THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(16)

She haunted my dreams. That made it sound romantic, like something out of a Bronte novel, but the truth was much less glamorous. I woke up in a cold sweat sometimes. I couldn’t breathe. I could see her face as clearly as if she were standing right in front of me. I tried to avoid the truth for a long time, because I was afraid. But I couldn’t avoid it anymore. I could feel it growing inside of me, gaining momentum.

An overwhelming sense of emptiness, eating away, hollowing me out.

Her memory was fading.

In hindsight, for what felt like a nano-second, everything was perfect. And then she was gone, and I was here. In my own private hell, the dark hallway stretching out in front of me indefinitely.

Standing at the kitchen sink, staring out over the harbour, I could see the two of us, sitting down on the jetty in the moonlight. I felt her warm breath in my ear as she whispered something to me, sending a shiver down my spine now, just as it used to then.

I watched the lights on the bridge twinkle in the darkness, reflected in the water below. It was a million-dollar view, even if the house itself was little more than a basic two-bedroom, white weatherboard cottage. The lawn swept down into the river, with a small jetty just big enough to launch a kayak off, jutting out into the water. The huge Pohutukawa tree in the middle of the lawn threw a giant shadow over the area, illuminated in the moonlight.

It had been our hideaway, our little slice of paradise. Our sanctuary from the world. Perfect. Ours.

But now she was gone, and it was just me. I never felt enough. I felt as if part of me was missing, as if I was waiting for something. Which, of course, I was.

And then there was Maia – showing up, today of all days, out of the blue. I’d never had a reaction like I did when I met her, not even with Em. It scared the shit out of me. I’d always assumed that Em was the love of my life, my soul-mate. We seemed to fit. We understood each other. We had a connection.

So what the hell did this all mean?

Jesus, my head hurt.

I came crashing down from dreamland, straight back through the clouds to reality, landing with a bump that jarred my bones.

I knew what I had to do. Self-discipline be damned. I needed this.

I turned away from the window and headed for the guest bedroom, flipping on the light. I stared at the wardrobe door like it was the gateway to Narnia. In a way, I guess it was.

I opened the door slowly, watching as the shadows inside were chased away by the light, revealing its precious contents. Em’s backpack, slouching in the bottom of the wardrobe, brand new, never used.

Just do it. Do it and get it over with.

I always felt guilty. As if I were letting everyone down by looking back. As if I were letting myself down.

I lifted the backpack, reaching for the cardboard box underneath it. She deserved more. She deserved more than a shitty cardboard box, but it was all I had.

I hunkered down on my hands and knees, one hand on the box, afraid to lift it, afraid to commit myself. Her shoes were lined up neatly along the bottom of the wardrobe, her clothes hanging casually above, as if she might come back one day and need them. It was the only concession I could live with. I couldn’t get rid of them, but moving them out of the main wardrobe and in here seemed like progress, somehow. And it got everyone off my back. As if moving her belongings out of our house would remove her from my heart, somehow, and make it all hurt less. The idea was ridiculous.

I picked up the box and sat back on the floor with my back against the bed. Slowly, I opened it. Emily’s face stared back at me – not the widely-circulated photo that I saw at the police station every Tuesday, but the real Emily, the one I fell in love with. Her eyes shone out at me, open and welcoming. Loving. She was beaming at me, the dimples in her cheeks deep and precious. I ached to run my fingers over them once again, to make her giggle and squirm as my fingertips glided across her skin. What I wouldn’t give to walk into our bedroom right now and see her lying in our bed, waiting for me.

I was a black hole, a star frozen at the point of collapse. I couldn’t go back, yet I couldn’t seem to move on, either.

Beneath the photos lay two unused airline tickets and her passport. Tickets to another life, another adventure, but ultimately not the one destiny had chosen for us. How very different things would have been if we’d been given the chance to use them. Where would we be now, if she was still here?

“Happy birthday,” I whispered.

The words hung in the air around me, as if waiting for a response, before the silence finally gathered them up.

Guilt rose up from the depths of my soul. Too drunk and too weak to fight it off this time, I let it come.