Page 16 of The Shape of Your Heart
After a year of nothing changing, just like that, it’s as though one small yet momentous step has shifted me from one stage of grief into the next. It’s one where the house still rattles with emptiness; where each day I think of a million things I want to say to Liam. But I can mention his name, gaze at his photo, while instead of my heart cracking open, it bursts with a sad, aching kind of love for him. There’s a kind of comfort in realising that maybe grief doesn’t go, but that the memory of someone you’ve loved and lost doesn’t disappear, and instead slowly becomes an integral part of you.
I take this new realisation to the beach, feeling the wind whip my hair back as I slip off my shoes and run towards the sea. Standing there, I watch the sun setting, looming larger as it sinks towards the ocean, casting the beach in its golden light. Bending down, I pick up little pebbles and stones, nuggets of gold in the sun’s glow, pressing them into a heart-shaped collage on the sand.
On my way back to my car, I catch sight of something in the sand. Wandering over to it I see a flower, albeit a slightly crooked one with a seaweed stem, the petals formed from empty mussel shells.
I pause for a moment, gazing at it. Apart from Liam, I don’t know anyone else who makes sea pictures – unless… Remembering Nathan’s handful of shells, I can’t help wondering if maybe it’s his.
8
NATHAN
The bookcase turns out to be the perfect size for my office space. It’s a little weird, though, knowing it belonged to Callie’s fiancé before he died. I can’t help thinking how tough that must have been for her.
I wonder how long ago it happened. I’m guessing not that long – it would explain her reticence, the way she seems to hold back. She’s probably still navigating her way through her grief.
As I know too well, life sucks sometimes. I’ve had my own run-in with the grim reaper – a close call, until the Universe intervened with another chance. It’s why it’s become important to make changes to the way I live, the biggest of which has been buying this house.
The thing is, as I’ve learned, you can’t count on tomorrow. The only bit that’s certain is now, meaning you should make the most of each day. So why wasn’t I taking my own advice – calling Callie instead of procrastinating? But I know why. She’s grieving and grief takes its own sweet time. For her, right now is way too soon. But that she is clearing stuff out has to be a good sign.
* * *
As I get into more of a routine, I spend most of the day on the property development project I’m managing, then in the evenings, dig up the brambles at the end of my garden that are about the only thing I can positively identify as a weed. It’s arduous, back-breaking work, but it’s exercise at least, as well as one less thing I’ll have to pay someone else to do. And there’s the upside that already I’m noticing a difference.
A few days have passed since I last went to the beach. Saturday lunchtime, needing a change of scene, I head down there with a sandwich. There’s an offshore breeze blowing, the sun high in a blue sky dotted with small clouds. Sheltered from the wind, I watch surfers gracefully riding the waves.
Once, I would have been one of them, taking every opportunity to be out there no matter the weather. And today is pretty much perfect. Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander, wondering how it would feel to be sharing this with someone, liking the idea that there might be someone – one day.Maybe someone like Callie, sitting here on the sand beside me, the wind catching her long hair, her eyes bright with happiness again…
But sometimes these things aren’t to be. And while I, too, am in the midst of a process of change, it probably isn’t the best time to meet someone.
Getting up, I start searching for shells and sea glass, now and then glancing up to watch the surfers again, contemplating that maybe it won’t be too long before I can get myself back in the water.
‘Beachcombing again?’ The voice comes from behind me.
Recognising Callie’s voice, I’m already smiling as I stand up. ‘Hi! Guilty as charged!’
‘So am I!’ She holds out a cupped hand filled with sea glass.
‘Selective, aren’t you?’ I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘I’ve just had lunch down here. I hadn’t been out for a few days.’
‘Nice.’ She peers at my collection of shells. ‘So what are you going to make?’
I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘A surfboard.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Do you surf?’
‘I used to. I was addicted to it, to be honest. Everywhere I went on holiday, there had to be waves. I haven’t surfed for a while, now. But I happen to think a surfboard is like a beautiful piece of art. I have one in my sitting room, as a matter of fact.’
She looks interested. ‘I agree. I love my board. I hadn’t surfed for ages – but I went the weekend before last, with my sisters.’ Her eyes are bright as she remembers. ‘It was pretty awesome, actually.’
‘There is something about it, for sure.’ The might of the ocean and sense of exhilaration; the unpredictability of the waves that gives you a feeling of always challenging yourself. ‘Shall we make a start?’ For some reason I don’t consider that she isn’t going to do this with me.
‘Sure.’ She walks beside me further up the beach to where I sat to eat my sandwich. ‘So why did you stop surfing?’ She looks curious.
I hedge. ‘I suppose I’ve been quite busy, one way or another. I wasn’t well for a while – but that’s behind me now. Then I moved… and since then, I’ve been trying to get my business back in shape.’
‘And now you have a garden, too.’ Sitting down, she looks at me. ‘OK, it’s your surfboard. You start.’
‘OK.’ Aware of her eyes scrutinising me, I start marking out the edge, before she joins in. As she lays out the pieces of glass in a geometric pattern, now and then, I feel a jolt of electricity as her hand brushes against mine, before she lightly touches my arm.
