It brought freedom. It whispered of release. It felt like Della.
I’d tried to save him for her.
I’d tried to show him happiness for me.
But I’d done all I could, and there was no shame in admitting I wasn’t strong enough.
I closed my eyes and nodded.
My sadness lifted a little, settling into bone-deep scaring. My pain manifested into resolution and sorrow—a recipe I would carry for the rest of my life.
And I knew what I had to do.
I would see Jacob one last time.
I would return to Cherry River.
I would give him his compass so he might find his way.
But then…I would put ghosts to rest, let my heart crumple to dust…
…and move on.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jacob
* * * * * *
I WAS TOO late.
Grandpa John died six hours before I arrived home at Cherry River.
I’d travelled as fast as I could. I’d caught the soonest plane, paid for the fastest service, and I still hadn’t made it.
From the moment Aunt Cassie asked me to hurry, I’d lived in a tornado of fear and anxiety. The inability to hasten my journey, my incompetence at speaking to Grandpa John on the phone when she’d offered me to say goodbye, my rapidly swirling panic at losing another loved one.
I’d done this.
I’d been the cause of his passing.
I’d believed I could be happy.
Yet someone else had died instead.
It was the last straw.
The final stone on my sorry excuse of a soul.
No more.
Just…no more.
Stepping onto the property where I’d been born, I felt nothing. I’d burned through my panic, I’d used up my frenzied dread, I’d slipped straight past denial.
It was done.
Over.
All of it.
I’d left Cherry River on the wake of a funeral, and now, I returned to attend another.
My home was a cemetery all over again.
Walking over the paddocks I’d been raised on and into a farmhouse where I’d listened to the wisdom of an old man and grown up in the embrace of affection, all I felt was emptiness.
A vast void of hissing emptiness.
Even sadness couldn’t creep into my chest. My heart had forgotten how to feel. And as Aunt Cassie threw herself into my arms and Uncle Chip patted me on the back and Cousin Nina cried quietly in the corner, I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I couldn’t act human when I no longer knew what that was.
I’d stopped being human the moment I stood over a sleeping Hope and left without a goodbye.
I’d left my heart with her.
I’d left my soul in her care.
And I was ready for a coffin as surely as my dead grandfather.
I should hold my family close and grieve with them. I should share antidotes about Grandpa John and shed tears for the dead. I should think about Hope and the callous way I’d run from her.
I should attempt to fix all the things I had broken.
Instead, I extracted myself from Aunt Cassie’s embrace and went into the bedroom where Grandpa John had died. His body had been removed, but the medical equipment still hung in the corners like mercenaries of suffering.
He must’ve had an in-home carer as the end grew nearer, and the reek of disinfectant and drugs stung my nose.
I sat on the rocking chair where a plaid blanket draped with an embroidered donkey cushion, and I stared at the bed where a brilliant farmer had died.
I waited for some epiphany, some lesson, some way to say goodbye to someone who had already gone.
But that emptiness only grew worse, slithering cold and chilling, freezing me into nothing.
I tried to cry, to feel, to live.
But I had nothing.
No grief.
No regret.
No shame.
Just a severing, sombre silence, cutting me from the world of the living.
I screamed in my mind, searching for a way from the icy loneliness. I ran wild, looking for a way to be what others were.
To be brave.
To call Hope and beg for her forgiveness.
To hug my grandfather one last time.
I did none of those things.
I was a screwed-up, unforgivable bastard who finally got his wish.
I’d wanted to be heartless so I didn’t feel pain.
Congratu-fucking-lations.
I stayed in his room for seven hours.
I studied his empty bed, imagined his body in a lonely morgue, pictured the wake and eulogy.
No one interrupted me.
They all stayed away—conditioned by my behaviour to avoid me.
And I didn’t go to them.
I didn’t seek solace or food; no drink or sleep.
I just stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And when I’d stared enough, I stood and walked out.
I headed to Forrest’s paddock and waited for the rush of guilt for leaving the loyal roan, but as he came to nuzzle me, wuffling in my hair with contentment at having me home, I felt nothing.
No kick of affection. No crush of agony.
Nothing.
I sank to the ground and waited for horse hooves to trample me or lightning to strike me—anything to put me out of this strange, silent misery.
But Forrest merely stood guard, protecting me from things I no longer understood and watched as night fell, casting shadows until finally the darkness claimed me.