“We could live with Granma or Aunty Jo.”
“I don’t think that would work, sweetheart.” I love my mother and sister both, but living under the same roof is another story.
“Well, that’s what I want. That’s what will make me feel better. Getting my life back.”
“I need you to understand that I’m not trying to keep your father away from you.”
“Then why won’t he call?”
“I don’t have an answer to that. In fact, I’ve been calling and messaging him daily, asking—begging—for him to at least call and talk to you and Archer, to explain why he left. And I can’t even express how sorry I am that he hasn’t. It breaks my heart, because I know you need him, but I just don’t know how to get him to you. I’m doing the best that I can here, Abs, and I really need you to cut me some slack. My husband left me, so I’m hurting too.”
“Is that what you talk to Leo about? How hurt you are?”
“Yes, actually. He’s been a good friend to me. And he’s trying to be good to you, too. He built this for you, didn’t he?” I tap the side of the bunk bed.
She rolls her eyes again. “So Dad’s out and he’s in? Just like that?”
I shake my head. “No, sweetheart. He’s my friend.”
“He doesn’t look at you like a friend.”
“Well, he can look all he wants, but it doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into a new relationship. Your father leaving has been huge for us all, and I think we need some time to ourselves before we let a new man into our lives. I’m here for you.”
She narrows her eyes a little. “So you aren’t dating him?”
I shake my head. “No. But I do like being his friend. Do you think you can handle that much?”
“I don’t know. Why does he have to be around at all?”
“Because he lives next door, idiot,” Archer snaps from the other side.
“Archer,” I snap.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Doesn’t mean he needs to hang around or pick Archer up from holiday club. What if Dad comes over, sees him here and gets the wrong idea?”
“Oh honey.” I drop the magazine on the floor and lean forward a little, placing my hand over hers. “I know you want your dad to come back. But I don’t think he wants to or he would have called.”
“You said he just needs some time on his own. He could realise how much he misses us and decide to come back any moment now.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.” I lift her ponytail and run my fingers down the length of it. I miss her. I miss the relationship we had before Kevin exploded our world. When she would come home from school and talk about maths class and yogurt disasters. This version of her is so far removed from the happy-go-lucky kid she was before, and I hate that I can’t fix it. The hardest part of this is trying to work through my own grief and watch out for my kids’ too. It’s like a constant uphill battle I wasn’t ready to trek, and I feel like I’m wearing the wrong shoes.
“Then why did you?”
“Because I didn’t want to hurt you with the truth.”
“What truth?”
I take a deep breath and steel myself. “I don’t think he’s on his own, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flash, and I know I’ve gone too far. There’s such a fine line dictating how much information is for adults and how much is for children. Despite Nana’s assurances that Abby needed the truth, I think I just crossed it. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just leave without telling us. You’ve done something to stop him from calling, I know it. He wouldn’t just leave. He wouldn’t leave us for another woman. He loves us.”
“Of course he loves you, Abby. I don’t think anything will ever get in the way of that.” God, I hope I’m right, because Abby deserves a father’s love. “But you need to understand the truth here. He chose to leave, and until that moment when he told me he was leaving us, I had no idea he wanted to. I haven’t heard from him even once. It’s his choice to stay gone. No one is keeping him away.”
“Can I have my phone back so I can see if he’s called me back? He might not want to talk to you, but maybe he’s just had no way to charge his phone and the moment he does, he’ll call me.”
“OK,” I whisper, pulling her phone out of my pocket and handing it over.
She practically snatches it from my hand and powers it up. For a moment, there’s hope in her eyes, and I see my little girl again. Sweet. Innocent. Not spoiled by hurt and betrayal. But when the only notifications that come through are from her friends, my little girl disappears. I hate this.
“I’m sorry, Abby.”
“No, you aren’t, Mum. It’s easier for you this way. He dumped you and he’s gone and you don’t have to see him after he hurt you. But he’s my dad, and it matters to me that he isn’t here. It matters to me that our whole life has changed because you couldn’t deal with him leaving. If you really cared about us, you’d let us go back to Bairnsdale, and you’d do something more to find him than make a few phone calls. You’re not trying hard enough. I need two parents. And ever since he’s been gone, I barely even have one.”
I recoil like I’ve been slapped in the face. I didn’t realise she was seeing the separation this way. I mean, I knew she was angry, but I didn’t consider this. I was too focused on my own heartbreak, my own confusion. And she’s right, it is easier for me to be away from Kevin, from our house, and from all that was familiar about our life with him. Life got hard. I ran. And I dragged them with me. It really hurts that she’s throwing it all in my face.
“I’ve tried, Abigail,” I say, not really knowing what else to say at this point. “I’m sorry it hasn’t been enough for you.”
“Just stop. You’ve done nothing but lie, and I don’t believe you anymore. You said we were just here while the house was fixed up. You said Dad was away on business. You keep saying things—lies—that are all bullshit.”
“Watch your language with me. I know you’re upset, but you don’t get to speak to me like that.”
“What the fuck does it matter what you want?”
“Abigail.” Since when did my daughter start speaking like this?
