Unseen Messages(197)

“You’re so impatient.” I chuckled. “Three days, woman. We leave in three days.”





Chapter Eighty-Two


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E S T E L L E

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Home is where the heart is.

Home is where the soul is found.

Home is where the good times laugh.

Home is where the hard times heal.

Home is home and there is no place I would rather be.

Lyrics for ‘Home’ Taken from the New Notepad of E.E.

...

ONCE WITHIN A song, a music lover and a broken man found the answer to life itself. They listened, they took note, and they lived happily ever after.

I looked for the messages.

I searched the face of the check-in staff as they handed us our documentation. I tensed going through airport security and flinched as I handed over my newly issued passport to board.

But nothing happened.

No strange occurrences.

No premonitions.

No warnings.

That had been before.

That had been when I was lost.

Before I knew what I needed.

I hadn’t listened to the messages...but then again, maybe I had?

Either way, they led me to the most perfect future I never knew I wanted, and now, we were claiming it without hesitating or wasting a life wondering what could’ve been.

Coco placed her hand on the portal window of the aircraft as the final passenger boarded, the door closed, and we taxied from Sydney airport to the runway.

My stomach tightened, unable to prevent previous memories of turbulence and terror.

This flight would not be easy for me.

But I would endure it because the destination was worth any price I had to pay.

I’d already paid.

Nothing bad would happen.

Please, don’t let anything bad happen.

I wasn’t beyond begging fate to be kind. And I was scared enough to barter for a safe journey.

Madi had been told in a rush of organisation that we were leaving, that she was always welcome, and the moment we’d arranged a satellite phone and internet to be installed on our island, we would stay in touch.

I would sign the offered contract. I would continue to deliver lyrics for pop stars and sing my own creations.

But I would do it from the privacy of our paradise.

She didn’t know if this was a mid-life crisis or a justifiable decision. Either way, all she could do was wave us off with a fond farewell.

As the aircraft engines screamed and we launched from earth to sky, I placed my head on Galloway’s shoulder and sighed.

I wasn’t afraid of crashing.

I wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.

This is right.

This was the only thing we could’ve done.

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Landing in Fiji was unlike any landing I’d had before.

Unlike docking in Sydney after almost four years on a deserted island. Unlike landing on vacation full of happy possibilities and relaxation.

This landing was the landing of my heart and soul. My toes touched tarmac but my soul...it flew free, escaping into the Fijian humidity, rejoicing to finally be back where it belonged.

Galloway took my hand.

A government representative escorted us from the plane and through the terminal. Two airport services guys helped us wheel our four huge suitcases from baggage claim. This time, we’d come prepared. We had medicine, first-aid, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, and a year’s supply of clothes.

We were really doing this.

But we would do it right without the hardship of last time.

“We have the helicopter standing by to take you, Mr. Oak.”

Galloway and I slammed to a halt.

Our voices threaded as one. “No helicopters.”

The guide froze. “Uh...okay.”

“We’ll go by sea.” Galloway strode forward. “Surely, someone with a ferry can take us.”

“It will be a few hours by boat.”

“Don’t care.” Galloway scowled. “A helicopter led us to our home. I don’t want another taking us to a different one.”

We shared a smile as the man rushed ahead to change the plans.

Coco tugged my hand. “Want helico—copter.”

I ducked to her level, brushing unruly curls from her eyes. “Believe me, Coconut, you don’t.”

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The SUV stopped outside the open-air market where run-down buildings and faded shop fronts touted their wares.

We’d gone straight from the airport to the arranged meeting to sign the necessary documents for ownership. Sitting in air-conditioned luxury, we’d been officially welcomed, congratulated on our home, and transferred the funds in exchange for the deed on our island.

Our island.

We own it.

For the next eighty years, at least.

The driver turned to face us, his hand on the wheel. “How long would you like?”

Galloway opened the door, helping Coco and me out. The trailer behind us stored our many suitcases, soon to be filled with a lot more supplies.

“Give us an hour. We’ll be as fast as we can.”

The guide nodded as we shut the door and each took Coco’s hands. We strolled down the middle aisle where sellers sat on their knees offering sugar cane and freshwater mussels.