“Yes.”

  “I’m not going to be home for dinner, so eat without me. I’ll get Claire to pick me up something here.” He sighs through the line. I can tell he’d rather be coming home to eat with us. “All right?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Hot Stuff. Thank you for calling.”

  Placing my phone down, I scoop up the envelope and head towards the walk-in robe. Reaching up to the top shelf, I pull down the box John gave me and place the letter back inside. One day I’ll be ready to read them in their entirety, but not today.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I stare down at the photos of my parents together. They’re a good-looking couple. My fingertip skims over their faces, and the sorrow I was feeling earlier returns. So many lost opportunities.

  Picking up the photo, I clutch it to my chest before closing the box up and sliding it back onto the shelf. Reaching for my photo album that sit alongside the box, I open it to reveal an image of my mother smiling down at the tiny baby clutched in her arms. It’s the first photo of the two of us, taken the day I was born. Carefully, I peel back the clear film and place the photo booth image of my parents beside it. Would Mum be pleased that John and I have found each other? I guess I’ll never know the answer to that question, but I can only hope that she would be.

  Chapter 46

  Brooke

  When the song comes to an end, I turn and face my students. “That’s a wrap for today, girls,” I say, clapping my hands together. “For homework, I want you to work on your turns. We only have a few more weeks to get this perfect.” This is one of my advanced classes, so the routine is complex.

  Over the past few weeks, things have settled down—at home, anyway. The studio is still crazy busy as we get the finishing touches in place for the concert. It’s hard work, but it’s what the students have strived for the entire year: a chance to perform for their family and friends. The end result will be worth it.

  My days have been long, and even more so for Logan. Our time together limited as a result. I still get to see him in the evenings and briefly before work, but he’s been even busier than I am. He’s working on something big that’s taking up all his time, but he assures me things will slow down soon. I hope so because I’ve missed our quality time together.

  With Jill fussing over John like a mother hen, John has regained most of what he lost that night. Although he hasn’t said anything, I think he loves all the attention he gets. It’s the kind of attention I doubt he got from his wife.

  I’m pleased he’s doing well, but he’s already talking about leaving and is shopping around for an apartment. I’m not sure how that makes me feel. Each day we’ve gotten to know each other a little bit more. It’s been nice. Some of my walls are still up, but I’m working on that part.

  This week John started driving again, and today, over breakfast, he offered to pick me up from work. He’s ready to go to the cemetery. I’ve only visited my mother’s grave once since I returned to Sydney, and I’m wracked with guilt regarding it. Even after all these years, going there hasn’t gotten any easier. I always leave feeling a thousand times worse than I did when I arrived. But today, I’m doing this for him. I’m guessing it will be an emotional time for us both.

  After my classes are over, I grab my phone from the dock and scoop up my dance bag, before heading towards the change rooms. Since Chris usually escorts me to and from work, I travel in my dance gear, but today I brought regular clothes to change into.

  When I reach the reception area, I find John already waiting for me. His face lights up when he sees me. I’ve grown fond of that look.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he says as he stands. “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes.” I turn my attention to Laura. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She yawns before focusing back on the computer screen. She looks just as tired and ragged as I feel.

  “I got to watch the last part of your dance routine,” John says, holding the door open for me. “Logan was right, you have a gift.”

  “Thank you. I love what I do.”

  “It shows.”

  We cross the road to where his car is parked and, like Logan, he’s a gentleman, and opens the door for me.

  “Would you mind if we stopped off at a florist? I’d like to get some flowers for my mum.”

  He points to the back seat, where I see a large bunch of yellow roses. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of getting some on the way here.”

  “Yellow roses—”

  “Her favourite,” he says, finishing my sentence.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I use to buy her a bunch every Friday. She loved them.”

  I smile to myself. I’m starting to realise that a lot of things my mum liked are somehow connected to him. Her perfume, the flowers, and the other night, Jill made a lemon meringue pie, which turned out to be John’s favourite dessert of all time. It was also my mother’s.

  Once John’s seated behind the steering wheel, he drapes the seatbelt across his body and clicks it into place. His car reeks of wealth and is a far cry from the bomb my mum used to get around in. Many times, it wouldn’t even start. On more than one occasion, it happened outside my school and I’d have to push her down the hill so she could clutch start it. All the kids would point and laugh, which was humiliating. It wasn’t my fault we were so poor. We were rich with love, but not so much with material things.

  My eyes scan over John’s expensive gold watch. It’s a lot more lavish than the one my mother once gave him. It makes me second-guess the surprise I have for him in my bag. When my gaze moves to his Ralph Lauren polo shirt, designer pants, and tanned Italian leather moccasins that match his belt perfectly, I can’t help but feel a touch of resentment towards him as I compare the different lives we’ve led. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Growing up, most of my clothes came from the op-shop, and it was only on the rare occasions my mum could afford to buy me something new. She always did without to make sure I was taken care of first.

