Page 50 of Return to the Waratah Inn

“She’s gone to a family who will care for her and give her the kind of life she deserves. Now, get back to your beds. It’s late, and you’re causing a scene.”

“No,” Fran whispered, one hand flew to her mouth. “No, you can’t do that. She’s mine.”

“Not anymore, I’m afraid.” The doctor walked away, his white coat billowing out behind him.

Fran let out a cry, the desperate sound of despair. It emitted as a shriek that echoed along the hallway. A nurse poked her head out of the ward, then stepped back inside with a frown.

Fran dropped to the floor, both hands pressed to her face. She screamed, the noise sending chills down Mima’s spine. Then the scream turned to a wail, and she pummelled the ground with closed fists, her voice rising like a howling wind full of nothing but pain and torment.

Mima sank to the cold tiles beside her. She wrapped her arms around Fran’s shoulders and moved with her, silent tears dripping down her cheeks. She wanted to tell her it would all be okay, that they’d work it out. It was a mistake—it had to be. There was always hope. But she couldn’t utter the words. She didn’t know it would work out, didn’t know how to make it okay, and wasn’t sure what Fran should do.

“No, not my baby. Not my baby. I knew this would happen. I knew it. Give her back! She’s mine,” Fran wailed.

Mima stroked her friend’s hair, pushing it away from her face, gentling her with a kind word, a soft shushing, anything she could think to do to help. But it didn’t help, nothing would. There wasn’t a thing she could do to make it better now or ever again. She knew that. The ache in her heart grew with every attempt.

She had no control over anything. No power.

Fran sobbed loudly, her cries grew gradually quieter as the permanence of her loss became more and more apparent. Realisation dawned like a dull new day with no sunshine, only rain. Mima sobbed along with her, but silently. Neither one of them could fix this. The world was a cruel bird of prey, and it had them in its talons. Their only possible response was to grieve, then they must stand to their feet, straighten their backs, walk to their room, and go on with their lives as though they had any kind of choice in the matter. As though the sun would rise again the next day. As though Fran’s spirit hadn’t died within her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

January 1998

Kingscliff

The water felt heavy, as though it would pull him out into the sea. Alex strode forwards through the waves. Each time he raised one foot from the sand, it seemed to be attached to a weight that heaved it back to earth. But he couldn’t let it take him out—he wouldn’t. Anna needed him. She trudged in front of him, dragging her surfboard with one hand. A wave struck them both from behind, lifted him off his feet and knocked her down. He hurried to scoop her back up again, and when she regained her feet, she laughed. He laughed too. It was good to see her happy.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

She shook her head. “One more set. Please. I don’t know if…when… I’ll be able to do this again. It might be the last…”

He inhaled a sharp breath. “Don’t say that. You’ll be back. I know you will. You’re gonna get through this. We’ll fight it together.”

She looked at him, her eyes full of knowing and love. “You’re right, honey. We’ll be back. But one more set, okay?”

She was thin, frail. He shouldn’t have agreed to let her come at all, but as she constantly reminded him, just because she was sick didn’t make him the boss of her. He’d laughed at that, but deep down, he wanted to scream because she didn’t listen when she should. Her body wasn’t strong enough for this, and she was too stubborn for her own good.

“Okay, one more set.” The waves weren’t too bad today. He’d have to watch her, that’s all. Make sure nothing bad happened to her. He couldn’t control the cancer, but there were things he could control, and he was determined to make sure she had this final surf. He knew she was right—this might be her last time in the ocean. The last time she ever stood on a surfboard. But he couldn’t think that way. He had to believe she was going to make it through, that she’d be in remission before they knew it and their lives could go back to normal again.

They paddled out slowly beyond the break. He was grateful the wind was low and the waves weren’t choppy. But there was a strong rip current. He could see it when he stood on the beach. They’d have to stay away from it, since he doubted she was strong enough to paddle out if it took hold of her board.

She rode the first wave in. He caught the next one so he could be close to her and help her back out again. But she’d already started paddling out through the breakers, duck diving beneath the waves, before he could get himself turned around.

When he reached the place where he’d seen her stop behind the break, there was no sign of her. He sat on his board, stretching up as high as he could manage to see over the crest of the nearest wave. It crashed down, sending salt spray into the air, and for a moment, he spotted the top of her head as she rode a wave. She stayed upright, weaving back and forth. He beamed at her, proud of how determined she was, how good she looked on her board, even now. He loved her so much that it sent a pang of pain into his chest. What would he do without her?

The wave spent itself, and he selected one to ride to shore himself. When he tumbled from the wave, he was close to shore, so he pushed his way through the water to stand on the wet sand. Puffing, he set the board down and stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the water. Where was she? He’d assumed she’d be on the sand, but she must’ve gone back out again. He was tired—he hated to think how exhausted she must feel by this point in the morning.

There was no sign of her. He tented a hand over his eyes and squinted into the morning sunlight, scanning back and forth along the length of the bay. The glare reflected off the surface of the azure water like jewels scattered across a glass floor. Then he saw her head bobbing in the water. She was in the riptide, being dragged out to sea. His heart dropped in his chest, and he quickly grabbed up his board and ran into the waves.

“Anna!” he shouted, but his voice was muffled by the crash of a wave on the hard-packed sand. “I’m coming!”

He dove beneath a wave, then came up for air, already paddling frantically in her direction. The tide was strong, carrying her quickly in a northeasterly direction. He couldn’t see her now, but he knew where she’d be. There was only one direction the rip could take. He’d follow it, and he’d find her. He could think of nothing else, focused only on locating her dark head in the clear water. He paddled harder, breathing loudly as he pushed away the panic that threatened on the edge of his consciousness.

“Come on,” he whispered to himself. “Let’s go.”

When he reached her, she was submerged. Her board was nowhere to be seen. How had she been separated from it? She always made sure she had an ankle strap attached. He reached into the water and pulled her up onto his board in front of him. He sat up to give her space, but she didn’t respond. He leaned down to listen. She wasn’t breathing. He rolled her onto her side.

“Anna! Anna!”