“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” He hugged me tight, the rattle in his lungs a constant song. “All I know is, out of the two of us, you’re the bravest one. You’ll get through it. Somehow.”
Tearing myself out of his arms, I glowered at him. “Don’t call me brave, Ren. You know nothing of bravery.”
He scowled. “Know nothing? Are you sure?”
“Yes, because for decades you’ve been the braver one, but you’ve never seen it. You’ve never once blamed me for what happened to you. You’ve never once cried for what life has given you. You’ve never broken down or—”
“Only because I have you.”
“Yes, and soon, I won’t have you at all.”
Jacob came bounding from the trees, his arms chock-a-block with twigs and kindling. “Found some.” He pranced to the cleared circle to make a blaze, utterly oblivious to the sort-of-fight he’d interrupted.
And I was glad.
Because I honestly didn’t have the strength.
The way I was feeling, I was weak enough to consider a Romeo and Juliet ending and bequeath Jacob to Cassie.
I would be that terrible.
I would be that monstrous to leave my child an orphan because I didn’t have the courage to be a widow.
“Who’s hungry?” I asked brightly. Too brightly. Tearing myself from Ren’s hold, I grabbed the grill plate from the backpack. Ducking to my haunches, I helped Jacob build a fire.
“Me! I’m starving.” Jacob rubbed his tummy. “And then, after dinner, please tell me there’s cake.”
Ren chuckled, sitting back down, forever watching us. “In a diner, a long time ago, a waitress once told me there was always time for cake.” His dark coffee eyes met mine. “Your mom was five and blew spit all over the cupcakes instead of blowing out a single flame.”
Jacob laughed. “Eww. I’ll take care of the blowing. Thanks, Mom.”
I couldn’t move, entranced by Ren’s gaze, enchanted by him.
He whispered, “You made a wish that night, Della Ribbon. A wish I’ve always tried to honour. Please understand, I’ll still be keeping that promise even after I’m—”
“Enough.” Tearing my eyes from his, I snatched a lighter from the backpack and let fire chew its way through the carefully stacked sticks.
Ren stayed quiet as the fire grew and, once the blaze was big enough, I placed the grill plate on top—balanced by a few rocks—and slapped three juicy steaks into the flames. I’d made a potato salad back at home with mayo, along with some spinach wrapped rice rolls.
The birthday cake for Jacob’s tenth celebration was carefully tucked in Tupperware—a vanilla sponge in the shape of the little white pony, Binky, that he’d been learning to ride.
Organising this trip had given my mind something to hook onto, and I’d slipped back into my role as mother.
Once the steaks were cooked, I divided up the potato salad and rice rolls onto the collapsible plates Ren had bought for Jacob’s birthday and did my best to act normal with conversation.
Partway through the meal, I subtly handed Ren a high-strength painkiller as his skin flushed with sweat and his forehead never smoothed.
I’d long since become acquainted with his tolerance levels and pain.
He gave me a look before sighing and holding out his palm.
I dropped the pill into it before Jacob noticed, nodding like a satisfied nurse as he swallowed.
Afterward, I headed to the river, taking a torch to wash up quickly, leaving my two beloved boys to talk about whatever boys do.
And there, in the ether of silence and starlight, I fell to my knees and drove my fists into the leaf-littered dirt.
I let my rage break free.
I punched the earth. I kicked the sky. I ripped time itself apart.
“Why?” I screamed quietly.
“How could you?” I asked painfully.
“Not yet,” I begged brokenly.
But no one answered.
No owl hooted.
No shooting star offered salvation.
And yet, howling at the moon and spreading my fears in the dark was cathartic enough to piece myself back together again, wipe away my tears, pick up the clean plates, and head back to the fire and my boys.
* * * * *
“Wow, Dad. Thanks!” Jacob hurled himself into Ren’s arms.
Star Wars wrapping paper scattered on the forest floor, forgotten as the Swiss Army knife became his prized possession.
“Don’t hurt yourself with that, you hear?” I laughed as he kissed Ren’s cheek.
Ren patted his back. “You’re welcome. I can show you what each thing does if you want?”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve played with one of yours before.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” Ren raised an eyebrow in my direction, smirking. “Told you, Della. Our son isn’t a kid anymore.”
I stood, brushing leaves off my ass. A few floated into the fire with a quick whoosh of fuel. I laughed again, forcing happiness. “Fine. What do I know? Ten seems to be the new adult these days.”
Ren chuckled.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Leaving them to discuss blade points and miniature saw skills, I secretly pulled the Tupperware container out of the backpack and went to hide by the tent to stab ten candles into the poor vanilla pony.