by A. M. Hudson
Emily looked around the rest of the group. “Everyone agree with that?”
People shrugged or nodded. Emily looked at me, and I smiled, bringing one shoulder up to my ear.
“Okay, so, two weekends from now. And we’ll need to draw up new ticket sale signs—if you guys can take care of that?” She nodded toward the art students; they nodded back. “Okay. So, thanks for coming, everybody, and—” she stood up, “—let’s get this show on the road.”
The small group disbursed, murmuring between themselves, while Ryan walked Emily off stage and talked to her quietly at the base for a second. She nodded, wiped her face, then hugged him tightly and walked away.
“Hey, Em,” I said, deliberately avoiding how are you or I’m sorry.
“Hey, Ara. Where’s David?”
“Didn’t Ryan tell you?” We slid into the end seats on the front row.
“Mm. No. What happened?” Her eyes narrowed.
I just shattered him to pieces. “He uh—he left school for the day.”
“Really?” She slid down in her seat, folding her fingertips over her eyes. “I feel like such an idiot for crying at school. I wish I’d left, too.”
“Oh, Em—don’t. It’s not silly at all. Hell, even I’ve done it.”
“Really?” She sat up a little.
“Mm-hm.” I hugged my music sheets.
“Well, why? Was someone mean to you?”
I shrugged.
“Who?”
“Remember the theatrical kiss thing—with David, the toilets, my first day?”
“Oh, yeah—Summer and that short girl she hangs around?”
“Yeah.” I laughed.
“Summer was telling us the whole story, you know, that afternoon.” Emily leaned back in her chair. “No one believed her, though—about David kissing you. I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t told me about it in History class.”
“Why? Is it so hard to believe David would kiss me?”
She laughed once. “That wasn’t what we didn’t believe; it was how Summer said he was doing it to stand up for you. David doesn’t stand up for anybody,” she added with a hint of spite.
“He stood up for the Apple King, at lunch that day.”
“Yeah, it seems you’ve unearthed a new David.” She looked down at her hands, flipping her silver padlock bracelet. “So—he went home, huh?”
I shrugged. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
“He does this, you know?” She smiled sympathetically. “If things get too…emotional, he takes off for a few days. But, he’ll be at the funeral on Thursday. I’m sure you can speak to him then.”
“But, what if it wasn’t because of Nathan that he left? What if it was for some other reason? Would he still come back for the funeral?”
“What other reason would he have?” she asked, smiling at Spencer as he walked past; he didn’t smile back.
“What’s the deal with Spence?” I asked. “Was he close to Nathan?”
“No. You saw that, huh? The quick-look-away thing he does.”
“Yeah. Does he do that a lot?”
“Every time I look at him.”
“And you think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t like you?” I tried to stifle a giggle.
“It must be. Why would he do it if he liked me?”
“Because, Emily—” I shoved my notes on the chair and stood up, “—he’s a guy. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“Ara!” she squeaked. “What are you doing?”
I ignored her, walking over to Ryan, Alana and Spencer. My brilliant idea of setting Emily up with Mike was about to go out the window…
“Hey, guys.”
“Hey, Ara.” Alana leaned a little closer. “I was thinking…about the sleepover this weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“Um, could we…maybe move it to next weekend?”
“The Saturday before the concert?” I confirmed.
“Yeah. With the funeral this week…” She nodded at Emily, sitting low in her chair, staring at her feet. “Might be a bit much.”
“Yeah. That’s cool. Next week’ll be fine.”
“So, Ara?” Ryan asked. “Are you coming to the wake at Betty’s on Thursday night?”
“I um—I didn’t know about it. Why is Mrs Rossi doing it there?”
“She’s not,” Ryan said, placing his arm around Alana. “It’s just a bunch of us kids fare-welling Nathan in our own way. Betty’s was his favourite burger joint—we figure it’s appropriate.”
“Oh, okay. Well, that sounds cool. I guess I’ll try, but I may have to go to Mrs Rossi’s with my dad, you know—pay my respects as a family.” I shrugged.
“I get it. Totally cool. If we see you there, we see you there,” Ryan said.
“Hey, so, you two are going together, right?” I asked Alana and Ryan.
“Yup.”
“So, why don’t you take Emily, Spence? I know she needs a ride,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the fact that I couldn’t know that, since I didn’t even know about the wake before now.
Spencer smiled over at Emily—looking away before she looked up.
Hopefully, this was one match that’d work out well.
* * *
Grief struck the school like a tidal wave; the teachers cancelled homework for the week, and even my dad, when I woke up this morning and begged him not to make me go to school, just sighed and said, “Fine, stay home—but just for today.”
I froze on the spot, watching him walk away, half expecting him to turn back and say he was joking. But Dad wasn’t his usual self; I think the grief of losing his ex-wife and a student in the same year was taking its toll.
