Free September Again (September Stories) by Hunter S. Jones, An Anonymous English Poet

fine in the States. She will be all right there. She’s going to Vanderbilt University. She wants for nothing. Jack made sure of that. He looked after us all. Indie was the only one he couldn’t look out for. Now I’m alone. I don’t have him to keep me going. And Zelda hates me because I’m not Indie. Malachy found those photos of Indie in one of Jack’s boxes a few weeks ago. Neither of us had seen them; no one has. I want my daughter to have them. She loves Indie, God knows she loves her. I want Zelda to have these pictures and some poems Malachy has found.”
    “To Indie?”
    “Yes.”
    “My God, unpublished poems to Indie!”
    “Yes.”
    “Sorry , Mrs. Savage. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    “I know you didn’t. It’s al l right. If you are in touch with my daughter, would you give her this message from me, please? Tell her about the album. Tell her it is hers, that I will send it to her by registered mail. Unconditionally. Tell her I just want to be at peace with her. And that I love her. Unconditionally.”
    “We are in touch with her.”
    “Will you tell her everything I’ve said?”
    “Everything.”
    “That’s all I can ask of you.” Liz reaches out and takes their hands. “You’re good, good girls. Thank you for coming to see me like this. It means everything to me. There’s something else I’ve never said to anyone. I, too, wish Jack had married Indie. She was everything to him. I wish she’d lived to marry him. I wish that my Zelda was her daughter. I will say all of this if that’s what it takes to make my daughter happy. Because that is what she believes was meant to be. I’m just the woman from across an ocean who showed up in the aftermath of a tragedy, truth be known.” Liz nervously fidgets with her engagement ring.
    “Don’t beat yourself up , Mrs. Savage. You loved Jack and you did your best. That’s all any of us can do, isn’t that right, Sky?”
    “Yes, yes , and yes, again.”
    “You’re good girls, good, good girls. I can see you love each other.”
    “Yes, we do, very much so.”
    “Good .” Liz nods at first one and then the other. “I’ve got to go now. Please excuse me. Malachy will look after you. He’s making you something to eat right now.”
    And with that , she gets up, her left knee clicking loudly. She limps from the room without a backwards glance.
    Jazz looks at Sky and Sky looks at Jazz. Both look at the priceless album on the ground between them.
    “No , Jazz, do not even think that thought.”
    “What?! What?!”
    “Don’t even go there.”
    “It must be worth a fortune. All this stuff. ” She looks around the dead poet’s library.
    “We play it exactly the way she wants us to . Agreed?”
    “Agreed.”
    “What an experience.”
    “Not many Benny.”
    A scuffing of claws on old oak boards heralds the sedate arrival of Harry the wolfhound.
    “Hey up, Sky, your lover boy’s back again.”
    “Wash your mouth out.”
    Harry saunters between the two friends, whines for some it’s-a-dog’s-life reason, and stretches out on the floor.
    “Nice,” says Sky, raising an eyebrow as Jazz starts giggling. “What?”
    “Sight of you falling for lover boy here. Looks like you’ve tired him out.”
    Harry lifts an ear, rests muzzle on paws, licks said paws.
    “Eww! To think, he was licking your face ten minutes ago. I wonder where else that tongue’s been?”
    “Wash your mouth out .”
    “Excuse me, ladies, would you care for a spot of Cornish stew?” asks Malachy from the library doorway. Harry raises both ears.
    “Er, we’re vegetarians,” says Jazz. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
    “I have some homemade sheep’s cheese. And some today baked bread.”
    “What, from those funny black and white sheep with the weird horns we saw from the drive?” asks Sky.
    “The very same,” says Malachy. “They’re Jacobs. Jack loved them.”
    “Did you know him long?” asks Jazz.
    “Half my life,” says Malachy.
    “Do you