“You haven’t once asked me what I want. You’ve just dragged us away from everything and everyone and you keep lying about why. Did he even really leave you, Mum, or did you run away? Or worse. Did you—”
“Don’t you dare insinuate that I caused this. He. Left. I’m your mother, not your emotional punching bag. I’m sorry you’re hurting, Abby, I really am. But I didn’t make your father leave. He did that all on his own. Think about that before you start slinging insults at me next time.”
I stand up as calmly as I can, even though my entire body is shaking. I don’t think I’ve ever been as angry with her as I am in this moment. What’s worse is hearing Archer’s sniffles as he tries to hide his tears.
I walk over and stand by his bed, sweeping his hair from his forehead before I plant a kiss above his brow. “We’ll be okay, buddy,” I whisper, even though I’m not really sure right now.
Wiping at his eyes, he sniffles as he nods. “I don’t like it when you fight.”
“Me either.” A small part of me hopes that Abigail is listening to this and feels guilty for upsetting her little brother before bed. If she could only step outside herself for a moment, maybe she could see all the love she has right in front of her. My heart hurts for us all. “Sleep tight, OK.”
He nods and I head to the door, saying to both of them, “Goodnight, I love you,” before I close it and cover my face with my hands. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Everything OK in there?” Nana’s voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
I shake my head then shrug, a stray tear sliding down my cheek.
“Why don’t you come into the kitchen? Betsy is making espresso martinis as a test for our next craft club.”
“Haven’t you two had enough to drink today?”
“We’re so old, we need the alcohol to
preserve our organs.”
That actually gets a smile from me. “I think maybe I’ll take a shower first. I’ll be out when I calm down.”
With an understanding nod, she reaches out and rubs my arm in comfort. “I stand by what I said before. Your happiness matters too.” I press my lips together and I nod, trying to be strong. But I feel so… broken. Nana pulls me into her arms and rubs my back. “You're a wonderful mother, Darcy. Don’t forget that. It’s hard now, but this will pass. I promise.”
God, I hope she’s right.
And that’s when the tears fall.
Because, what if she’s not?
TWENTY-SEVEN
DARCY
Once I’m showered and slathered in moisturiser to ease my sunburn, I pull on a pair of harem pants and a loose tank top before heading into the living area. Nana stands at the kitchen bench, putting lids back on liquor bottles while Betsy carries an impossibly full martini glass, her eyes wide and her mouth saying a silent, ‘ohh’ until she sets it proudly on the table, somehow managing not to spill a drop.
“This one can be yours,” she says. “There’s supposed to be a coffee bean on top, but you’ll have to pretend this time.”
“Thanks, Betsy,” I say, taking a seat. She watches with keen eyes as I pick up the glass and sip. It’s so strong it punches me in the back of my sinuses. “Whoa, that’s got a kick.” I gasp and sniff, blinking rapidly, because I think it’s knocked out my vision a bit too.
Nana takes a sip of hers, gasps and wheezes. “Maybe a little less liqueur in the next ones, Bets.”
Betsy takes a brave mouthful and smacks her lips together. “Really? I think it’s perfect.”
Nana and I shake our heads, still struggling to breathe properly. “If you like drinking battery acid,” Nana says.
Betsy shrugs.
“You look like you’re about to head out,” I say to Nana when I can talk again, giving her a head-to-toe look. She’s wearing a blue and red kaftan with jewels sparkling around the hemline. Her hair is neatly twisted into a French roll, and her lips are a bright red.
“Oh, I was just going to pay my friend Bob a visit. He got his hands on one of those little blue pills and wants to give it a spin.”
“Best inventions ever,” Betsy adds with a wink, her tongue snaking out to find the side of her martini glass before she downs over half of it.
“What happened to George?” I ask of the naked old guy I haven’t seen since our first night here. “Did you break up?”
“Oh, no. It’s just not his turn,” she says like I should already know this. And come to think if it, I probably should. This is Nana, after all. “I try not to spend too much time on one man, dear. They get too comfortable and next thing you know, you’re washing their underwear and vacuuming under their feet.”
Betsy nods as she reaches for Nana’s unfinished cocktail.
“Well, I guess you shouldn’t keep Bob waiting too long. Wouldn’t want the effects of that pill wearing off without you.” I smile, hoping that one day I’ll have Nana’s zest for life. She never lets anything get her down.
“He can wait. You’re upset.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m at a loss with Abigail. We keep going around in circles. I don’t think she’s going to be OK until I find Kevin.”
“Do you think finding him will change anything?”
I shrug. “Not for me. But for the kids—especially Abigail—yeah. It’ll give them closure.”
“How do you think you’ll feel finding him again?” Betsy asks.
“Honestly, in the beginning, I wanted to yell at him until I went hoarse, but now I just want him to talk to his kids, explain to them why he stepped out of their lives so effortlessly. It wasn’t a snap decision. He planned it. They need to know it wasn’t because of them, and nothing I ever say will convince them of that. Especially not Abby.”
“Hmm,” Betsy says, her chin resting in her hand. “I think that cleansing spell worked really well.”