There was no point in going to school, anyway. David wouldn’t be there, and I couldn’t bear the emptiness surrounding that place without him. I only stayed at school yesterday for the small glimmer of hope that he might decide to come back. He didn’t. Instead, he had inflicted on me a foul taste of what life without him would be like, and already I couldn’t take it.
Sam stacked the last of the dinner plates on the counter beside the sink, and I flicked on the faucet to help wash the scraps down the ancient garbage disposal. There were an awful lot of leftovers tonight.
When the clock in the front entrance chimed seven, I sighed. The anticipation to possibly see David tomorrow—possibly tell him I was sorry, and maybe even tell him I’d take that last few months with him—made the day drag. I spent the better part of it out on my swing, just wishing he’d come by; even contemplated throwing the cat up in the tree just to entice him. And if I knew where he lived, I’d have gone over—without invitation.
My ears pricked to the sound of Dad and Vicki’s footsteps overhead. It was unusually empty in this house tonight; no TV buzzing from the lounge room, no laughter from Dad as he told Vicki about his day, and Sam, who normally tossed the forks in the air and caught them behind his back, dried them slowly and placed them quietly in the drawer. All the silence gave me too much time alone with my thoughts—never a good thing.
“Are you okay, Ara?” Sam said.
I jumped back from the sink, flicking the faucet off as water spilled over the edge, soaking my tank top. “Damn it.”
“Might wanna clean that up before Dad sees,” Sam said, drying a plate.
“It’s just water, Sam.”
“Yeah, but…you don’t want him asking how it happened, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, mopping it up with the floor mat.
“You were…pretty spaced out there for a bit.”
“I’m not going to flip, Sam.” I rolled my eyes. “I know everyone’s waiting for it, but I’m okay, really. Really!”
He took a long step sideways—away from the crazy person—and continued drying the dishes, wearing the same smug grin he always wore when he thought he had the upper hand.
That’s it! I dipped my fingertips into the sink then flicked dishwater all over his head.
&n
bsp; “Argh, Ara!” He blinked, wiping his face, and when he looked up at me, revenge burning in his gaze, that little prank suddenly seemed like a better idea in theory. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” He held the tea towel an arms length away, spinning it in circles to make a long, twisted snake.
“Oh, no. No. Don’t you dare!” I warned, with the pointed finger of authority.
“And who’s gonna stop me?” He flicked the back of my leg with the towel.
“Ouch.” I squealed, running around the island counter to out-manoeuvre him. No good—he took a head shot. “Hey, no fair, keep it below the knees,” I yelled, running toward the front entrance, then bolted up the stairs.
“Come back and I’ll make it quick.” He thudded up behind me.
As the towel came at me again, I slammed my bedroom door—catching the end of it in the doorframe. Sam laughed boisterously, trying to pull it out.
“Told you I’m faster, Samuel,” I called through the door. “And don’t even—”
“That’s enough, you two,” Dad said in his booming voice.
“But, Dad—” Sam started.
“I said enough! Now get back down and finish your chores.”
“What about her?”
“Now!”
In the hall, Sam sighed loudly. The tea towel made a grating sound before releasing from the door with a short, dull thud. “Why does the princess always get her own way? It’s not fair.”
“Move it, Sam,” Dad finished.
I tensed, waiting for him to yell at me—to force me downstairs where I’d get my butt whopped as soon as he walked away, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked down the stairs and closed the front door, obviously having gone out it. I opened my door to check, hearing the car start up, and felt suddenly really bad for mucking about with Sam.
“Did Dad just go out?” Vicki asked, coming out from the spare room.
“Um, yeah. I think Sam and I might’ve upset him.”
She looked at the front door. “I doubt that, Ara-Rose. He’s just…He’ll be okay. It’s just been a big year.”
“Yeah. I guess.” I closed my door before I could see the tears I heard in her voice, and wandered over to sit at my desk. Under the charcoal sky of the coming night outside, the oak tree rustled lightly in the breeze, and the swing, hovering low over the soft grass, swayed gently—almost as if a small, invisible child were rocking back and forth on it. Along the sidewalk, a group of kids ran noisily past our block, dragging a red wagon behind them. Their laughter filled the night until they disappeared down the street, leaving an eerie stillness behind them.
It amazed me how a second of distraction could make everything seem less empty, not quite so lonely, and when it was gone, the mere silence you were lost in before felt more like a vortex of desolation. Just like with David, I suppose; he came into my life when I was numb inside and, without him, I felt like I was dead.
And that was exactly why I had to let him go. Knowing the grief he’d suffer for losing Nathan made me soft; made me think about taking him back. But that would do me no good at all. Time heals, David told me once, and if that was true, then time needed to start now. The sooner I let him out of my heart, the sooner I’d move on.
