ceased to exist herself, and to see that spark missing from a woman who has always been so gregarious and full of life has been devastating to me. I feel like I lost both of my parents at the same time. I feel like I lost myself too.
The day Dad died was the day my world stopped moving. Will it ever move again?
Aunt Liz still does her best to help out when she can. But she has her own family to look after and can’t be here all the time. So mostly, I’ve been going it alone, barely keeping it together myself. I’m mourning my father, my mother, my baby and of course, I’m mourning Jonathan.
Everything good came before. Now, I live in the after.
Working has been virtually impossible. I’ve barely managed to complete a freelance assignment, and as a result, I’ve had to pack up my house and put it up for rent so I have some sort of income to bolster my dwindling savings.
My social life has ended. I’ve basically just let it go and sunk into the cloud of grief that surrounds us now. And I don’t really mind. Fun is the last thing on my mind anymore.
Occasionally, I login to Facebook and make a half-hearted attempt at social contact. But I don’t last long; I can’t handle the small complaints and victories that seem so trivial to me now.
Besides family, the only other person who insists of staying in my life is Lisa. In between gigs, she takes the time to visit and bring her dog Perry. He’s a very intelligent golden retriever and there’s something about him that helps to coax my mother out of her shell. It’s as if he senses she needs companionship and instead of being his usual over excited self, he is calm with her, letting her pat him while he sits beside her with his head on her lap. But then they leave and she’s right back to where she was, withdrawn and empty.
During this time, I’ve also become an avid stalker of Jonathan Masters. After the funeral, he left. He did what I asked and went back to the US and took on his role in the thriller, A Wanted Man. There’s been plenty of press coverage and interviews with the cast during the filming. So I eat up every bit of information, every leaked scene, interview, preview, anything that the internet will give me. I watch it all, loving him in every moment, and feeling glad that he didn’t stay. We wouldn’t have made it through this. What we had was far too new. And as much as I miss him, I’m grateful that we had that short time together, even though it hurts now that he’s gone.
I keep the promise ring on my finger though. I promise to return to you… I believe he meant those words when he sent them to me, but now it’s six months later—four months longer than we knew each other—and I don’t expect him to keep his promise anymore. And why should he? I cut him out of my life, blocked his number, forbade Lisa from mentioning his name. I chose to set him free. And yet, I continue wearing the ring…
“Do you still talk to him?” my mother asks, and I spin around in my chair, surprised to find her standing behind me as I watch an interview with him where he talks about the challenges of his new role. This is maybe the fourth time I’ve watched it since it aired online last night.
“Are you okay?” I ask, avoiding the question while at the same time feeling a genuine curiosity. It’s so unlike her to be up and about these days. “Do you need something?”
“No,” she says with a tiny smile. “I just wondered what you were doing.”
Smiling, I stand and close the lid on my laptop, letting my fingers rest on the surface longingly for a split second too long. “Nothing important. Is there something you’d like to do? We can watch a movie if you want. I’ll even watch one of those spoof movies I used to refuse to watch with you,” I suggest hopefully, feeling slightly buoyed by the fact that she’s actually initiated a conversation with me.
She shakes her head. “I think I’d like to go out.”
“Sure. Where would you like to go?”
She takes a deep, wistful breath. “I’d like to go to the city and walk around the harbour.”
"It’s so pretty here," Mum comments, as she looks out over the water as we walk around Circular Quay. We move slowly, our arms linked casually as we make our way along the landscaped walkways that lead to The Rocks. She pauses to watch a few buskers in First Fleet Park, releasing my arm and taking a moment to admire each one and drop a coin in their hats before moving on to the next. Although, she stays longer at the last one as he sits on an upturned bucket playing a set of various sized PVC pipes by slapping them with a pair of flip-flops. The tunes he plays are instantly recognisable as popular songs from the last decade or so. I find myself smiling as my mother bounces and claps along, voicing her delight when he plays a riff from a song she recognises. She’s alive aga
in.
My heart feels lighter.
"Sandra?" I turn around to the sound of my name and find Brad smiling as he realises he was right. "I thought it was you. How are you? It's been a while."
"Brad. It's nice to see you? Where are you headed tonight?” I ask, wincing when I realise how ridiculous that question is the moment it leaves my lips. Although he smiles and answers anyway.
"The restaurant is on the edge of the water down there." He points towards it.
"Of course. I’m sorry. I’m just... this is a little awkward isn't it?" I ask, feeling strange seeing him again after so long.
"Not really.” He grins, but I can tell he's just being cheeky. That's when my mother makes her presence known by clearing her throat loudly and stepping between us.
"Brad, this is my mother, Madeline." I say, feeling the need to explain who this woman standing in front of me is. "And mum, this is Brad."
She takes his hand and shakes it in greeting. "Oh, Brad. Of course, you're the chef."
"So I've come to be known.” He smiles. "My restaurant is actually a little way down there if you want me to squeeze you in for a quick bite. Your daughter thinks you haven't eaten until you've tasted my cooking."
I open my mouth to refuse, not wanting to lead him on again. But mum answers before I can.
"Well, that sounds lovely, Bradley. But I'm afraid I recently lost my husband, and a romantic place like that might be a bit much for me. But one of these days we’d love to come so I can check out this amazing food of yours. But for tonight, I think we'll just have burgers at The Rocks."
The enigmatic smile he usually sports drops from his face and he takes my mother's hand and holds it between his.
"I'm so sorry, Madeline. I wasn't aware of your loss."
Star (Beautiful Book 5) Page 21
