AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Shit. Was that my gran’s wedding day? Herreputation. I inhale hot air and allow myself a moment to absorb her words.
She was pregnant.
It seems she writes in the diary when she’s troubled or unsure. It’s not an account of happier times except for the times she and Pop made out. Only I want to see those happier times. I want to know my grandparents were happy together, at least for some of their lives. If not, I’m unsure if I want to keep reading.
16th December 1960
Our baby is due next month. I can barely walk from the kitchen chair to the bedroom, and all Albert is worried about is the fact the Aussies drew with the West Indies in a test match in Brisbane.
When he was yelling at the television, I wanted to cry. Why can’t he be that supportive of me?
I let out a sob, understanding her frustration. “Oh, Gran,” I murmur and rest my hand on the swell of my stomach. If only I could hug her one more time.
11th April 1961
I barely sleep.
Winston cries all the time.
I’ve tried everything for colic, and nothing works.
Winston and I sleep in the same room since we know Albert is tired from working the motel and needs to be up at five every morning.
I’ve never felt more alone, even more than on my first day arriving in Melbourne and knowing no one. This is much worse, and I feel like no one cares.
If only I could tell her that Pop cared. They didn’t expect men in those times to help around the house, but he did love her.
I can’t read anymore today. Placing the diary in my sack, I slip on my runners. There’s been no rain for three days, and I want to go for a walk, maybe to the fields, even though Samuel insisted I stay in the long house and help prep the vegetables. At twenty-eight weeks, I’m still capable of helping some, although the rate my baby is growing has surprised me. I smile and run my hand over the swell of my stomach. I’m not short, and Samuel is more than six feet, so our baby won’t be small.
Kaikare stands when I reach the long house. She says something to the lady squatting beside her stirring a pot of water before coming to my side. She takes my hand, and we walk to the other end of the village. The lack of communication is getting to me—an annoying barrier between us.
Does the shaman prefer it that way?
I know he loves Kaikare, and in the community, love is important.
No matter the curiosity eating at her about her mother, she grew up loved and in a safe environment. It’s more than some of my affluent friends.
It dawns on me it could be why Samuel has spoken little about his parents and his life in LA. I know they are wealthy, yet he refuses to talk about them.
He deflects all his energy to Ulara and is in denial about his previous life. Before now, I didn’t question it, I abided by the rules, and my reward was to stay longer. Only now, I have a ticking time bomb inside me.
Why is he scared to leave?
What happened for him to come here and hide away?
I’m not accepting that he’s a workaholic or career-minded or that it’s his contract, and he wants to find a cure for some disease. Something happened for him to be like this, and I’m so mad at myself for not seeing it sooner.
I let out a little sigh with the realization.
Kaikare stops walking and lands a gentle hand on my shoulder with a questioning look on her face.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, even though she doesn’t understand. So, I smile and keep walking, despite not knowing where she’s taking me.
We reach the village edge, and she leads me into the jungle. Vines choke the trees that are so tall they almost touch the heavens. We pass a tree crawling with bullet ants before she leads me into a garden of orchids and other brightly colored flowers.
I’ve been here before.
We continue along a narrow path where the vines reach out like fingers as though trying to touch us. Then I hear the shaman’s song. His voice thrills me with the sensation of life. It’s a sound that wraps you in a secure blanket, and you feel safe, relaxed, and euphoric. We continue until we find him and Samuel in a herb garden. I walk past strategically placed wooden signs, all an arm’s length long with identifiable names painted on the wood.
