Page 85 of The Two Halves of My Heart

I refused to acknowledge the biggest part, though—the part of my soul that missed him.

Rummaging in the old shed, I pulled out my bike. It hadn’t been ridden in years, but it wasn’t too small. The tyres were passable, and I wheeled it around the side of the house before I got on. With considerable effort, I managed to pedal over to Oliver’s. But I didn’t stop at his house. I kept going down the lanes we used to explore as children, past the stream we splashed in and arrived at the gate that acted as the entrance to the field we visited so often. The metal fencing had been replaced since I’d last come here. It was rusty and falling apart then. Now, it looked sturdy and worthy of the job it was given.

Our tree stood tall and proud, forever casting a great shadow over the land around it.

The morning was still, with a light breeze disturbing the grasses around. The birds called to one another, and I watched as they flitted about from branch to branch.

With such happy memories dancing in my head from last night, I felt drawn here—to see what had been so special that it caused me to recollect everything we did together as children through rose-tinted glasses. And looking out at the countryside now, all I saw was beauty. The magic was what we’d created together—it didn’t live in the land, but in us.

“Hey!”

I turned around to see Oliver approaching on his bike.

“What are you doing here?” I interrogated, annoyed that he’d invaded the time I needed to make sense of some of my emotions.

“Same thing as you. Remembering. Plus, I saw a girl on a bike pass our window and was curious. Looks like I was right.”

I turned away and gazed back out at the fields before us. “Why?” I asked. There were a lot of parts to that particular question, but I’d figured he could start with the one he was feeling the most guilt over.

“Why what?” But he didn’t play the game.

“Come on, Oliver. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” I leaned against the gate and looked out over the field, not wanting to give him my eyes.

“I did. But I thought it was for the best.”

“For you. You left for you.” That’s how I remembered it, anyway. The conversation we’d had, the kiss we’d shared, and then just, nothing. The nothing had taken up the space in my heart that once belonged to the love I’d held for Oliver.

He joined me at the gate, and I could feel how close he was.

“No. I left for you and spent the next years regretting that decision. Or rather, attempting to forget you.”

“You can’t come back as if nothing has happened.” I finally turned to face him, needing him to hear this. “I love Maddison.”

“I know. And I’m not here to ask you for anything. But life without you in it became too hard to bear. Regardless of how you feel.”

“Maddison. Have you talked to him? He could do with his big brother.” I thought about what we’d been through—how Maddison had become focused on the more dangerous aspects of his life.

“Because you ended things?” He looked at me expectantly.

“Hey,” I snapped. “You don’t get to come back here and judge like that. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” My anger rose like the tide—quick to wash in and destroy the sandcastles built with joy on the beach.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. But you did end things?” He inched away.

“Yes.” I wasn’t giving him the details he wasn’t entitled too. He’d lost that privilege when he walked out.

“But you still love him?”

“Yes.” My answer was to the point and honest. But I was done with these questions.

I walked to my bike and cycled away. I’d had enough of Oliver. The easy friendship we used to share was rusty from neglect, and I wasn’t ready to work at making it better right now.

“Grace?” Mum called as I opened the back door.

“In the kitchen!”

“You left your phone. It’s been ringing and ringing, so I picked it up. It’s a message about the job.”

All thoughts scattered from my mind, and I grabbed the phone from Mum’s hand. “Which one?” I asked, desperate for it to be from the second company.

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