Numbered

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next week seemed to pass in a whirlwind. Surveyors checked out the house and Jared ordered new bedroom furniture for the beach-house. It didn't feel real, until the night before they were due to move in and Kylie was sitting with her legs crossed in her grandmother's bedroom. The furniture was sold, not that they had made much money on it, and the house looked bare, empty and cold.

The only things left in the room were a few boxes she didn't know what to do with.

She had her grandmother's cardigan in her lap. It smelled like her; like soup and warmth and love. She distinctly remembered giving it to her as a present - she'd bought it in the market with her fight money - and her grandmother's smile had been priceless. It was as if Kylie had given her the world.

Do not cry, Kylie told herself. Don't you dare cry.

She stood up, tied the cardigan around her waist, and picked up the last boxes, setting them in the skip Jared had ordered.

She was keeping the cardigan;  she could hold onto one thing.

"I'll take them, if you want," a voice said, from behind her. Avis was standing in the street, twisting her hands nervously.

Kylie's scowl softened when she looked at her elderly neighbour.

"Would you?" she asked, hopefully, her voice wavering. "I can't bring myself to throw them away."

Avis smiled in understanding and held out her hands to take the boxes. "I will treasure her stuff, dear. She was a close friend - kept me alive with her soup through many winters, she did."

Kylie laughed. "I'll never be able to recreate that soup."

They shared a moment of nostalgia and the old woman set down the boxes and wrapped her arms around Kylie.

"She would be so proud of how strong you are," Avis said. "And how you're finding a new life."

"I hope," Kylie mumbled. She blinked rapidly to stop the tears.

"I hope you have a wonderful time, dear," she replied. "You deserve it most."

"Kylie?" Jared's voice interrupted. "Ready?"

She pulled away from Avis and helped her with the boxes. "Yeah," she confirmed, looking at Jared.

His eyes held understanding of what she was going through. He knew those boxes meant a lot to her. He recognized the significance of the cardigan around her waist.

She talked to him a lot more about it, about her grief, and it was helping.

She was beginning to eat again, and she had finished almost all the dinner Jared had cooked for her the night before. She felt bad that she never did much for him, but he argued that he liked looking after her.

He opened the passenger door to the rented removal van and she stepped up into the seat. He brought the engine to life and steered the small van out of the estate. She waved out the window to Avis as they left behind the house she had grown up.

"We can always come back and visit," Jared said, glancing at her every few moments.

She shook her head. "It's not the same. It won't ever be the same." The house was an empty shell without her grandmother. She knew she wouldn't come back. This was the final goodbye.

He nodded in understanding. "Are you okay?"

She smiled and breathed out. "Yeah, it's a new start."

He flashed one of his fleeting smiles reserved only for her. "New start," he repeated.

*

The beach-house looked as picturesque as ever, when Jared pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching under tyres.