The book, the rock and the smile

I followed the river, lost in my thoughts, concentrating on holding back tears in case they flooded the valley. I never thought I’d see mum smile again after dad went away. It took a long time and a little miracle, but it was worth the wait. It all started when I stumbled across a secret clearing with a tiny cabin down the river past the old railway bridge, beyond the rock cliffs stretching up above the treetops towards the clouds, and halfway to the damn wall. I discovered it the week after dad left – on my ninth birthday.

When I first stumbled across the cabin, I was searching for an escape from the chaos and confusion of dad leaving, of mum crying most days and the letters from the bank that made her cry even more. Searching for answers to all the questions in my head. I guess in my heart I was searching for dad.

I almost walked past the cabin too. I was halfway through the clearing before I saw it tucked away, nestled among the trees. Fear struck and my head swiveled trying to find whoever or whatever I could feel watching me. I crept up alongside the cabin and threw a small river stone on the corrugated tin roof. The noise sliced through the silence of the forest and my heart. I waited for minutes but there was nothing, no one. Peering through the window I could see a rough hewn but beautiful desk with a small bench, a small sideboard and a wooden bed painted red.

The door opened easily and my eyes adjusted slowly. There was a small painting hanging on the wall above the bed. A small dented brass vase held onto long-dead wildflowers. A shelf under the window had a tin of tea, a bottle of liquor, and a new candle stuck in the melted puddle of its predecessor. The desk held a tiny nub of a candle, an old tea-stained mug, a fountain pen and a small pot of ink and right in the middle there was a little black book held in place by a rock the size of my head in the shape of a pyramid. It had a brown mark on one side and a jagged line as wide as my finger running through it that made it look like I could split it in half.

My heart thumped in my ears as my hand reached for the rock. It was cold and heavier than it looked so I rolled it to one side. I grabbed the book and took it to bathe in the window’s light. I ran my hand over the black leather cover, grabbed the bottom right corner and opened up to the first page. My heart dropped. My name was scrawled in perfect cursive along the first line. I ran my finger across it and time stopped between heartbeats – the ink was still wet and stained my fingers blood red. I couldn’t breathe. I plunged back out into the day’s bright light and searched the clearing – for clues, for answers, for dad.

It must’ve been him. Who else could it be? And he couldn’t be far away. Frantic with adrenaline, I ran back to the river and continued along the bank away from home all the way to the damn wall – a dead end. I walked deeper in the forest and shadowed the river back to the clearing. Nothing. There was no sign of him anywhere aside from the little black book clutched in my hands. Back at the cabin, I pulled the stool outside and sat in the sun, running my finger over my name on the cover. I took a deep breath and opened it up – nothing. Page after page of perfectly lined, blank pages. I checked and double checked every page for some sign of dad but there was nothing.

It was lunchtime and I’d been away from home since the early morning. I didn’t know whether I should take the book or leave it. Maybe Mum would know what it meant, but more likely she’d tell me it was nothing before sinking back into the sadness that haunted the house. I decided to leave the book in the cabin and check on it the next day, for lack of a better plan. Before I left, I sat down at the desk, grabbed the fountain pen and wrote a short message on the first page below my name: ‘I miss you, dad. I don’t know what to do without you. Mum misses you too. I love you.’ I blew the ink dry, closed the cover and replaced the stone and walked home.

The next day the sunrise painted the forest red as I ran back to the cabin just after sunrise. I hid behind a tree and tossed another pebble on the roof. All night I dreamt of seeing dad rush out of the door and scoop me up in his arms. I waited and waited then rushed in and checked for signs of any visitors – nothing. Everything was in its place. I picked up the book and walked outside into the light and nervously opened the cover. My breath jagged in my throat.

I gasped for air and tried to slow the emotion rushing my head – there was a reply. Tears ran down my nose and dropped onto the page – everything was a blur. I wiped them clear and stared at the page: ‘I miss you too. I’m sorry I had to go, my time was up. Try to be brave and help Mum. You two were my world. I need you to be a rock for her.’ I read it over and again, savouring each word. I could hear his voice reading the words to me. Sitting in that clearing by that strange cabin, reading these impossible words, I could feel dad beside me and the heaviness in my chest was rolled away and the sun shone.

I visited that cabin everyday for a month. Each day I wrote a message to dad and the next morning, there was his reply. Each day he told me to be a rock for mum and I promised I would. To be able to speak with him again made me believe everything was going to be alright, even if the bank was going to take the house. She tried to hide it from me – to protect me, but I knew. On the day Mum told me we had to sell the house and move away to go and live with grandma, I ran to the cabin in tears to tell dad. I told him I’d never be able to visit again and asked if I took the book, if he’d still write.

Even as I wrote it, I knew the answer. I took a backpack down and filled it with dad’s things from the cabin. The last thing left as I was ready to leave for the last time was the heavy rock on his desk. And it struck me – maybe the rock was the key to this whole thing. Maybe it was some kind of magical connection between this world and dad’s. Maybe. Probably not but I couldn’t risk it. My backpack was full so I carried the heavy rock in my arms. By the time I hauled it home, sweat poured down my forehead. My t-shirt was soaked through and the rock felt like it was glowing warm. When I walked in the front door, Mum looked like she’d seen a ghost.

‘Where did you get that?’ She asked wide-eyed. If she was this worried about a rock, I was hesitant to tell her about the little black book. ‘Down by the river – why?’ Mum took the rock and placed it on the table then helped me get my backpack off. The liquor bottles clinked and raised her brow. ‘It’s nothing, just some things I found at the river.’ She picked up the rock and held it to the light. I was nervous to tell her my theory on the rock being a conduit to the afterlife, so I lied a little. ‘Mum, I think dad left it for me.’ She didn’t say anything, she just started crying. She’d been crying a lot since dad left but this was different crying. She was smiling. I was confused but happy to see mum smile for the first time in weeks. ‘What,’ I said. ‘Oh my beautiful child, you’re as mysterious as your father. You don’t know it, but this rock changes everything. Your dad did leave this for you – for us. Like a message from the other side, just like the letter he left me.’ My head was swimming. What did the rock change? Wasn’t it just a rock? After dad died, Mum found a letter he’d written hidden in one of his boots. He said he’d found something that was going to change their lives forever. She searched for it everywhere but never found it.

That same day, Mum took the rock into town. I waited in the foyer of that strange building looking at old black and white photographs on the wall of men standing around rocks with huge smiles on their faces. She went into an office with a few very excited people in white coats. She came out crying again but this time with the biggest smile I’d seen. ‘Guess what love? That rock you found is the biggest gold nugget this town’s seen in over a hundred years. Those men over there just valued it at $20,000.’ My heart thumped. I clutched the little black book to my chest and got lost in Mum’s huge smile. ‘And you know what that means? We get to keep the house and stay right here where we belong,’ she said scooping me up in her arms.

When we got home, Mum put on some music and started dancing around the kitchen. My face was sore from smiling and Mum was tired from dancing. We sat down at the dinner table and I told mum about the little black book. I opened up the first page to show her dad’s messages. She looked at me confused but still happy. All those weeks of messages had disappeared. The page was blank except for my name in the first line, written perfect cursive and three words: ‘Be her rock.’