Page 139 of Unspoken Words
Ellie said she needed to ‘make things right’ and ‘sort it out’ with Byron. But what did that mean? Did it mean she had to end it between them and pack her things to come back to Melbourne, or did it mean she had to continue to pretend I didn’t exist and beg him for forgiveness, to say yes and marry him after all?
My stomach lurched, and I felt sick. I needed water and air, or better yet, a bottle of Jim Beam and my guitar.
Standing up, I headed to the kitchen, opened the liquor cupboard above the fridge, and pulled down an unopened bottle of Bourbon. I hadn’t drowned my sorrows since Max was born because he was my light when times were dark, and focussing on him and his wellbeing was the perfect distraction.
But not today. Today, there was no distraction, no answer, no ever after. Today, there was only Jim and me.
Filling my glass, I latched onto the bottle and headed outside, taking a seat under the pergola, the sun shining through the clear fibreglass roof, the amber liquid burning just as fierce.
I stretched back and closed my eyes to visions of Ellie and her perfect, angelic smile. She was everything I’d ever wanted and needed. Kind. Funny. Smart. And the way she’d been with Max, how’d she calmed him at the hospital and subsequently calmed me … fuck, she’d make a great mother and wife—a wife to Byron and mother to their kids.
My eyes shot open, and I skolled the contents of my glass, slamming it down and pouring another.
“Fuck that shit,” I said, taking another long drink.
The sound of a bouncing basketball snapped my attention, and I turned toward my neighbour’s house, the orange ball heading in my direction.
“Excuse me, Mr,” a kid called out, his head popping up on the other side of the fence. “Can you please throw my basketball back?”
I looked at it and then at him, memories of Ellie telling me to throw it back to her as vivid as if it were yesterday. “Take the shot,” I heard her say, followed by Aaron. “Yeah, take the shot.”
Blinking, I looked back at the kid.
“My ball, it’s just there.” He pointed at it.
“Sure,” I said, standing up to fetch his ball.
I bent down and picked it up, the feel of leather on my skin no longer painful, and bounced it once, twice, three times before throwing it back.
The kid caught it and smiled. “Thanks.”
“No worries.”
Relief and realisation hit me like a bus, the impact sudden. The ball, holding on and letting go … it was all relevant. Ellie had once said, “What’s gone isn’t gone until you let it slip away”, and she was right;wecontrolled the release—we always do. The choice of what we held tight and what we let slip away was always ours, and I sure as hell wasn’t letting her slip away this time.
Grabbing my phone, I dialled her number and waited for her to answer, but she didn’t. “Stubborn McFucking Stubborn Head,” I seethed, tossing my phone back onto the table.
I looked at my car keys, my fingers trembling as I deliberated driving while calculating what I’d drunk and how quickly. “Shit!” I’d had too much and couldn’t risk getting behind the wheel. I was stupid but not that stupid.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” I roared, taking off down the driveway. I’d run if I had to, even if her parent’s house was a ten-minute drive away.
*
Breathing heavilyand dripping with sweat, I didn’t stop running until I was hunched over at Beth and Roger’s front door, almost too exhausted to knock. But I kept knocking and knocking until my hand hit air when Chris opened the door.
His face blared fury until he looked down and found me nearly dying.
“Where is she?” I panted.
“Not here.”
“What do you mean not here?”
“Exactly what I said. You fucked up and she’s gone.”
He must’ve noticed the sheer look of confusion running off my slick, shiny face.
“The airport.” He glanced at his watch. “Her plane takes off in thirty minutes.”
