Between the pages

As I arrived at my mother's house, my chest hollowed as her memory filled my mind. It had been a month now since she had passed, and though I had laid her to rest the week before, I still felt numb inside.

I know grief takes many forms, but the constant emptiness was exhausting. Father had left when I was an infant, so for years it had just been me and her. Yet now it was just me.

I felt the key shake in my hand as I tried to twist it in the lock. I blink away the tears that were forming in the corners of my eyes and try to cast away the memories. I let out a gasp in frustration as the lock fought against every turn I made until I finally heard the metal click into place. I took a deep breath before pulling down the handle and pushing the door open.

A familiar scent washed over me as I entered the hallway. The smell of mother's musky perfume mixed with aged wood filled my lungs, and with it came a sense of comfort. I locked the door behind me and made my way into the kitchen. It felt strange being in her home, and yet the warmth of her presence was nowhere to be found. I felt another tear escape from my eye. I allowed it to run the length of my cheek before brushing it away. This was not the time; I had to do this.

I made up one of the boxes that I had brought with me and began packing away her belongings. My husband offered to help me empty her house, but I declined. This would potentially be the last time I would feel close to her, being in her home, so he understood that I wanted to do it alone.

As I worked through the kitchen and into the living room, I felt myself smiling as I worked my way through her trinkets. Some were from her travels, some from when she was married to my father, and others were from when I was young. Not everything had value; if anything, most of it only held sentimental value to her. Still, it warmed my heart to imagine what memories she shared with these objects.

It was as I was removing her books that something dropped out and caught my attention. I hesitated for a moment before placing the books beside me and picking up the item that fell. To my surprise, it was a photograph. Tears pricked at my eyes once more as I examined the picture. It was my mother and father in their younger days. I couldn't tell what age they were, but it must have been before I was born, as they didn't go anywhere abroad after I arrived.

They were dressed in exotic clothes and were surrounded by palm trees. I could see a beach in the distance and mountains even further. Wherever they were, it looked beautiful. I smiled to myself and turned the photograph over, and to my surprise, there was an inscription on the reverse. It read:

"Off to a luau with my husband to be.".

My chest tightened as I saw my mother's writing before me. I turned it over once more so their faces were looking back at me. I could feel their eyes boring into my soul. A certain longing came over me. Unsure if it was my emotions getting the better of me, I quickly turned back to the books on the floor to continue packing them away.

I couldn't bring myself to pick up the pile all at once, so instead I found myself placing them one by one in the box. It felt like I was searching for something. It was strange, as if my hands were independent of my mind. It wasn't until I was part way through the pile that I happened upon a travel brochure that the feeling ceased. I kept a stoic expression as I glanced at the book. It was dated a year ago, before mother fell ill.

I couldn't help myself as I flicked through the pages, almost casually, admiring the beautiful landscapes that covered every page. Before I could lose myself fully in the white sands, a familiar place appeared before me. My eyes widened as I grabbed the photograph again and held it against the image on the page.

It was the same place.

My heart skipped a beat in excitement. Mother had wanted to go back. But a sadness clouded my thoughts as I realised she hadn't mentioned anything to me. I would have loved to have joined her in Hawaii. Guilt began to tug at my heart as I cast my mind back. I had gotten a promotion a few months before this brochure was published. Perhaps my mother thought it would distract me from my work, or perhaps she thought it could be a reward? I cursed under my breath as question upon question flooded my mind.

The mix of emotions was overpowering. How could I think badly of my mother when she had been ill? Who knows what she was thinking? I did feel a great deal of disappointment though; I would have loved to have had one last adventure with her before she passed.

I no longer felt in the mood to clear her house. All motives I had had been drawn out of me. I readied myself to leave, but my eyes cast back down to the photograph and brochure on the floor. With a deep sigh, I picked them up, placing them in my bag before leaving my mother's house.

I arrived home to my husband preparing dinner. It smelled divine, and it caused my stomach to rumble in desire. Judging by the scent of spices in the air, he had made a curry. I walked into the kitchen to see him standing over the oven, stirring the pot beneath him. He looked up as I placed my bag on the table behind him.