  “I spoke with Logan earlier,” John says, briefly looking over at me before pulling away from the kerb. “He’s working back again tonight.”

  “I know. I was texting with him between classes.”

  “He said he won’t be home until around eight.” I just nod because he told me the same thing. I trust him implicitly, but there’s a small, insecure part of me that worries about the long hours he’s putting in. Jake used to say he was working back too, but he wasn’t. I push those thoughts out of my mind. “I made a dinner reservation for us at this little Italian restaurant on the other side of the city. It’s a place I used to take your mother.” His eyes dart back to me. “I’d love it if you’d join me. Only if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

  “I’d like that,” I say, giving him a small smile.

  “Great.”

  While the rest of the trip is silent, I can’t help feeling more anxious the closer we get to the cemetery. It’s one thing to fall apart when I’m on my own, but something completely different when it happens in front of someone I barely know. I’m hoping I can keep it together today, but only time will tell. Coming here has always been hard for me, which is why I haven’t been in so long.

  “You take a right down here,” I say. “Her grave is towards the back. You should be able to park further down.” When he doesn’t reply, I glance at him. His face is stoic, and he’s clutching the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles have turned white. “Are you okay?”

  “No, not really. I use to daydream about seeing your mother again, and what that would be like. Never did I imagine our reunion would be here … at her gravesite.”

  “I hate coming here,” I admit. “I prefer to focus on the good times before she got sick. This place brings back all the terrible memories.”

  He reaches across the centre console, placing his hand just above my knee. “I’m thankful I have you with me, sweetheart. I only wish I’d been there for you back then.”

  “The day I buried her is a bit of a blur. The doctor gave me some sedatives to take that morning. It was the only way I could’ve gotten through it.”

  I bow my head as shame seeps through me, and his grip on my leg tightens. The night before the burial, there was a viewing. The person who lay in that coffin looked nothing like the woman I’d grown up with. The funeral home had made her up, but she wasn’t one to ever wear makeup. And the awful wig they’d placed on her head was nothing like her real hair. She looked more like an oversized doll than a person. I thought seeing her one last time would help, but instead those images haunt me. Every time I come here, that’s all I see.

  “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that must’ve been for you.”

  He pulls the car over to the side of the road, and I remove my seatbelt. I gaze out the window as I reach for the door handle. She’s only a few rows back. Unlike some of the fancier large headstones around her, I could only afford to get her a small plaque. She deserved better.

  I stand beside the car while John retrieves the flowers from the backseat. When he rounds the vehicle, he reaches for my hand and clutches it in his.

  “You’re shaking,” he says.

  Part of me is having second thoughts about agreeing to this. I hope she’s okay with me bringing him here.

  We cross the lawn in silence, and when my mother’s grave comes into view, my guilt magnifies tenfold. Her once shiny plaque is now covered with dirt and leaves, with weeds growing around the edges.

  I immediately fall to my knees and hastily brush the debris away with my hands.

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Let me do that.” I turn my head to look at him, and when he sees the tears pooling in my eyes, he drapes his arm over my shoulder and pulls my body to his. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  “I should’ve come sooner.”

  “You had your reasons for not coming,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “Your mother was the most forgiving person. She would understand.” His words give some comfort. Releasing me, he starts tearing out the weeds surrounding her plaque. “I have some wet wipes in the glove compartment. Do you want to grab them?”

  “Okay.” I scramble to my feet and jog back to the car.

  When I return a minute later, I find John hunched over with his hands covering his face. There’s no sound coming from him, but I can tell he’s crying by the rise and fall of his shoulders.

  Kneeling, I place the wipes beside me and rub my flattened palm over his back. No words are spoken as I let him grieve for his lost love.

  He eventually removes his hands and turns his face towards me, the sadness in his eye’s breaks my heart.

  “Even after all these years, losing her still hurts. I can’t believe I’ll never see her again.”

  “I can’t either,” I say, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. “She was only forty-three years old when she passed.”

  “Way too young.”

  I pick up the wipes and pull a few out. Big fat tears roll down my cheeks as I clean the inscription. ‘You were loved beyond words, and you’ll be missed beyond measure.’

  When I’m done, John’s fingers lightly caress her name before he places the flowers down beside it.

  “It’s a beautiful inscription,” he says. “Very fitting.”

  “It’s simple, but something from the heart.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  I can see he’s struggling to hold himself together, and strangely enough, I feel closer to him because of it. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who feels her loss so deeply.

  “I have something for you,” I say. “It’s in my bag in the car. Let me go and get it.”

  I’d planned on giving it to him later, but this seems like the perfect moment.

