I’d used up my civil refinement and had nothing left.
“Mr. Oak. Your son is being held for deportation tomorrow against his wishes. He’s my husband, the father of my child, and I’m Australian, yet they won’t grant him entry based on his criminal past.” A hiccupped sob threatened to derail me. “Please...Galloway told me to call you. That you’d know what to do. That you had paperwork proving he wasn’t what they said he was and would find a way to let him stay.”
For an eternity, no reply.
Then harsh breathing as a man I’d never met teared up.
It seemed tears were in never-ending supply these days.
“Did you say you are his wife? That you have...children together? That he’s alive.”
“Yes, we crashed together. We survived and had a child. A girl. Coconut...long story. And yes. We don’t have the stupid piece of paper sharing last names, but we’re together. We’re married. I love him with everything I have.”
“My son is alive.” A loud sniff. “And he has a family of his own. I don’t know who you are but I adore you already.”
I laughed...such an odd reaction, but somehow, calmness trickled down the line. “So, you’ll help me?”
“Child...I can most definitely help you.” He paused. “First, I need the email or fax number of the bastards holding my son. Second, I’ll need to know everything about where you’ve been and how you survived. And third, I want to meet the woman who has become my daughter-in-law.”
I smiled for the first time in days. “I have the business card of the men who took him. I’ll recite it. But for now...my name is Estelle.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Estelle.”
“You too, Mr. Oak.”
“No. None of that. Call me Mike.” Shuffling sounded followed by a yawn. “Now...give me that bloody email address, and let’s get my son out of jail. Again.”
.............................
I’d done all I could.
I’d given cliff notes on the past three and a half years.
I’d passed on the email address required.
I hung up.
I trusted that Mike Oak would be able to spring his son out of prison for the second time and focused on soothing my neglected daughter.
Coconut took forever to settle. Even a warm bath (which was still a novelty) didn’t work.
She didn’t want her stuffed turtle (courtesy of P&O). She didn’t want cheese (which was her favourite food ever since she’d had it four days ago). And she wanted nothing to do with the sterile, lifeless apartment currently housing us.
It was the opposite of our wild island with it sharp lines and unforgiving edges.
There was no freedom in the white, white walls.
Even I felt claustrophobic and unsettled.
Eventually, I opened the balcony door and exited the twelfth-floor dwelling two streets away from Narrabeen beach where I used to live. Late twilight and people still jogged the sandy shores reminding me this beach wasn’t private. This beach didn’t belong to us. From now on, we would have to share.
I sighed as if my lungs would splatter to the concrete parking lot below.
Coco toddled outside, coming to hold my leg beneath the purple polka-dotted dress the cruise line had given me.
We stood there together, listening.
Just listening.
Breathing.
Thinking.
Finding familiarity in the breeze, in the ocean, in the wideopen space of wildness.
Wave after distant wave, she calmed. Her tiny shoulders relaxed, her face lost its pinched fear, and she lay her head on my thigh, growing drowsy to the sounds of our old home.
I’d always lived near the ocean. Always connected to the watery horizon, never able to be tamed. I would never have guessed that waves would become my heartbeat, my breath, my hope.
I sighed...Pippa, Conner, Galloway...they’d all gone.
I hadn’t been alone in three and a half years.
Once upon a time, I’d savoured silence. I’d hankered for peace. I’d been cruel in protecting ‘me’ time. Even poor Madi was held at arm’s length when life became too noisy. Yet, now...I would’ve given anything for company. I would’ve swum all the way to Fiji if it meant my world returned to the simplistic heaven of before.
Before our bodies ran out of nutrition.
Before death tried to destroy us.
I wanted Conner alive.
I wanted Pippa back.
I wanted Galloway free.
So many wants....and only one would hopefully come true.
But not tonight.
Scooping up my sleep-standing daughter, I pulled the comforter off the bed, spread out two pillows, and lay on the thin carpet.
The hardness was welcome.
The pillows sensational.
We’d eaten, taken the recommended vitamins to boost our depleted systems, and, as I drifted off to sleep, I didn’t notice it had been dark for hours and I hadn’t once turned on a light.
I’d bathed my daughter in the dark.
I’d prepared a meal of cheese and crackers from the fully stocked kitchen by starlight.
I’d lived my life the way I had for almost four years...
In comforting moon-cast shadows.
Chapter Seventy-Three
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G A L L O W A Y
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