The Wedding Dress, page 19
They drove down the road in the pouring rain and ran into a small Italian restaurant, only getting mildly damp in the process.
An older couple sat at a table for four by the window. There was no one else in the restaurant apart from the staff. Milly felt wildly shy, as though she wouldn’t be able to say a word. She didn’t know how to speak to parents. She desperately wanted them to like her, but what if they didn’t? Would Callum break off the engagement? She had to make a good impression.
“Mum, Dad, this is Milly. Milly, these are my parents, Frank and Gwen.”
The couple stood, smiling, and shook hands with her. The man had short grey hair and a matching beard. His blue eyes twinkled as he spoke. “It’s so nice to meet you. Callum never stops talking about you.”
His wife playfully slapped his arm. “Now, don’t go scaring the girl. I’m so glad you’re here, Milly. I’ve been outnumbered for years. Now you can be on my side.” She had short dark hair with sprinkles of silver, and her brown eyes were dark and warm as she embraced Milly.
“Thank you. I’m glad to meet you.”
“Guess what?” Callum said, his voice cracking.
“What?” Frank asked.
“We’re engaged!”
Frank gaped. Gwen laughed and immediately got up to embrace her son and Milly, in turn. Then Frank followed suite, with a more subdued but still happy manner. They talked and laughed, Gwen cried happy tears and kept reaching out to squeeze Milly’s hand. At first Milly felt awkward and unsure of how to act or what to say, but she soon relaxed as the older couple made her feel like part of their family.
Chapter Thirty
Milly had been walking on clouds ever since the proposal the previous week. She’d had a good week at work, showing everyone her ring every chance she got. It all seemed like a dream. She’d had no hope for her life or future after her accident, and now everything had turned around. And much of that was due to two people—Hannah and Callum. She could never repay Hannah for what she’d done, since Hannah was gone. But she could reach out to Greg and the rest of her family.
She called him. He said he was close by and would stop in for a cup of tea if she was amenable. While she waited, she put tea leaves in her favourite floral china pot and opened a packet of Monte Carlo biscuits.
When Greg arrived, they sat out on the porch to watch the sunset light up the sky in shades of pink and purple.
“What a beautiful evening,” Greg said before taking a bite of the oval-shaped biscuit.
“I wanted to tell you some news,” Milly began. She held out her hand. “I’m engaged. Callum asked me to marry him.”
“That’s wonderful!” Greg exclaimed, examining her ring. “How beautiful. I’m so happy for you. He seems like a lovely young man.”
“He is,” she replied. “He’s more than that. I don’t know how to describe him, but he’s changed my life. I didn’t know what love was before I met him, and now I have a reason to get up each morning. It’s because of him that I’m doing so well.”
“That’s great,” Greg replied. “Good for you. I know Hannah would’ve been so happy.”
They chatted about her work and his boat. He and Joan were taking a three-day boat trip out to Morton Island the following weekend, and they’d been planning their menu.
“We like to eat well while we’re out. It’s one of the great pleasures of our lives.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“You and Callum should come out with us sometime. We have enough room for four. And we could swim with the dolphins over on the island. It’s a pretty spectacular experience.”
“I don’t know. I think I would be too scared to swim with them. But I’d love to see them.”
“They are pretty big. It can be intimidating.”
“I like the idea, though. A trip would be nice.” Getting away, out on the water, was very appealing to her after the difficulty of the past year.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m proud of how well you’re doing. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve really worked hard to get to a place where you’re thriving. I know Hannah would be glad to see how much you appreciate and care for her home.”
“I’m beyond grateful that she gave it to me.” Milly shook her head. “It’s still hard for me to comprehend that it’s mine, but I’m getting there.”
Greg smiled. “I’m glad to hear it because I’ve been hesitant to get back to you with that information we discussed. I see how well you’re doing, and I don’t want anything to derail that.”
“You mean, about my parents?”
He nodded gravely. “That’s right. Whatever I tell you, good or bad, might shake you up a bit. And you’ve only recently gotten back on your feet — literally and figuratively. I don’t want to disrupt your progress. Maybe we should put it on hold and see how you go.”
Milly considered his words with a frown. “I understand what you’re saying, and I don’t want to derail my progress either. But if you’re able to tell me who my parents were and why they gave me up, I need to know.”
Greg cleared his throat and took off his glasses. He shined the glasses with the hem of his shirt and then pushed them back onto the bridge of his nose.
Milly waited impatiently, one foot tapping out a rhythm on the timber floor.
“I spoke with your mother, and she gave me permission to tell you what I know.”
“Okay.” She stilled her foot, listening intently. It was as if everything in the world had fallen silent all at once. The birds were quiet, the cicadas had stopped their chirruping, the ocean was still… All of creation waited breathlessly with her.
“Your mother lives in Toowoomba. And your father is deceased.”
The news hit her in the stomach like a mallet. Her father was dead? She hadn’t expected that—hadn’t really thought it through. Of course, it made sense. But still, it was a shock that took the wind right out of her lungs. She blinked, feeling her head go light and dizzy. “He’s dead?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I know that’s a lot to take in.”
