Heart of the Cross

by Emily Madden

  Tom gave an acerbic laugh. ‘That fucker is the reason I lost my job.’

  ‘What?’ She was truly shocked.

  ‘Filled McWilliams’s ears with lies about me being on drugs at work.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Listen, I’m not going to deny it—I have been smoking hashish for a while now, but never at work and …’ he lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye, ‘never at home.’

  ‘Well, then … that’s good to know,’ Rosie said curtly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rosie.’

  She was speechless. It was a good thing she was sitting, she could’ve been knocked down with a feather. ‘For what?’ she finally managed.

  ‘For everything. I know things haven’t been what you expected.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘But I want you to know …’ He reached out across the table and grabbed her hand. His touch made her jolt and spill her tea all over the table. ‘That it’s going to be different. From now on, I’m going to be the husband you married, the father that Jimmy deserves. From now on, we’re a family. But … only if you want to.’

  She listened to his words, but did she dare to believe them? This was a man who had lied to her, married her under false pretences, abused her, and yet … he was promising to change, and he had apologised.

  What was that poem by Emily Dickinson? Something about hope having or being a feather? Right now, Rosie felt like that feather, full of hope and wanting to believe that what Tom was saying was heartfelt, that his words held truth. Rosie had two paths here. She could say no and move on with her life, or she could try to save her marriage.

  I can make him better.

  I can fix this.

  Tom deserves another chance.

  Jimmy deserves a family.

  So, she took a deep breath and spoke the words that inevitably would seal not only her fate, but her son’s, too.

  Nine

  Brianna

  By the time they’d met, Tam not only had a couple of draft menus mocked up, but samples, too. She also had taken one look at Brie and instructed the barista, a young man with cornrows, to bring her a double-shot latte, stat. Within moments, the caffeine goodness arrived, shortly followed by an omelette served in a cast-iron pan.

  Brie cocked her brow. ‘I didn’t order this.’ Not that she minded. It smelled absolutely amazing, and her tummy rumbled at the sight and her salivary glands exploded.

  ‘I know,’ Tam said, lifting her own coffee and taking a quick sip. ‘But I figured you wouldn’t have time for breakfast since you said you had something to do before our meeting, so I took a guess and ordered you an egg-white omelette with goat’s cheese when you texted you were on the way. I wasn’t sure what bread you’d like so there’s rye and quinoa sourdough, but if you’re paleo or gluten free, then I can ask the kitchen to get you—’

  ‘I’m not either, and if I was, trust me, Japan isn’t big on the whole gluten free thing. This is wonderful, thank you.’

  ‘How did your meeting go this morning?’

  Brie shook her head. She had planned to drive by the Kings Cross address before she met up with Tam, but had ended up sleeping in. By the time she’d woken up, Brie knew she only had time for a quick shower.

  ‘I didn’t make it, probably won’t have time until after the funeral now.’ She was meeting Joe there on Monday—whatever it was, it would have to wait.

  ‘Well then, it’s a good thing I ordered breakfast for you,’ Tam said in a matter-of-fact way.

  By the time her omelette was done, Tam had gone through her ideas for the wake, even down to where they would lay out the refreshments and what napkins they would use. Brie was in awe. ‘You’re a powerhouse, Tam. No wonder Rosie felt so comfortable selling to you and John. It’s obvious you both have an affinity and passion for food.’ Brie waved her hand around the café. It was midmorning on a weekday, and yet there were only a few spare tables, the coffee machine was getting a workout, incredible smells wafted from the kitchen and wait staff buzzed to and fro from the plating area, carrying everything from thick stacks of blueberry pancakes to funky bowls that contained the healthiest of power breakfasts.

  ‘We love what we do.’ Tam shrugged.

  ‘And it shows.’

  ‘Now,’ Tam said, straightening her back and taking charge. ‘How do you feel about serving Irish whiskey as a nod to Rosie’s heritage?’

