Page 96 of Indigo

“You know, people say it gets easier, but I call bullshit,” a voice says, making me jump a little and turn my head. I smile when I see Mrs Neil standing not far behind me, a blanket in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. She walks over to me and continues. “When my husband died, I thought my heart was physically broken. The pain, the grief, Jesus, it was unbearable. I wanted to crawl into a ball and die.” She rounds the bench, and instead of moving Mum’s cup, she sits on the edge, leaving it between us. “It doesn’t feel any easier today than it did then. But I’m happy.”

She shakes her head, spreads the blanket on her lap and offers me the other half. I take it, placing my feet back on the ground, and pulling it over my knees.

“Never thought I’d be able to feel happy without him, but I do, most of the time. I know he’s out there,” she whispers, nodding to our view of the ocean. “He’s watching me, cheering me on. And I’ll see him again when it’s time.”

I smile, unsure what to say, but finding her words comforting, nonetheless.

“I know you’re suffering, Indie.” I go to protest, but she shakes her head, and I pause. “I can see it in your eyes. But we can handle far more than we think in this life, and I promise you, you’ve got a village around you to help when you need it.”

“I know,” I croak.

“Good,” she replies matter-of-factly, unscrewing the lid from the tequila bottle she had resting in her lap.

She takes a sip, grimaces, and then passes the bottle to me. I take it, chuckling as I do, and look down at it.

“Today,” Mrs Neil says, placing her hand on my knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We drink to the future, and to the memories that will get us through whatever life throws at us going forward.”

I nod, and look out at the water, watching it ebb and flow, and feel a sense of peace settle over my heart. I can do this. She raised me to be strong. She taught me to be brave, and now I have to be.

“To you,” I whisper, my eyes fixed on the water, her face flashing in my mind as I raise the bottle to my lips and take a sip.

“Another,” Mrs Neil encourages, making herself more comfortable on the bench, and letting out a happy sigh, watching the sun disappear into the water.

And there we sat, the two of us, for what felt like hours.

Remembering.

-33-

PAXTON

“ALRIGHT, SO YOU'RE GOINGto take her for lunch, and then you want the fairy lights set up at the jetty along with the donuts and coffee for about 5’o’clock, yeah?” Jagger asks through the phone as I climb out of the car, holding it to my ear with my shoulder.

“Yep. Perfect. Thanks, mate.”

The pebbles crunch under my feet as I walk down the driveway toward Indie’s front door. We’ve been staying back here for a couple weeks, and I can tell it’s bringing her down, so I figured a date couldn’t hurt.

Jagger’s been enjoying my absence more than he’ll admit. Me not being home means that he and Matt get free rein of the house, and seeing as they still haven’t figured out what they want to do regarding their own place, basically living together in ours is an excellent compromise for now.

I note the browning edges of the lawn as I step onto the first step of the porch and frown. “Better give it a good watering tomorrow.”

“Hmmm?” Jagger asks, still on the line.

“Oh, nothing. Lawns dying, just thinking aloud. Anyway, yeah, if you could set that up for me, I’ll owe you one, yeah?”

“On it,” he replies before hanging up.

Sliding my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I push open the front door, and I’m met with silence.

“Blue,” I sing-song, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of spending a day out with her.

Closing the door quietly behind me, I venture in further, in search of my girl.

She’s made such amazing progress. Even though I can tell her grief still weighs her down, she’s working really hard to keep pushing on and enjoying the little things going on around her rather than dwelling on Lana’s death.

I hear her clear her throat softly as I reach the doorway to the kitchen and watch as she leans against the counter, bracing herself with her hands flat on the wooden surface. Her back is to me, and she takes a deep breath, clearly not having heard me approach. I watch as her shoulders rise and fall, and as she uses the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her face as if trying to clear tears before I can see them.

“In the kitchen,” she calls out, her voice sounding a lot stronger than what she looks right now.

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