"How are you sweetheart?" He asked. I could tell by his tone that he was asking how I got on at my mother's house, but he was too gentlemanly to ask outright.

"I am ok," I mused, waltzing over to him and pecking his cheek. "Looking forward to dinner." I forced a smile on my lips and stepped away from him, collecting the plates from the cupboard and arranging them on the table. I scooped up my bag and went to place it on its hook, when the feeling of hesitation caught me again.

"Sweetheart?" I heard my husband say. He must have turned around while I was moving my bag. It was then it dawned on me that I was standing still, holding my bag up in front of me.

"We should go to Hawaii." I heard myself blurting out. It seemed my words caught my husband by surprise as much as they did me as I heard a clatter of pans behind me as they landed back on the oven.

"Hawaii? Any reason for the sudden interest?" He asked me.

It was true; I hadn't ever thought about a trip to Hawaii before. Honestly, I hadn't been much beyond the European borders, and here I was suggesting we fly almost fully around the globe.

"Sweetheart?" My husband spoke again, placing one of his warm hands on my shoulder. The sensation brought me out of my mind, and I turned to face him, pulling out the paperwork from my bag and waving it before him.

"Mother wanted to go. It looks like she was planning to go before she got ill. I think it would be quite romantic and perhaps even good for us." Words dribbled out of my mouth as I continued to wave the papers in his face. "Mother and father went when they were about our age; look!"

He took the brochure from my hand and opened up to the page where the photograph was sitting. I watched his brows furrow as he examined the images, his eyes flicking between the photograph and the picture of the page. He gestured towards the two pictures and raised his eyebrow at me, to which I gleefully nodded.

"She had been there before?" He said. It wasn't fully a question but wasn't so much of a statement. He sounded unsure. I'm sure it was because he was still processing my random request.

"I need a break. There is too much happening, and I just need to get away." I said quickly. I didn't know why I needed to explain, but it came out regardless. A warm smile spread across his lips.

"Ok." He said finally. My eyes widened as I heard his words.

"Really?" I felt myself grinning back at him.

"Sure," he chuckled, "might take a while to save up, but it'll be fun. And you're right, we should get away for a bit. A lot has happened recently." He closed the distance between us and kissed my forehead. My cheeks reddened, but I returned his gesture with a small kiss on his lips.

"Thank you." I beamed.

"Anything for you. But first, dinner!" He announced as he grabbed the pans from the oven before serving the food on the plates.

I felt giddy inside. The guilt, sadness, concern, fear, and every other emotion that had overwhelmed me earlier in the day seemed to have faded away. In its stead was excitement and joy.

And that is what happened. It took us a couple of months to get the money together, but we went to Hawaii.

I finished emptying my mother's house. It took me a number of days, but I managed to reduce her possessions by a vast amount. I don't think she even knew of all the things she had stored away. Yet, as I looked through her things, I was filled with fondness. I kept a number of things to remember her by, such as jewellery or keepsakes, while other items I sold in order to fund our trip to Hawaii. I'm sure she wouldn't have minded. I almost felt like she was blessing our trip whenever my eyes landed on the photo of her and father.

Her bedroom was one of the last rooms I cleared. It felt unnatural to go through such personal belongings, but I had slowly come to terms with it over the past few days. It was in her room that I found a shoebox hidden in the wardrobe. I thought it was a pair of shoes she wanted to keep safe, but as I picked it up, I felt the contents shift inside. I opened the box and was greeted by hundreds of sheets of paper—letters.

My eyes quickly cast over the contents. Some of the details were simple, such as what the person had done that day or what the latest gossip of the town was. A wave of guilt hit me again, but I pushed it aside as I pulled out the letters to read more. I couldn't help myself as I divulged in this person's life. There were occasional ones in envelopes, which had the postmark of Hawaii printed on the front. I felt a sneaky smirk spread on my lips; no wonder mother wanted to go back. It seems she had someone out there waiting for her.

