However, even for our forward preparation, it was water that delayed us.
January was the hottest month.
There was no respite from the humid heat.
Not one raincloud to top up our stores of drinking water.
Not one breath of wind to help guide us.
So even though everything inside said to leave, now, this very moment.
We couldn’t.
We had to wait until we had enough to journey.
We had to wait until death visited one last time.
.............................
FEBRUARY
Coconut turned two.
We didn’t celebrate.
Pippa had turned eleven.
She refused to celebrate.
The hot weather finally turned to showers.
We couldn’t celebrate.
Because although we’d been waiting for the rain to free us, the reality had finally hit home.
We were leaving.
Forever.
However, one of us was going on a much different journey.
An unplanned journey.
A cruise up the River Styx rather than the Pacific Ocean.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
As humans, we abhor death.
We’re taught from birth to fear the unknown, cling to the known, and receive our limited time on earth.
But what if that’s a lie?
What if we should embrace death?
Would we be at peace knowing those that’d left us existed in another dimension? That we weren’t nothing the moment we took our final breath?
Death was my enemy.
But could it ultimately be my friend?
Taken from a carving on the umbrella tree.
...
THREE YEARS, SIX months.
Four deaths.
One birth.
Countless triumphs.
Untold failures.
Forty-two months.
One hundred and eighty-two weeks.
One thousand two hundred and seventy-six days.
And one terrified woman with the feeling of premonition on her shoulders.
Our bodies couldn’t take much more but we were almost there...almost free.
However, everything changed with a splinter and a scream.
Over the years, Galloway had built many things—a firewood storage shed, rain reservoirs, and even an outhouse to keep us private when human nature called. For years, he’d hacked at branches, woven rope, and built with no complications.
So why should the morning of our departure be any different?
I couldn’t explain it.
I woke with terror.
And it only grew worse as more hours passed.
Part of me believed it was because we were leaving today. We were saying goodbye and pushing off into an unknown destiny. But the other part of me believed it was for something else.
Galloway.
I’m worried about him.
I flittered around him while he tightened last-minute strappings and secured extra coconuts into the kayak. I stayed busy (like we all did) to avoid the soul-sucking memories of Conner.
Pippa helped prepare Coco, dressing her in a fresh nappy and forcing the scrambling child into an old t-shirt of hers (Pippa had outgrown most of her things), and we all stopped for lunch in the noonday heat.
Once fish and prawns had been devoured, we returned to our tasks.
Galloway headed into the trees to cut down an extra branch to use as a push-off pole and I went with him to help strip the skinny trunk of twigs and leaves.
Sweat poured down his forehead as he hacked away with our blunt axe. His hollow stomach and pronounced ribs decorated him with shadows with every swing. Finally, the chosen branch snapped, soaring to the ground.
Galloway ducked to catch it.
But yanked his hand away a millisecond later. “Crap.”
“What? What happened?” A dizzy spell caught me as I shot up from my haunches.
Pressing his index to his mouth, he sucked on his injury. “I’m okay, just a splinter.”
My heart rate slowed a little. He’d had countless splinters. They weren’t anything to fear.
“Here, let me help.” Pulling his hand from his mouth, I quickly inspected where the sliver of wood punctured his digit. A small droplet of blood welled beneath his fingernail. “It’s gone into your cuticle.”
Peering closer, I pressed the swollen flesh to make sure the splinter was gone. “I can’t see anything. It must’ve just been a little prick.”
“A little prick?” His lips formed a crescent smile, doing his best at joviality.
Three months was a long time after Conner’s death.
Three months was no time at all.
I laughed quietly, doing my best to meet his effort. “Well, I wouldn’t use the word little when calling your, eh—” My eyes went to his shorts. “I’d call my husband a very well-endowed prick.”
His eyes warmed. “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.”
“What, prick?”
“No.” He chuckled. “Husband.”
“Husband?”
“Yes, wife. Never stop calling me it.”
My heart fluttered. “I won’t.”
Seriousness replaced fake merriment. “I mean it, Estelle. We’re leaving today. Tonight who knows where we’ll be. Tomorrow...we might be alive or dead.”
He cupped my cheek, bringing me forward to kiss. “But no matter where we are, promise me we’ll always be married.”
I grasped his wrist as we kissed softly, then fiercely.