Looking over at Addy, I gave her a genuine smile. “It was like I was born to be a mother, even as young as I was and without my parent’s support, being Dean’s mother topped everything.”
“I went home to the beach house after they released me from the hospital and started a life with my son. And for three months it was perfect, just the two of us. He looked at me like I was the most important person in his life and I felt the same for him. I loved him with every breath, and he was my world. Then the day after my eighteenth birthday, I woke up one morning in a panic. My breasts felt hard and heavy and there was a wet patch on the sheets. That was when I realised Dean hadn’t woken for his feed in the night and I had not woken up.”
“I jumped out of bed and raced to the side of the room where his bassinet was and—”
“SIDS,” Addy whispered. Not asking, just knowing instinctively.
“Yes,” I hissed, my voice shuddering. Every year I give to the charity involved in raising money for research into the death of infants, every year I put a red nose on the front of my car, and every year it didn’t get easier to think of my son on his birthday, or on the anniversary of his death. This doesn’t make my birthday much of a celebration, which is only a month away—the first birthday with Rafe in my life.
I knew I had to tell him about Dean, it wasn’t as if I was deliberately keeping it from him. We were friends and friends shared; maybe subconsciously, I was waiting for him to open up to me before telling him.
“The housekeeper heard my screams, and she was the one who called the authorities and my parents. She had been the one to sit with me for hours while I held my baby in my arms, listened to my pathetic sobs, begging my baby to open his eyes, and she had been the only one to stand by my side when my son’s coffin was placed into the ground.”
“Your parents?”
“Didn’t come,” I affirmed bitterly, “they said it was just another thing I couldn’t do right. They never even met their grandson; they sent a bunch of flowers to acknowledge his birth. Just a whole lot of nothing.” Angrily, I wiped away the tears from my cheeks, thinking about my cold-hearted parents pissed me off. The aftermath of Dean’s death proving to me my parents only thought of themselves and their reputation in the community. But the final straw came when I sent Darren a letter telling him about our son, including a few photos of him and one special one of him sleeping peacefully forever in my arms. The letter came back to me unopened, with a handwritten warning on the back.
Do not contact me ever again.
So I didn’t. I moved out of the beach house, went to my family home, packed up all my belongings, and then moved to Ballarat. I applied to Uni, studied veterinary nursing and here I was. Seven years of healing and yet the memory still hit me in the heart, my beautiful Dean, then the horrible memories of Darren and my parents.
“Do they live local?” Addy asked.
“Nope, they sold the place in Torquey and Melbourne and moved to the Sunshine Coast. Darren’s parents followed a few years later. Last I heard they lived a few houses down from one another and jointly entertain all the rich people in their circle. Perfect lives.”
“And Darren? I gather he knows about Dean now?”
“I guess so,” I shrugged, “I mean I assume he does. I got his English address from one of his mates, explained why I needed it. One of them must have let him know if his parents didn’t.” Quite frankly, I didn’t care if Darren knew or not. I only wrote and told him because of a moment of pure loneliness and sadness.
“To be honest, I am glad he didn’t open the letter. He lost all rights to know anything about Dean the day he walked away from us. I got the photos back, one of them was of Dean’s first smile. He had no right to see that beautiful moment, the arrogant prick.”
To this day, I still berated myself for being so weak and sending word to Darren. He didn’t care, not when I fell pregnant and not when our son died.
“You know what we need, Pey?” Addy asked loudly, getting up from her chair with deliberate purpose.
“What?” Copying her, I got to my feet, looked at her and waited.
“A KitKat! Nothing helps you more than a chocolate and thin wafer biscuit, plain or gooey caramel, it doesn’t matter. A Kit Kat fixes everything.”
A burst of laughter erupted from my lips, Addy’s silly proclamation doing its job. The cloud of melancholy lifting, just like my cagey boss intended.
Wrapping an arm over Addy’s shoulder, we walked to the door.
“Kit Kats are yum, but I bet I can think of something much yummier.”
“Sexy snipers don’t count, not when it comes to chocolate,” Addy laughed, “but they come a close second.”
Laughing along with my friend and boss, I let myself forget my misery over my son and Rafe. There was no use worrying about where Rafe went off to; if he wanted me to know, he would have told me.
CHAPTER FIVE
RAFE
“Rafferty, how are you?” My former father-in-law asked me in a tight voice.
When I visited Angie, I made sure to avoid the part of town where her parents lived, mainly for the sake of my sanity and because they never missed an opportunity to give me shit over something I had no power over stopping.
“Arthur, Hilary.” I nodded politely, then hurried to the door of the respite home, eager to get back to the car park.
“You know what tomorrow is, don’t you?” Arthur stopped me mid-step with his question.
Sighing, I dropped my hand from the door handle and turned around slowly.
Of course, I fucking know what tomorrow is dickhead.
“Yes Arthur, I know. That’s why I am here today, I won’t be able to make it tomorrow. I only just got back in the country, and in a few days, I have to be at the base for a special training exercise.” Answering politely rather than the way I wanted to.
“But you can’t miss it, Rafferty!” Hilary gasped in horror, “We have cake and some very special gifts for her.”
Cake and gifts! Are these people completely delusional?
“Hilary, she is in a coma, for fuck’s sake! She can’t eat cake, let alone unwrap presents. Jesus Christ, you two need to be thinking about what the doctors asked you the last time I was here, not planning a party for someone who has no chance of ever waking up!” My outburst caught the attention of one security guard and a doctor standing at the front desk. Not that I gave a flying fuck, Angie’s parents had to get on board with the facts and let me get on with living my fucking life.
“Do not speak that way about our daughter, Rafferty,” Arthur gritted out. “Have some respect for your wife.”
“Ex-wife Arthur. I signed the papers and so did she. They were lodged and stamped, and it is legal and binding. This bid you have going to keep me in Angie’s life is getting thin, and I had no part in her drinking that night. I was overseas fighting for our country when she hit that tree, mate.” Even as the words tumbled out of my mouth, the stifling and unfair responsibility gripped me by the throat. I not only signed the papers, but I hung up on her when she called to beg me to reconsider. Her anguished pleas to work things out kept me up at night, the coldness in my tone when I refused her request. I was an arsehole and was paying the price, no matter how much I wanted to be free from my punishment.