Page 136 of Finding Us
Deeply loved and not forgotten.
There was no way I was going to put my father’s last name on her final resting place, so I chose to use her maiden name instead.
My mother is now at peace, and when her tragic story broke, my father’s impeccable reputation was ruined. It was headline news, and although I hated that my family’s dirty secrets were splashed on the front page of every paper, I was glad that the truth was out in the open and my father’s true colours were revealed to the world. I finally feel like I’m able to move forward with my life and leave the past behind.
It’s been two months since the funeral, and it’s time for me to tackle the house. I’m going ahead with my plans to make it a safe place for battered women, with Grace’s help. I’m grateful to have her on board, and she’s just as eager as me to see this come to fruition.
Jacinta and I are on our way to the house now; her mother and Connor are meeting us there. Jim’s volunteered to take Blake to his first football game, because I’m still trying to shelter him as much as I can. Maybe when he’s older I’ll tell him the whole story, but for now, the less he knows the better.
When Jacinta’s phone pings, I push to my feet. “It’s Mum,” she says. “Dad just picked up Blake, so her and Connor are heading to the house now.”
“We should head off then.” I reach for her, drawing her close and placing a chaste kiss on her plump lips.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“If it gets too much for you today, just speak up.”
“The sooner we can get it ready, the quicker Rebecca’s Place can be up and running.” That’s what we’ve decided to call it.
Yesterday, I had a large skip bin delivered to the house. Most of the furniture will remain, but I will be replacing my father’s bed and adding bunk beds into some of the spare rooms so we can accommodate more people. As for my father’s personal belongings, I’m throwing it all away—every single item, valuable or not. I want him and every reminder permanently erased from this earth, along with his black soul.
The girls are upstairs packing my mother’s belongings into boxes to be donated and putting aside anything they think I might want to keep. Connor is hauling out all my father’s stuff and throwing it straight in the skip. I don’t even want to go through any of it. I’m grateful that they are here to do the things I’m not sure I can. I’m currently downstairs going through the buffet and hutch in the formal lounge room.
I’ve already gone through the kitchen and dining room, emptying the fridge and pantry. I left all the China, pots, pans, and cooking utensils behind. The new tenants will need those. I make a list of anything I might need to add as I go.
Most of the things I’ve come across I don’t remember, but I’ve found a few things that have sparked a memory or two. In one of the drawers of the buffet, I came across one of my old matchbox cars and a yo-yo. I stuffed them into the pocket of my jeans for Blake.
Once the drawers are emptied of any personal effects, I crouch down to open the cupboards below. I’m surprised when I discover a couple of board games stacked on the top shelf. That’s something I don’t recall doing with my parents; there were no games or fun to be had in this place. I push them to the side, they can stay.
The next thing I pick up is a photo album. When I take a seat on the floor and open it to the first page, an immediate lump rises to my throat. It’s a picture of my mum on her wedding day. I gently run my hand over it. She looks so young, so beautiful …and happy.If only she knew the hell that lay ahead of her.
My sadness turns to anger when I flip to the next page and see a photo of my parents together. It’s funny how deceiving a picture can be. They look so in love, but we all know how that turned out. I place the album down beside me and stand, heading for the kitchen. I saw a pair of scissors in here earlier.
Once I retake my seat, I carefully take out each photograph with my father’s image in it, and cut him out. They can go in the skip with the rest of his belongings.
Red enters the room and spots me sitting on the floor, so she comes and takes a seat beside me. “You okay?”
“Yes, just cutting my father out of these wedding pictures.”
“Is that your mum?”
“Yeah, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I say, passing her the other half of the photo in my hand.
“She is … you look so much like her.”
I’ve always been grateful for that, because I didn’t have to look in the mirror and see my old man reflecting back.
She passes me back the image and reaches for a wooden box beside her. “I found this in your mum’s wardrobe and wanted to show you.”
My hand slightly shakes as I take it from her; I’m nervous about what’s inside. When I flip the lid, the first thing I see is a picture of me sitting on top. It’s a photo of me on Santa’s lap, and I’m not much older than Blake in it. The resemblance is so uncanny, you could mistakenly think it was him.
I flip through the contents and find more photos, a few small dried flowers—that I’m presuming I must’ve picked for her—a vast variety of pictures I’d drawn for her when I was a kid, and some handmade cards. I pick up one that has a red heart drawn on the front and open it to see what’s written inside.You are the best mummy in the world, I love you. From Mason.Tears cloud my eyes as I read it. Shewasthe best mum, and I’m grateful that even though I don’t remember ever saying those words to her, she knew.
It’s late by the time we arrive back at the apartment building. We got through a big chunk of the cleanout today, but there’s a lot more to do. I’m physically and emotionally spent but grateful I didn’t have to go it alone.
Everyone heads to Connor and Jacinta’s place, while I duck upstairs to take a shower and change. We’re ordering in tonight.
