tacenda
pronunciation | ta - 'chen - da
(noun.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence.
their relationship was tacenda, brushed over with a 'we're just friends'
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in which two pogues sit a little too close, laugh a little t...
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Kalea caught a glimpse of heaven when she woke up each morning. The sun would shine through her flimsy curtains and the rustle of her mom moving about for work would filter through her partially closed door. But then she'd turn from her window, facing up to the ceiling. With one blink her reality would return. The hell she was living in.
And her heart would feel heavy for a moment, pushing her down into her bed, before she pushed it back, throwing her legs out of the covers. She had to keep moving. Throwing on the nearest clothes, completing her monotonous skincare routine. Stepping into her mother's arms briefly before grabbing a cold piece of toast and stepping out of the door.
Barefeet across the unkept grass, pass the dirt track, pass the dock, passed the hut she couldn't bear to look at. Passed the surf shack. Finally reaching her destination as she sat down cross-legged in front of the big tree.
Tears had been and gone. Lea gave a middle finger to them. Despite the shit people told her, they didn't help. The pain was there before and it was there after. Crying wouldn't bring them back. Delicately, she brushed the dust and bugs off the hand-carved plaque,
John B Routledge
P4L
before ensuring the flowers planted underneath needed more water or tidying. They didn't because she'd watered them yesterday but still.
"Lea," Esme called, as per usual, shutting their door behind her, "time to go."
"Coming," Lea held her fingers to her mouth before pressing them against the tree, standing up and brushing off the dust on her shorts.
Together, the mother and daughter duo drove across the Cut, into Figure Eight. Stifling a yawn, Lea pressed her head to the passenger window, watching the 5 am sun.
"Wakey, wakey, sleepy," Esme nudged her gently, "we've got work to do."
So Kalea followed her mother, pulling out the hoover from the trunk and opening the back door to the first house of their long to-do list.
Esme hadn't taken his death well. The beautiful, cheery, smiling woman Lea had spent her days with had changed to a frail, tired shell of a woman overnight. Every night, she sat on the dock, expecting him to come home. And every night, Esme kept the flickering porch light on.
Every morning she was heartbroken all over again.
So Kalea took the heavyweight. Joined her on her early and late shifts. Did the groceries. Always on hand should her mother need it. Just trying to make it as easy as possible. Trying to lessen the overwhelming pain their brown-eyed neighbour had left in his absence.
After leaving Esme at her new day job - the cashier at the supermarket - Lea walked through town, dialling the number on speed dial.
