Unseen Messages(99)

I didn’t say a word when she returned, face flushed, and breasts swollen in her black bikini top. I pretended I didn’t notice the damp spot on her cotton shorts or the way she washed her hands guiltily in the sea.

I let her believe I didn’t know.

After breakfast of coconuts, a salted fish from yesterday, and some cooked taro, Estelle guided the children to the water’s edge where we’d scratched our messages into the sand.

I took my time, limping after them with the aid of my walking stick.

Estelle might’ve given me the best orgasm of my life last night and removed the annoying splint, but she hadn’t been able to save me from the heart-destroying conclusion.

My ankle hadn’t healed properly.

The ache in my bones hurt every time I put weight on it. An odd bump remained where the joint had broken and I couldn’t deny it anymore.

I could walk, but I might never run.

I could move but not without the aid of a walking stick.

I was a damn invalid and nothing in the world could change that.

Pushing my anger and grief away at never being whole again, I caught up with the others, looking for the messages.

Only...they’d vanished.

The tide had wiped the slate clean, leaving behind a virgin beach with no marks, no terrors, no confessions of any kind.

Pippa turned to me with her forehead scrunched. “Where—where are they?”

I grinned, hiding my depression at my disability and playing up Estelle’s party trick. “It’s magic.”

“No, the tide washed them away.” Conner pouted, clearly unimpressed with the game. Pointing at my leg, he added, “Hey, you removed your brace.”

“Yep.”

That topic wasn’t for young boy’s ears. He could see it was off. End of story.

Estelle flinched. “You’re right, Co. But that’s what the ocean does. It washes away the bad and brings only good.”

“I don’t get it.” Conner squinted in the new sun. Overnight, the drizzle that’d haunted us for days had finally broken; we all slowly thawed out and dried off.

Pippa stuck her thumb in her mouth, something she’d started doing a few weeks ago, reverting to childlike behaviours.

Estelle gathered her close, hugging her tiny head against her side. “It means those fears...they’re gone. Don’t you feel lighter? Knowing that you don’t have to be afraid of sleep anymore?”

She tensed. “I don’t know.”

Estelle looked at Conner. “Don’t you feel better knowing you don’t have to worry about tennis anymore?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

Her eyes landed on mine. “G?”

I waited for her to bring up my leg and recently removed splint, but she surprised me by bringing up my other fear.

“Don’t you feel better knowing whoever you want to apologise to no longer needs to know you’re sorry. That whatever it is that you’ve done has been forgiven?”

I laughed coldly. I couldn’t help it.

If only she knew what I wanted to apologise for...then she wouldn’t be so sure a high tide could fix it.

Her face turned an odd shade of crimson.

Swallowing my morbid chuckle, I nodded. “You’re right. I feel a lot better.”

Not at all. But thanks for trying.

She cocked her chin. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I do feel better.”

The defiant way she held herself sucker punched me in the heart.

“I was afraid I’d lose my voice, lose my ability to write songs, and fail at my love of putting tragedy onto paper. But I don’t have to worry anymore because lyrics are a part of me as much as my heart beats and my blood flows red.”

Wait...write songs?

She was a poet?

A singer?

How did I not bloody know this?

Same reason why she knows nothing of you—you’re a self-centred * who refuses to share.

Pippa slowly smiled, her face filling with awe as she let Estelle’s promise gain power. In her childish, whimsical mind, it was entirely possible for her fears to be swallowed by the ocean, her safety guaranteed by the waves, and her life guarded by merfolk and fantasy.

I was glad. Happy for her. Relieved that her little heart would be lighter.

God knew, she needed it.

The messages in the sand hadn’t done what Estelle had intended, but it taught me something. Her visiting me in the night. Her touch on my body. Her lips on my lips.

She’d shown me what a hypocrite I’d been.

I hurt because she wouldn’t touch me. Wouldn’t let me touch her. I hated that she kept me at arm’s length physically.

But I’d done the same to her. I’d barricaded my emotions. I’d buried my past and locked up my secrets. I’d cut her off emotionally.

My shoulders sagged as an even more heart-destroying conclusion found me.

If I was to earn Estelle’s permission to finally have her, then I had to give something of myself in return. I had to be willing to share.

I had to be willing to let her in.

I had to be willing to let her judge me for herself.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


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E S T E L L E

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Time is measured more than in minutes and hours. Time is more complex than dials on a wall or hands on a clock. Time is contrary.