Page 93 of Beautifully Shattered
“I figured she’d probably have terrible music taste just like her mum,” he teases, “so she’d probably like this garbage.”
“Ringo!” I slap his shoulder, and he chuckles.
“It has that fucking awful song you walked down the aisle to.”
I snatch the CD from him. “Saying things like that will get you divorced.”
He winks. “You’ll never leave me.”
I shake my head, my smile fading as I hand it back, remembering why we are here.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “She would have loved the CD, and not because of me, but becauseyougave it to her.”
His smile is soft as he places the album into the chest before straightening and reaching into the bag one last time.
This time, when he pulls his hand out, there’s a small velvet box resting in his palm.
I have no idea what it is, but by the look on his face, his eyes swimming with emotion, I have a feeling this is going to make me cry. Which, let’s be honest, isn’t exactly hard today.
“I know I’m not technically her dad,” he starts, clearing his throat before continuing. “But I’d intended to raise her like she was my daughter, and I feel her loss just as much as I felt Hope’s.”
And here come the tears.
“So, I got her this.” He opens the box, showing me the tiny bracelet inside before he lifts it out and dangles it before me. “I got it engraved.”
Swiping at my tears, I try to clear the blur so I can see properly.
The bracelet is mostly silver, with gold detailing framing the front panel, and tiny silver and gold butterfly charms dangling at each end, with an inscription on the front.
Bobbi Cameron
“There’s more on the back.” Ringo’s voice is choked up as he speaks, and I turn it over to read the back.
Love Dad xx
It’s so simple, yet means so much, and a sob breaks free as I throw my arms around his neck, clinging to him.
“It’s beautiful,” I manage between my tears, and he squeezes me to him, my feet leaving the ground for a few moments as he buries his face in my hair.
18
There are moments when I feel completely numb, and moments when I feel everything at once, but the one constant is Ringo. Always at my side. Always touching me in some small way, keeping me tethered to him like he knows I’ll crumble without his support.
Seeing Ringo’s mum, Doreen, again made me feel like I was coming back home. She embraced me in what can only be described as a mum-hug, holding me through another wave of agonising tears, not letting go until I was able to breathe again.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave Bobbi’s graveside, so after roses were laid, and she was lowered into the cold earth, followed by the toy chest, both buried deep right next to Hope, everyone stayed under the beautiful Jacaranda tree, to just be.
Be still with me.
Be in tears with me.
Be in this agony with me, no matter how raw or ugly it was.
Doreen, Lani and Mills served finger food later, fetched blankets for people to picnic on, or huddle under as night began to fall.
Faint music played in the background. It wasn’t anything I recognised, just a gentle hum of something pretty. Something that felt almost innocent, like my poor little Bobbi.
“I know this is a stupid question, but are you doing okay?” Ringo asks, the rumble of his voice meeting my ear, pressed to his chest as we huddle on a blanket at the foot of Bobbi’s and Hope’s graves.