  Brie smiled. Rosie wasn’t much of a drinker, but when she did indulge, Irish whiskey had been her drink of choice. ‘I think that would be absolutely perfect.’

  * * *

  The next day, Brie sat in the front pew of St Patrick’s ready to farewell Rosie. Both Tam and John made it. John was able to use some of the guys they’d found to help out with the wake to cover the morning and lunchtime rush at the café. He was heading back straight after the service to close business for the day and set up for the mourners.

  It was a packed house. Brie wasn’t sure why she was surprised, but she was. Rosie had been well liked, but she had assumed, because they had no family, that the church would be too big for the service. But as it turned out, she was wrong. It wasn’t until she was walking up to the pulpit to deliver her eulogy that she realised there wasn’t a spare seat. In fact, there were people standing all along the back of the church, with more slowly trickling in.

  As she scanned the congregation, she spotted a few familiar faces, including Joe, who had to rush off after the burial and wouldn’t be able to make the wake.

  Brie’s hands trembled as she unfolded the pages she’d slaved over the night before, her heart torn between heartbreak and hurt, and it was only when she recalled something Rosie would say to her often that she was able to make the words come out with love and fondness.

  ‘Rosie used to say that when anything was scary, when you were unsure about anything, it meant you were about to grow. If there were two paths that led to something, take the hardest path because that’s where the best lessons are. She would then tell me that I was stronger than I thought and to have hope, because hope was like a feather. This always puzzled me. Feathers are light. They are lost by their owners, whipped up by the wind and thrown into the unknown. It took me many years to realise the true meaning of what Rosie was trying to tell me about the feathers. Feathers may be light, but they are strong. Have you tried to break a feather? It’s not easy—the nine-year-old me can tell you that.’ At this comment, soft chuckles rippled through the crowd. The pause gave Brie a chance to take a breath and the courage to go on.

  ‘Feathers are brave. They allow the wind to take them wherever the wind wants to go. Feathers are patient. They arrive at their destination, fall to the ground and wait. They wait for the world to tell them what will come next. But most of all, feathers are fearless—because they do all of this with the hope that where they are about to go, whatever they are about to do, is what life meant for them. Rosie Hart was strong. She was brave. She was patient. She was fearless. But most of all, she was my kind, loving, amazing grandmother. She was …’ Brie felt her throat clog as tears blurred her vision. She expelled a whoosh of air to recompose herself. ‘She was my feather.’

  When she looked up, Tam was wiping away tears and as she swept her gaze around the church, there were many eyes that were not dry. It seemed that her words had struck a chord. Perhaps there were others who also thought of Rosie as their feather.

  Brie stepped towards the coffin, which was adorned with a modest wreath of white lilies, the only flowers Rosie had allowed for today. Sunshine tunnelled down the aisle and bathed the casket as if the heavens were welcoming their newest angel. ‘Goodbye, Gran,’ she whispered before kissing her fingers and gently placing them to the dark-mahogany wood. When a shadow crept over, blocking the sun, Brie looked up to see a man walk in. She couldn’t make out his face, but she assumed it was someone she didn’t know. After all, everyone she knew was already here. It was only when he stepped to the side and away from the sun’s aura that she
saw his face, and the sight of him made her gasp. It made her remember the last time Rosie had given her the ‘hope is a feather’ speech. She was nineteen and trying to decide if she was going to go to New York to study photojournalism. Brie had been hesitant for one reason only—going to New York meant leaving her boyfriend behind.

  That boy was now a man, the very same man who had walked into the church a moment ago and stolen her sunshine. Josh Cooper.

  * * *

  Brie didn’t see Josh again until they were at the cemetery for the burial service, and even then she didn’t allow herself more than a glance or two.

  She hadn’t seen him since the day she’d told him she was leaving. Their parting had not been on the best of terms, and not once in the years since she’d returned from living abroad had they crossed paths. It was fortunate, really. They had been part of the same mutual group of friends, many of whom were now married or scattered around the globe. Living overseas had afforded Brie a tenable excuse for missing numerous reunions, birthdays, parties and weddings, all of which would no doubt have placed her in the same room as Josh Cooper. Which led her back to her question.

