BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

‘You don’t know the half of it. I obsess over spades. And compost. This way. Over here.’ Yara’s cherry blossom was only about six feet high and the tiny, tucked-up buds were a long way from flowering. ‘It doesn’t look much today,’ I said. ‘But by mid-May it’ll be’—I waved my arms for emphasis—‘this riot of pink petals, they look like confetti, it’s so pretty, it’s so her.’

‘I’ll have to come back,’ he joked.

Then he went silent and I let him have his moment. There was a stillness to his focus and a slight twitch to his lips—was he praying? Because I’d noticed, amongst the other hardware around his neck, a tiny silver cross on a thin silver chain.

He’d always had tendencies that way—it looked like they’d got stronger?

He noticed my scrutiny and, slightly embarrassed, he laughed. ‘Whatever gets you through.’

‘Hah!’ I said. ‘I’m hardly one to judge.’

‘Even without the—what did you call it? The “riot of pink confetti petals”?—it’s a beautiful tree.’

‘I’m so glad you said that!’ His approval mattered. ‘It helps me. Seeing that, in a way, she lives on, as something beautiful.’

Out of nowhere, a blanket of sorrow dropped—all that we’d hoped for and all that we’d lost. Warily, we watched each other, thinking about the little girl who didn’t get the chance to live. As tears spilled from his eyes, he was in my arms, and I cried with him. It was sad, it was terribly sad but we were grieving together and that was right and good.

Eventually we wandered back into the house and Luke put his jacket on, readying to leave. The impulse to fix his collar felt automatic, but I resisted. There would be no more of that, and it was okay.

‘Safe journey.’ My heart was swollen with gratitude, regret, sorrow, acceptance—too many emotions to know.

‘Thanks. I’ll…’ Luke shifted awkwardly. ‘We’ll…?’

‘Be in touch?’

He nodded. He smiled. His hand twisted open the lock on the door.

And I let him go.

You know it’s not an either or? It doesn’t have to be Quin or Luke. You can have a very happy life without either of them.

80

‘…I swapped my regular Wednesday night meeting for pregnancy yoga, so I was getting to just two meetings a week…’

The alarm on my phone pinged and, with a long exhale of relief, I stopped typing. Wasting no time, Nola had me doing my Twelve Steps again, making me focus long and hard on what had been in play, when I’d talked myself back into taking the pills.