“It’s fine—I didn’t know him. I should’ve assumed one or both of them were gone. It makes sense. But still, I didn’t really consider that option. I’ve been so mad at him for so long… And now I have no reason to be. He’s not here.” All the anger that had built up inside her all those years suddenly dissipated until it was a vapour that was gone in a moment.
“Do you want to know their names? Or is that enough for now?” He was worried about her. She could see it in his eyes.
“I want to know. Tell me everything you can.” She swallowed and blinked a few times to clear her vision.
“Your parents are Bronte Harris and Flynn Wilson.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Bronte and Flynn were her parents. And from what Greg had told her after that revelation, Bronte was his and Hannah’s niece. According to Greg, they had been close when Bronte was young and Hannah felt very protective of her. The only thing that mattered was that she’d had a mother and father who’d loved her. And Greg assured her of that repeatedly. They’d loved her very much and had never intended to give her up.
Milly lay on her bed, staring at the fan overhead as it whirred slowly around and around. How had she missed that? She hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might’ve been related to the authors of the letters she’d been savouring for months now. It made sense that Hannah had kept them all these years.
She didn’t feel much of anything, still in shock over the revelation. She kept repeating the words over in her head… They’re my parents. They’re my parents.
And Flynn was gone. She didn’t know how he’d died. After Greg shared the news about their names with her and told her how they were related and where the letters and dress had come from, she couldn’t think clearly to ask questions. He’d given her an awkward embrace and then left her alone to work out her thoughts in privacy.
Now that he was gone, all of those questions bubbled to the surface one by one.
Where was her mother?
How had her father died?
What had gone wrong?
So many questions, but with no answers. There were five letters left. She’d them hidden safely away, as she’d promised Jonquil and Emily. She’d been so concerned that the story would turn out badly that she hadn’t wanted to face them yet. She jolted upright, scanning the room for where she’d left them. In the kitchen. Secure in the bottom drawer beside a stack of bills to pay.
She scurried out to the kitchen, grabbed the two letters, carried them against her chest back to her bedroom and flung herself down on the bed.
With knees raised and heart pounding, she held them to herself for a moment, then carefully extracted one from the envelope. This time, it wasn’t a letter, but a series of emails that’d been printed and folded into the envelope. The envelope itself was blank.
Dear Mum,
* * *
You haven’t returned any of my letters, but I’m going to keep writing to you hoping that someday you might come around. It breaks my heart that you’re not interested in meeting your brand-new granddaughter. But I’m going to tell you about her anyway. She’s perfect and the sweetest little thing. If only she would sleep more, I’d be completely content.
It’s hard to believe I’m a mother. I’m eighteen, and I’ve got an entire human being to care for. It’s a lot for me to manage. Sometimes I wish I could go back to being a carefree teenager in love, without all of the responsibility. And when Flynn comes home and snaps at me because he’s exhausted, it’s all too much.
But then we sit outside together and rock the baby in the bouncer. And she coos and gahs, and we’re in love with her and each other all over again, and everything in the world is perfect.
I know he’s resentful that he didn’t get to finish his degree and get a good job. The job at the store is fine—it pays the bills, just. But he wanted more. I hope he’ll get it someday. Right now, there’s nothing I can do other than raise this baby. She takes up every single spare moment of my day. And when she sleeps, I have so many chores to do around the house that I’m utterly exhausted. I’m not used to having no time to myself.
We’ve had some bad news. Flynn’s mum has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t even know what that was, so I had to look it up. But it’s bad, and it’s made Flynn even more stressed than he already was. I’m worried she won’t make it. She’s been the only one who gave me any kind of support or encouragement. She helps me with the baby. Gives me advice. But now she’s too tired and has too many appointments, so I’m on my own.
I hope you and Dad are well. Six months with a baby and I feel as though I’m only just emerging from the blur of feeding, changing, sleeping on repeat. She’s getting teeth, and she’s eating solids, at least a little bit. Mostly just banana and avocado mashed together right now—she loves it. But she makes such a mess when she eats, I sometimes take her outside so she can throw it everywhere while I do some gardening.
I’m trying to supplement Flynn’s income by growing our own vegetables, but it’s harder than I thought it would be. Everything dies, and there’s not enough water — we’re being told to ration it due to the drought. Never mind, I’m sure I’ll figure it out if I keep trying.
I’d love to hear from you.
Your daughter,
Bronte
Hi Dad,
* * *
I think the white casket would be best for Mum. She would’ve liked lilies, too. At least I think so. I should’ve asked her about things like that when I had the chance, I guess. And she loved the Carpenters, so the music should be by them. I don’t know what else to suggest.
I’m going to put together some photos when I get home from work. I’m so tired, I’ll probably fall asleep at the keyboard. Milly has been teething, so we’re not getting much sleep. (How long does this teething thing last? She’s one!) Plus, all I can think about is Mum’s face when she passed. I can’t get the image out of my head. I want to remember her as she was before she got sick.