  What are you doing here, Josh?

  It was as if he read the query from across the grave, because his gaze shifted to hers and held it hostage. Brie looked away first, but the weight of his stare bored into her. She didn’t allow herself to fall prey to it—once was enough; her heart was still palpitating from the encounter.

  When they lowered the coffin, she felt Tam’s hand take hers. Brie wasn’t used to the kindness of relative strangers, but in the short time she’d known Tam, it felt as though they were more than mere acquaintances. For one, she was at her grandmother’s funeral holding her hand while her husband set up for Rosie’s wake. Whatever the reason, Brie allowed Tam to hold her hand until the last of the earth covered the grave and the final mourner had paid their respects. Thankfully, Josh had not been one of them.

  ‘Do you want me to ride with you?’ Tam asked as they walked away from where Rosie now was laid to rest. The wind had intensified, whipping up an arc of swirling dry autumn leaves. It was cooler today—a welcome fact considering the only outfit she had found in her old wardrobe was suitable for a cooler climate.

  ‘Didn’t you drive here?’ Brie asked. She was sure both Tam and John had driven separately.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t mind leaving the car here. John or I can come back for it later.’

  ‘And visit a cemetery late at night?’ Brie asked dubiously. While she applauded Tam’s intuition that Brie didn’t want to be alone, there was no way she was going to put the other woman out even more than she had already. ‘No.’ Brie placed a hand over her wild curls when a gust of wind blew. ‘You’ve done so much as it is, and the funeral car is booked to take me home. I was going to drive myself to the café after that and you probably need to head straight there.’

  ‘John and the others will have everything set. If there were any issues, I would’ve heard from him by now. Why don’t I drive you home if you want, then we can head in together.’

  It seemed that Tam wasn’t going to let it go. ‘Okay,’ she said, resigned.

  ‘I’ll wait for you by the car.’

  Brie headed off to relieve Walter Smythe, who despite their initial hiccup had turned out to be the consummate professional. The whole funeral had run smoothly, and true to his word, Walter had distributed printed donation envelopes for the charity of Rosie’s choice.

  ‘Only if you’re absolutely sure.’ He seemed hesitant to be let off early.

  ‘Tam … my friend, doesn’t want me to be alone right now.’

  Walter nodded knowingly. ‘She’s a good friend. Being around those who care for you is where you belong, Ms Hart.’

  Brie didn’t bother telling him that she didn’t know where she belonged as she was riding on the kindness of strangers. ‘Thank you, Mr Smythe, for everything.’

  ‘It’s what we do, Ms Hart.’ Walter gave a short nod before turning away.

  ‘Oh, Mr Smythe,’ Brie called out.

  Walter pivoted to face her. ‘Yes, Ms Hart?’

  ‘Will you let me know who donated today? I’d like to send thankyou cards.’

  ‘We’ll arrange that for you. All we need is the wording and we’ll have cards printed and delivered so you can add a personal message and sign.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t help wondering if Josh had donated.

  ‘We’ll also put you in touch with the recipient of the money if you like.’

  ‘That would be great, thank you.’

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry if I bullied you into riding with me,’ Tam said as they snaked through the mid-afternoon traffic. It wasn’t quite three o’clock and already cars were banked almost bumper to bumper down New South Head Road. It seemed to Brie that since her last time back in the city, peak hour was starting earlier and earlier. In the past couple of mornings, she’d been able to hear the distant whooshing of cars well before the first rays of light had warmed the darkened earth.

  ‘John complains I have a tendency to take over situations. I get that from my mum’s mum. But I just thought it would be nice if you weren’t alone immediately after burying your grandmother.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, I’m grateful you were looking out for me.’

  ‘It was a lovely service. Your eulogy moved me to tears, and believe it or not, I’m not much of a crier. Get that from my dad’s mum, apparently.’

  ‘Neither am I, and yet, I managed to blubber a number of times today.’

