We’d called Pippa the day before we left and told her we were returning. She didn’t sound surprised. If anything, she’d expected such a call.
She’d regaled her adventures of the past few weeks, her room at her grandmothers, her first day back at school. She sounded centred and calm. However, her parting words had destroyed me: “Say hello to my brother for me.”
Coco wrapped her small arms around my neck as I plucked her from Galloway’s grasp. The moment he was free, he leapt over the side and cannonballed beside me.
The spray went everywhere.
“Down. Down.” Coco kicked.
The water was too deep for her to stand, but she could swim before she could walk. She was a Fijian water nymph.
Plopping her (clothing and all) into the turquoise bay, she giggled and ducked under, half-doggy paddling, half breast stroking toward the shore. Galloway suddenly scooped me into his arms. Saltwater rained from my toes.
“What are you doing?” I laughed.
“Walking you over the threshold, of course.”
“That’s very nice of you. However, I do believe we’re past that in our marriage.”
“Never past romance, Estelle.”
We shared a kiss.
“Never change, G,” I murmured against his lips.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Well, perhaps...you could change one thing.”
His eyebrow rose. “Oh?”
“You could grow your beard and hair again. I rather miss seeing you all wild and savage.”
Ever since we’d returned to Sydney, he’d kept his hair cut to his nape and his stubble no longer than a few days’ growth.
He was handsome no matter what, but there was something undeniably sexy being rugged and untamed.
“I guess that can be arranged.”
I kissed his cheek. “I’m the luckiest wife alive.”
“Damn right you are.”
I giggled under my breath. “Has your ego inflated?”
“Not at all. Just stating facts. Because I happen to be the luckiest husband in the world.”
“That’s way too cheesy.”
“Do you care?”
As Galloway marched toward the shore, chasing our swimming daughter, I laughed. “Not in the slightest. I love you. Cheesiness and all.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I pinched him. “Come on. I always say nice things.”
His eyes glowed with love. “I’m gonna say nice things to you the moment we’re alone.”
My core clenched as the tide relinquished us to dry land.
Coco bolted up the beach, dripping wet, toward the bamboo home we’d created. Wrenching open the rickety door on hinges made of flax string, she vanished inside and came out with her carved voodoo doll from Conner. “Co’s doll!”
My heart burst.
This.
This was what life was about.
Family and connection and memories.
Thank God we’d learned that lesson while we were young enough to enjoy it.
From disaster to serendipity.
Life was a journey and no one (no matter how wishful, bossy, or opinionated) could change the destination.
That was fate’s job.
Our job was to stop fighting.
Because only then could we find true happiness.
.............................
“Wrong, suckers. I’m her favourite person. Didn’t you hear her? She obviously said Co...that’s me.”
Tears trickled down my face as the video summoned Conner from the dead.
“He was so full of himself that night,” G murmured, tucking me tighter against him as we lay in the dark. “So cocky and proud.”
“He’d earned it. He was her first word.”
We’d been back on our island only a few hours. We’d unloaded our cargo, said goodbye to the crew, and arranged a pick-up time in a few days to return to Nadi to buy a speedboat of our own.
As the sun set on our first day, we’d enjoyed a simple dinner of fish and coconuts, returning to our tasks as easy as if we’d been born to it. We didn’t touch the canned goods or packaged produce. We didn’t drink the variety of juices or fresh water. And we didn’t crank up the generator to cast away the moon-tinged darkness as it fell.
It’d taken us months to get used to modern conveniences.
And only hours to relax into primitiveness.
Coco had stitched my heart with love as she’d squeezed me so tight before bed. Her body trembled with excitement at returning where she’d been raised, back in the sea where she’d been born, back where she belonged.
Now, the island was quiet.
And Galloway and I had finally gathered the courage to open the carved wooden box and say hello to my bracelets, passport, and unfixable cell-phone. Amongst our left-behind belongings were Mr. Whisker Wood (Pippa’s carved cat), and my birthday heart from Galloway.
I hated that we’d left them alone.
But now we were back, and I’d never take such things for granted again.
Together, we’d inserted the memory card with so much precious reminiscing into the new waterproof device we’d brought with us.
The first video had ruined us.
The second had decimated us.
But as we spent the night welcoming ghosts into our heart, we shed sadness in favour of thankfulness for such precious playbacks.