The letters were all from a man by the name of Harry, whoever that was. She hadn't mentioned him to me, and it seemed the last letter was sent just after she had gotten ill. I did feel sadness at this moment, as this Harry probably had no idea why my mother had stopped writing to him and never would again now that she had passed. I decided in that moment that when we went to Hawaii, I would find this Harry. He must have been important to Mother, so he deserved to know the truth. I placed the letters back in the box; I would return these to him as a way to remember her by, should he choose to keep them.

The time had come; my husband and I arrived in Hawaii. The heat was intense, but nothing unbearable. I understood then why mother and father had worn such exotic clothes in the photo. The fabric looked thin and breathable, perfect for this climate. I had packed the photograph with me in my suitcase. Since discovering it, I have taken it everywhere with me.

We spent the first few days enjoying the beach and hiking around the forest areas. The locals were pleasant, and they took a keen liking to my husband. I chuckled at his dismay as they took him away to dance by the firepit one night. I stayed huddled on my chair, nursing the cocktail drink in my glass.

I researched where the postmark had come from and traced it back to a village. I'm not sure what I was expecting; perhaps Harry had moved on, but I had to know. I mused in my thoughts as I stared out of the window, watching the trees whizz by as the taxi took us up to the village.

Once there, we stopped by a small cafe to grab a drink while my husband tried to converse with the locals. I appreciated him trying to ask them if they knew Harry, or any Harry for that matter, but the language barrier caused some issues. I pulled the photograph of my parents out of my bag to look at them again, when a gust of wind ripped it from my grasp. I let out a shrill cry, catching my husband's attention and that of the locals as their heads whipped around in my direction.

I was already sprinting up the photograph as it blissfully glided through the air, avoiding my every attempt to grab it. The wind died down, allowing the photograph to drop to the ground, giving me time to lunge towards it. I was too late, however, as an older gentleman had already picked it up. A whimper left my lips as I felt the photograph brush my fingers. A looked up to the man who had taken my photo from me when a small gasp escaped him.

"Amelia." He muttered softly.

"Yes, that's my mother. Give it back!" I screeched. My husband had caught up to me, and I could feel his hands restraining me. Then what he had said caught up to me. "How do you know her?" I hissed.

"She was my wife." He said with a tremble in his voice.

"She was only married to my father." I bit back. Who did this man think he was? "Who are you?" I shot at him. My husband's grip on my arms tightened, and I was sure he was shaking me slightly, but a red mist had descended over me.

"My name is Harry. I am the man in that photograph with your mother." His voice was barely above a whisper now. My vision cleared almost instantly with his words, and I let myself see him properly.

He looked just like the man in the photo; obviously his hair had greyed and he had deeper lines on his face. No, this couldn't be possible. My father had left a long time ago. Why would my mother be sending him letters? I felt anger bubbling up inside me, and tears stung my eyes. This couldn't be happening, I kept telling myself.

Then, I felt his arms around me and heard him whimpering in my ear. He sounded husky, but his scent was so familiar. I allowed him to hold me as words exploded from his lips.

"Jennifer, I am so sorry for leaving you. Your mother and I, we met here. This is my home. We moved to England a few years before you were born to build a life. But I missed my village; I missed my people. I tried to convince your mother to come back with me, but she had her career and you were settled in school. We stayed in touch over the years, and she updated me on your life. Like your husband beside you, she told me how good he is to you and that she adores him." He sobbed intermittently between his words, while I just listened, motionless.

"Adored him." I corrected him. I didn't mean for it to come out so bitterly, but it happened.

"No," he sobbed. "Amelia, my darling." He wept. My heart ached, so I returned his hold. Although he had left my life early, my mother had never said a bad word about him, and now I knew why. With my arms around him, he embraced me tighter.

"Could you tell me about your time with her?" I asked quietly. I felt his head nod against mine.

"Yes, yes, of course." He smiled, taking mine and my husband's hands in his. "I will tell you everything."

The trip to Hawaii brought me comfort after my mother passed; I felt at peace. And while I lost her, I gained a father, and with him come many new memories that I will treasure.