  ‘Aww, you were saying goodbye to your gran.’

  They lapsed into companionable silence for a while.

  When they were about ten minutes from the café, Tam called her mother to check on the kids. A cacophony of noise and utter chaos spilled from the phone’s loudspeaker, only ending when Tam terminated the call mid-conversation. ‘Sorry about that—I’m not sure why I bother to call when I know it’s bath time.’ She chuckled as if to say it wasn’t something she was going to stop doing anytime soon.

  ‘I should be the one apologising. I’ve taken you away from your kids today.’

  Tam gave her a look that read ‘are you crazy’? ‘I love my kids, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve been working in hospitality since I was sixteen; I love it. John and I met working in a bar and early on I could tell he had a passion for it, too. When we saw the café was up for sale, it was fate. My mum lives across the road and Rosie was a dream. She said the moment she met us she knew it was meant to be.’

  The more time she spent with Tam, the more Brie liked her. It almost saddened her that she wouldn’t be around long enough to form a proper friendship with her.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take you past home first?’ Tam asked as they neared Rosie’s street.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I could do with some company and a coffee as well if that’s not asking too much.’

  ‘Are you kidding? Tea and sympathy or, in this case, coffee is what I live for.’

  * * *

  Tam wasn’t kidding when she said John would have it all under control. By the time Tam and Brie arrived, the tables were cleared, save for the ones that would be used for serving food. There was seating that lined the edges of the café where the vertical garden walls were lined with rows and rows of fairy lights that transformed the space. It was just the right feel, the right ambience for the sombre occasion.

  ‘Wow, this is perfect. Rosie would’ve loved it.’

  ‘You think?’ Tam clasped her hand and chewed her bottom lip nervously. ‘I wanted the place to look like Rosie herself would’ve set it up.’

  ‘Well, you’ve hit the nail right on the head. I couldn’t have done it better,’ Brie admitted enviously.

  ‘Right—you take a seat, I’ll get you that coffee and I know the guys are all busy readying for tonight, but I’ll see if I can steal a frittata or arancini or two. You probably should eat now, because as people arrive you’l
l be busy chatting.’ Tam winked and was gone before Brie could protest. She returned a short time later balancing a plate laden with food and two coffees.

  ‘Here you go.’ Tam eased down the plate and Brie helped her with the coffees.

  ‘You make that look so easy.’

  ‘Ah, years of practice, but that’s not to say I haven’t had my share of mishaps. The night that John and I met, he was working behind the bar at the Burdekin on Oxford Street. It was the night of Michael Jackson’s memorial service. Anyway, I approached the bar and picked up a tray full of drinks, but I was so engrossed in the whole thing my tray full of wine, beer and spirits went flying over one burly bikie who wasn’t impressed that I had so unceremoniously interrupted his Saturday-night viewing.’

  Brie couldn’t help laughing. ‘No!’

  Tam nodded sagely. ‘And let’s just say if it weren’t for John stepping in to save the day, I would’ve been toast.’

  ‘What tall tale are you telling now?’ John appeared by his wife’s side, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Their casual affection evoked both admiration and yearning. For the first time in her life, Brie was envious of mundane domestic bliss.

  ‘Just about that night.’

  ‘Which night?’ he asked with mock oblivion.

  ‘The night we met.’ Tam socked him lightly in the stomach and John acted as if it packed a punch.

  ‘Oh, that night.’ John nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember it as clear as day. Poor Bones the Bikie, you really laid into him. He was lucky I was around to save him from you.’

  ‘You’re such a moron.’ Tam shook her head ruefully, her eyes full of adoration.

  ‘A moron you’ve loved for some eight years now.’

  John left them to attend to last-minute preparations in the kitchen, and not long after, people started to arrive.

  It wasn’t common to not have the wake straight after the service, but knowing that John and Tam had a business to run, Brie took the chance to have it early evening after the café closed, hoping people wouldn’t mind the gap, and it seemed by the stellar turnout, they didn’t.