  Reaching out, he helps me to my feet, and I scoop up the wipes as I go.

  He’s still on his knees when I return. His head is bowed, and his hands are clasped together in front of him. I think he’s praying. Is he a religious man? There’s so much I don’t know about him.

  Standing back, I wait until he’s finished before I take a seat beside him and unzip my dance bag. My eyes move down to his watch again. “I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this,” I say, pulling out the small box. “But I had this repaired for you.”

  His bottom lip starts to quiver the moment he opens the lid. “My watch.”

  “It’s working as good as new. I had the glass face and band replaced.”

  “Thank you,” he says, his voice cracking. I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to wear it if he doesn’t want to, but before I get the chance, he removes it from the box and then takes off the expensive gold one he’s wearing. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  He is overcome with emotion as he straps the watch on. “I think I do,” I reply.

  “It means even more to me now than it did the day your mother gave it to me.”

  “I’m glad,” I say, smiling. “I have something else.” I pull out the album.

  “What’s this?” he asks when I pass it to him.

  “Mum made me an album before she passed. It’s full of photos of both of us. A lot of me when I was little and growing up. There are some beautiful ones of her in there too. I had copies of the images made for you.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Bringing his legs out from underneath him, he sits beside me. I smile as his hand gently runs over the cover. The moment he opens the first page and finds the image of my mother holding me just moments after my birth, his hand flies up to cover his mouth as a strangled sob comes from the back of his throat. My own eyes well up as I watch him. “I have no words,” he says, shaking his head. “No words.”

  “It’s a cute place,” I say as John pulls out my chair at the restaurant. We ended up staying at the gravesite for over an hour, going through the album, as I told him stories to accompany the pictures. We had a few laughs and a few more tears. He told me I gave him a glimpse into my past, something he thought he’d never get. It was nice to be able to give him that.

  “It’s changed hands a few times over the years, and while the new owners have put their own stamp on the place, the food’s still delicious.”

  “Good, I’m starved,” I say, reaching for the menu. “You must like it if you still come here.”

  “I’m a creature of habit. A small part of me always hoped I’d run in to your mother here again. She loved this place too.”

  My eyes move around the room, taking it all in. It’s hard to comprehend that over twenty-seven years have passed, and here I am with him, just like my mother once was.

  “So, tell me, how did you get into dancing? From the pictures in the album, you’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  I place the menu on the table to give him my full attention. “Music was always my first love. Miss Jones, the lady who looked after me when my mum was at work, taught me to play the piano.”

  “You play?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you play for me one day?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’d love that, now tell me about the dancing.”

  “A studio opened up down the road from where we lived, and it was the music that first drew me there. I used to hear it playing as I passed by on my way home from school. One day I went inside. That’s when I saw the dancers … I was mesmerised. I went every day for weeks and just sat and watched them. I would go home and practice all the steps I’d memorised. One day the teacher approached me and asked if I’d be interested in taking lessons.” John is smiling as he listens intently. “She gave me a price list and a timetable to give to Mum, but I knew she couldn’t afford it.” I bow my head. “I wanted to dance so badly, but money was always tight.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “I stuffed it into my school bag, and I stopped going there.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching across the table and placing his hand on mine. “I hate that you both had it so tough.”

  We may have been poor, but we were happy enough.

  “A few days later, when I came home from school, I found a pair of ballet shoes sitting at the end of my bed. They were second-hand, but that didn’t bother me. I’d never mentioned anything about the classes to Mum, so I was confused. Turns out, she’d found the price list in my bag, and went down to the studio to make inquiries. When the teacher told her I’d been going in there every day after school to watch, she signed me up for a class. The rest is history.”

  “What a beautiful story.”

  “She didn’t have much, but she always went out of her way to give me everything she could. She was a great mum.”

  “I wish I’d been around to make life easier for you both.”

  “If there’s one thing I learnt growing up, it’s that money doesn’t buy happiness. I went without a lot of things, but I had a good life. If I could change one thing, it would be that Mum didn’t have to work as hard as she did. It was my dream to open up my own studio one day so I could look after her, just like she had done for me for all those years.” I blow out a puff of air, and my voice cracks when I speak again. “I hate that I never got to do that for her.”

  “You have a beautiful heart,” he says, “just like your mother.”

  Chapter 47

  Logan

  When my mobile rings, I turn away from the window in my office and approach the desk. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach when I see Brooke’s name on the screen. I have things I need to discuss with her, but not now, not over the phone. I take a deep breath before answering it.

  “Babe.”

  “Hey, Hot Stuff.”

  “I was just thinking about you.”.

  “I was thinking about you too, hence why I’m calling. I know you’re super busy right now, but I don’t have to be at the studio until two, so I thought maybe we could do lunch … I miss you.”

 

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