Anyway, I know I’m probably too late sending you this. Sorry, I’ve just had so much on my plate. I’ll come over later and help you out as much as I can.
Cheers, Flynn
Dear Mum,
* * *
The funeral was lovely. It was hard to say goodbye for all of us, but especially Flynn. He’s not himself at the moment. I don’t know how to get through to him. He says he’ll be fine, but he’s got this hard shell around himself emotionally, and I can’t reach him. It won’t last, I’m sure. He’ll come through it. But until then, it’s difficult because I don’t have anyone else.
You’d be proud of me — I joined a mothers’ group in town. I haven’t exactly made friends yet because it’s only been two weeks, but I’m confident I will. The other women in the group all come from local families, so they see me as a bit of an outsider, I think. But I’ve always been good at making friends, so hopefully I’ll find a way to wear them down.
Flynn’s dad just sits on the porch staring into the distance. We go over there every night to make him eat and to tidy up a bit. Milly sits on his knee and cuddles him. She seems to understand that something’s wrong. She’s the only one who can pull him out of his funk, but it doesn’t last. I’m worried about him. So is Flynn, but we don’t know what to do. Flynn says he’s going to talk to his uncle. Hopefully he will know how to handle things better than us. We’ve been thrown into adulthood at a very rapid pace, and sometimes it’s all a bit much for us both.
Hoping to hear from you.
Love, Bronte
Dear Mum,
* * *
Milly is three. The time has flown by, and I can’t believe how big she’s gotten. Life is a lot easier. She’s sleeping well and can turn the TV on for herself when she wakes up in the morning. She’s potty trained and eating better, although sometimes I wonder how she’s surviving on only the air she breathes and bottles of milk. The doctor says she’s healthy and not to worry, but it’s hard not to be a worrywart. I’m a young mum, so there’s a lot of judgement, even from my friends in the mothers’ group who are all closer to thirty years old.
I heard from a friend that you and Dad have moved to the UK for his work. Congratulations to him. I’m just a little sad that you didn’t think to tell me, your only daughter, that you no longer live in the same country as me. I’ve been writing to you for three years, and yet I haven’t heard from you in such a long time. I suppose I should give up, although it gives me a chance to feel as though I’m talking to my mother about the things that are on my mind. I don’t even know where to send this email — maybe you’re not getting my messages. Is this still your address? The next time, I’ll send you a letter to your old address instead, and perhaps you’ll have your mail forwarded?
Flynn has been offered a job in Brisbane. We’re finally moving back to the city. I’m looking forward to it. And he says he’ll try to go back to uni part-time. They’ve asked him to manage one of their city stores, and he’s really excited about it. I’m happy for him, but I hope I’ll also get a chance to study again. Although I doubt it, since with him managing a store and attending classes, I won’t see much of him. Anyway, I’m going to stay positive because at least I’ll be able to catch up with all my old friends. That’s something to look forward to. And next year, Milly will go to kindy, so perhaps I can enrol to study nursing then.
I’ll write again in a few months. I miss you and Dad. I wish you’d write back.
Love, Bronte
Dear Mum and Dad,
* * *
I’m writing this letter since I’m not sure you’ve been receiving my emails and I don’t know what to do. I’m all alone in the world. It’s hard to say the words, but it’s true. Apart from Milly, I have no one.
You’re in the UK, so maybe you don’t know this, but we’ve had a horrible drought here for the past three years. And a few weeks ago, there was a bushfire near our farm. We were packing up to move back to Brisbane, excited to start our new life in the city together, when Flynn’s dad called to say that the fire was headed our way.
I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. But Flynn said I should stay put and they’d make sure Milly and I were safe. I told him to be careful and gave him a kiss, and I never saw him again.
They tell me that he and his dad died of smoke inhalation when the fire broke through the line they’d ploughed in the back field. I could see it coming, and I panicked. I put Milly in the car, and I drove away. I didn’t stay like Flynn said I should. And they tell me that’s just as well, since his dad’s house and our cottage were both burned to the ground. We lost everything. And I lost my family.
Milly’s not here. They’ve taken her away. They said they found her walking barefoot on the highway with the fire approaching, and I was nowhere in sight. I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember. All I know is that I put her in the car and we left, but then I couldn’t find a way past the fire. Everywhere I turned, there was smoke and I didn’t know which way to go.
After that, I recall waking up in the hospital. They’ve kept me here for weeks. I’m told that Milly is with a foster family and that she’s happy. I think it’s for the best. I don’t know how to keep living. They say I’m a danger to myself and others, but I don’t know if that’s true. I only know that all I want to do is sleep.
I wish you were here to help me.
This wasn’t how my life was supposed to go.
I won’t write again. This is the last letter. I thought you should know. But I don’t want to keep trying any longer. You gave up on me years ago. This is me giving up on you.
Bronte
Milly put both letters on the bed and let out a sob. Then she cried hard, her body racked with each sob as it became louder and louder. It all made sense — the dreams, the sense of abandonment. Bronte had been through so much and had tried so hard to pull her life together around her. Flynn had sacrificed everything for the small family. And they’d both lost it all.