A laugh bubbles out of my chest as I remember their chanting and candle lighting. It seems so long ago now, but it was only a couple of weeks.
“You and your spells,” Nana says, standing to take Betsy’s empty glass into the kitchen. I have no idea how Betsy is going to stand after drinking hers and Nana’s, so I hand Nana mine to spirit away to safety.
“My spells?” Betsy scoffs. “Oh, I see how it is now.”
Nana gives me a smile and a wink, and I assume there’s some inside joke going on between the two of them. Then she kisses me on the side of the head as she passes. “I’ll be back in time for breakfast. I’m not taking my phone, but if you need me, Bob’s number is in the little black book next to the phone on my nightstand.”
I smile. “Your little black book?”
“Can’t let the men be the only ones to have them.” She leaves the room in a dramatic flair of silk and rhinestones.
“Always ahead of her time, your nana,” Betsy says, slurping down the last of Nana’s espresso martini.
“I like that she’s a free spirit.”
“You could be too.”
“I have too much responsibility to be a free spirit.”
“What a load of poppy-cock. Being a free spirit isn’t about being selfish; it’s about finding your bliss, being happy in any given situation. It’s about embracing joy.”
“Embracing joy?” She makes it sound so easy.
“That’s all Esme does, you know. She lives a simple life, and she pours all of her love into the people around her. In doing that, she’s surrounded by joy. You should try it.”
“So, I just…love everyone? Just like that?”
“Yes. You let go of your judgement and your anger and you look for the good.”
“Doesn’t that only open the door for shitty people to come into your life?”
“The universe gives back what you put in, Darcy. If you express joy, joy is what will return.”
“I can’t imagine seeing me joyful is going to help Abigail much.”
“No.” She smiles like she knows everything. “But loving her will. Here”—she leans to the side and rummages through her handbag, pulling out a worn leather pencil case—“I think it’s time to read your cards.”
“Do you really think these work?” I ask, sceptical as I watch her gnarled fingers work at the zipper then pull out a set of tarot cards that appear to be as old as Betsy herself.
“All depends on what you want to know.” She looks me in the eye as she shuffles the deck with an expert hand. I swear this woman is impervious to alcohol.
“Honestly, I just want to know how I’m supposed to get through this.”
She holds the deck out to me. “Then shuffle the cards and ask them to give you direction.”
With a heavy sigh, I take them from her hand and do as she says, closing my eyes and focusing on the movement of my hands and the searching in my heart. Who knows if a bunch of cards with pictures of them is going to hold any sort of answer?
“OK,” Betsy says when I’m finished shuffling. “Cut the deck then select three cards.” She points at the table, and I place each card in front of her finger. The first in the centre, the second to the left, the third to the right. “These represent your present”—she points to the card in the middle—“your past”—she points to the one on the left—“and your future”—the one on the right. “Flip your present first, and we’ll talk about where you are right now.”
I do as she asks and I find the image of a man wrapped in a cloak with golden cups on the ground around him. “What does that mean?”
“It’s the Five of Cups. It’s a dark omen that warns of loss and disappointment. You’re experiencing setbacks, but it’s important to remember that this emotional pain and heartache will pass.”
“No big shock there. My life is primarily disappointment right now.” I’ve gotta say, it’s uncanny how spot on this is already.
“In the present position, it suggests you should explore new path
s. But if you’re avoiding truths, any satisfaction you find will be short-lived. The only solution is optimism and honesty.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you just saying all this because you know about my situation?”
All I get is a knowing smile. “I don’t deal the cards, my sweet. I simply tell you what’s in them. Now, turn over your past.”
Taking a deep breath, I flip the card on the left. It’s a skeleton riding a red-eyed horse. “That doesn’t look good.”
“Well, it’s not. It’s the Death card. It doesn’t necessarily mean that someone will die. It’s mostly indicative of massive change. Something happened that will flip everything about your life on its head and there’ll be no going back to it.”
“You’re shitting me?”
She grins. “I’m not. And since we already know about Kevin leaving and the ensuing bankruptcy, I think it’s fair to say that when we look at your past and present cards together, you’re in the midst of change. And where you go from here will be entirely up to you. Do you embrace those feelings you’re having for the handsome rugby player next door, or do you live like a spinster, at the mercy of your daughter’s temper for the rest of your life? Joy or anxiety.” She lifts her brow. “Want to find out?” She taps the final card.
“This is making my life sound like a soap opera. And I have to admit, I’m feeling a little manipulated right now. You have prior knowledge while you read these.”
She laughs. “Look up the meanings online when we’re done. I assure you, I’m not twisting them.”
“Cleansing spells and mystical tarot cards. You’ll all have me addicted to my horoscope next. My mother would lecture me for days if she even caught me considering this kind of stuff.”
“You’re forty years old and you worry about what your mother thinks?”
“All the time,” I say with a shake of my head. “I can’t even talk to her right now for fear of judgement. We converse via text.”
Betsy smiles in a way that tells me she’s not even touching that subject. “Turn over the final card, Darcy. Let’s see what this nervous, worried woman in front of me has ahead of her.”
Love is a Beach: a romantic comedy Page 18
