I wanted to share her optimism, but we didn’t have birth records or passports or even a place to stay to enrol her. Without John and Patricia’s help, I didn’t know how I’d get her into class without people asking too many questions. However, I couldn’t shatter her dream and figured I’d solve that complication when we got to it.
For now, we agreed to spend the summer in the forest, remembering our old way of life.
Most days, we travelled a few miles before setting up another camp. Others, we stayed in a glen and swam and sun-baked.
Once a month, she’d turn extremely private, popping painkillers and staying subdued.
At first, I worried she was sick. But by the second time, I knew.
Della was no longer a child.
Her body was an adult, even if it hadn’t fully grown into one.
I offered her sympathy and tried to help with her period pain, but unlike most times where she wanted my company, she wanted nothing to do with me.
When things passed, our bond would snap right back into place and life would be simple again. Hiking, exploring, swimming.
Della hadn’t packed a swimsuit, but she didn’t argue when I made her wear a t-shirt and underwear before getting wet. I made sure she was never around when I bathed, and I averted my eyes whenever she’d strip—sometimes catching me unaware with flashes of her perfect skin.
We shared tasks on building a fire or erecting the tent or preparing food, and overall, the lifestyle we shared was much easier now she was older and offered more help than hindrance.
For two glorious months, we travelled on back-roads and explored the stunning countryside. Occasionally, we’d stumble onto a campsite tucked high in the hills, or hear trampers in the distance, treading the trails we’d become so sure footed on.
The money stuffed safe in my backpack wasn’t needed as I allowed every aspect of our lives before the Wilsons to return—including stealing.
I didn’t take from those who had nothing and did my best to only pinch a few things. Items like toothpaste and deodorant, canned food and another lighter…things that didn’t cost the large supermarkets much money but kept us healthy and fed.
Della asked me to teach her the art of thievery, but that was one thing I refused. I’d teach her anything she wanted—skinning rabbits, setting traps, sharpening knives, making fires—but never stealing.
There was too much risk.
And she was far too precious to get caught.
She might not need me as much as she once did, but I still had a role to play in her life.
A role I would gladly uphold until my dying breath.
To protect her.
At all costs.
Even if it meant protecting her from herself.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
DELLA
* * * * * *
Present Day
CRAZY HOW LIFE can change so fast, right?
How days can blend into months, and seasons can flow into years.
That was what happened with us.
Leaving behind Cherry River was sad. Some days, I missed Patricia, John, the horses, our one bedroom, Liam, and even Cassie so much, I almost asked Ren to turn around. To admit I’d made a mistake, and I wanted to go back.
I’d never stopped to notice just how privileged I’d been living there—learning to ride, running around in open fields, swimming in creeks, and attending a school that actually nurtured my dreams instead of ruined them.
I missed it.
But as much as I missed them, I would miss Ren more, and he was no longer welcome there.
Because of me.
I’d made it impossible to go back.
I’d taken away so much from both of us.
The guilt that caused was a daily passenger. Unfortunately, I had a steep learning curve to find there were many layers of guilt. Some days, I suffered shame. Some nights, I wallowed in disgrace. Others, I wanted to flog myself with blame and dishonour and somehow purge the skin-crawling chiding that I’d done something irrevocably wrong.
I’d been selfish, and stupid, and as much as I regretted everything we’d lost, I was just as guilty for being grateful for everything we’d gained as much as I was for losing it.
For the rest of summer and most of autumn, I had Ren all to myself.
He no longer left before I was awake to work on the farm. He no longer stayed out till dark doing chores and feeling responsible for the paddocks and meadows left in his care.
He lost the edgy hardness of being relied upon and returned to the serious, wild boy I remembered.
Every story he shared. Every laugh he indulged in. I remembered how to love him purely without any of the mess I’d caused. Some weeks, I honestly didn’t remember why I’d risked everything by kissing him.
What was I thinking? I’d muse.
Eww, how gross. I’d conclude.
I merely saw him as Ren—the farmyard boy who I’d watched make out with Cassie, go through chicken pox, and get all stuffy with the flu.