Tomorrow, at sunrise, I’d go running for the first time since I lost them—feel the fresh air on my face in the early morning, just as I used to every day with Mike, back home in Australia. Vicki would think I was okay again, Dad would be happy I’d left my mum and Harry in the past, and I would run. Nothing more. Run, until everything that hurt in my heart and my soul moved to the edges of my limbs, into my knees and my lungs, and I would leave it there. Leave the pain—leave the sorrow. Leave David.
When we saw each other at the funeral, he wouldn’t know me. I could play a different Ara. I could stand strong—smile. I would smile. If only for a second, just to nod toward him, while in my mind I’d be saying goodbye.
Chapter Fifteen
“Dad, you look nice,” my voice trailed up as I set eyes upon my suit-wearing father, coming out of his room.
“Thank you, Ara.” He nodded solemnly.
It hurt to hear his voice sounding so flat and sad. “You okay, Dad?”
“I’m fine, honey.”
“Okay. Hey, um, Dad?” I said as he started walking away. “Is this dress okay for a funeral?”
His lips twisted tightly as he studied my mournful black attire: a soft cotton dress, with a burgundy belt around the waist. “Ara, are you sure you’re ready for this?”
I frowned up at him. “For a funeral?”
“Yes. It’s just that—it’s barely been two months, honey.” His eyes held obvious memory of my mother. “Are you sure you can cope with this?”
“No, Dad. I’m not sure. I’m actually not sure about anything anymore. But I want to go—for Emily and…David.” His name stuck in my throat.
Dad nodded, but didn’t speak.
The clock on the wall at the base of the stairs chimed eight. The funeral wasn’t until nine o’clock, but Mrs Rossi asked my dad and his family to attend a church service beforehand. Unfortunately, he agreed.
“Had breakfast?” Dad asked, heading down the stairs.
“Yeah,” I lied. I knew I should sit at the table and eat with him—maybe even have a coffee to help ease the chill in my skin from my early morning run, but he was better than anyone at seeing through my mask; I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t ready to see a coffin or see people crying. But I had to see David one last time before he was gone from my life forever.
I sat at the base of the stairs, hugging the post, listening to the calm of the house; the way the smell of toast could make everything seem kind of okay. My hunger pangs grew, twisting my gut into knots. But instead of eating, I watched my father with a careful eye—resting his chin on interlaced fingers, staring out at the white glare of the morning. I wondered where his thoughts were—where his heart was. He said so little about what he felt or how he was coping, that watching him, seeing him look so sad and distracted, came as a bit of a shock.
“All set to go, are we?” Vicki asked, coming down the stairs.
“Yeah.”
“Did you eat?”
I nodded, resting my head against the post after.
“Vicki.” Dad smiled at her adoringly as he came in from the kitchen. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Greg.” She straightened the front of her skirt. “I’m just sorry for the occasion.”
Dad nodded, and the sadness stole the smile from his blue eyes.
Vicki did look nice in black, but it seemed like such an unfriendly colour, almost cruel really, to say goodbye to someone in. If my last memory were of my funeral, I’d want to see everyone dressed in colours—to celebrate my life, instead of mourn it.
“Sam, you ready?” Vicki called.
“One minute, Mom.”
“Hurry up. We’ll be in the car.”
“Okay.”
Dad grabbed the keys and Vicki shouldered her purse, and as she pulled the front door open, my breath stopped short of my lips. The cool morning air blew across my knees, sending a chill through my skin, and the sun reflected brightly off the damp black road outside, like a spotlight—blinding me. But my eyes did not betray me, displaying perfection before them. “David?” my dad said cheerfully. “You’re right on time.”
Right on time?
David stood in the doorway with one hand in the pocket of his tailored black suit as he shook my dad’s with the other. “Good to see you again, Mr Thompson, Mrs Thompson.” He nodded politely at Dad, then Vicki, and turned his head to look directly at me.
I was shrinking. I could feel it. I wanted to close my mouth, wipe the dumbfounded stare off my face, but I really loved David too much to hide the elation in my soul. He looked so damn perfect. There was no way I’d be able to control my emotions now.
“Good morning, Ara,” he said in that smooth, weightless voice.
“Um…hi,” I said, and my eyes fell to the floor. I didn
’t want to see him standing there, looking at me like nothing ever happened between us—like we were just friends.
“Uh, Ara?” Dad broke the lengthy silence. “Since you kids are having your own wake at Betty’s, I thought you might like to ride in with David?”
“You mean you assumed.”
“Ara?” Vicki gasped.
“No, she’s right, Vicki,” Dad said softly. “I’m sorry, honey. I did think it would be okay.”
I folded my arms, biting my teeth together. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; I was supposed to see him from afar—supposed to prepare myself for talking to him. Nobody seemed to care about my trying to move forward. I went jogging today! Jogging! Wasn’t that enough? Dad had just single-handedly destroyed all the resolve I had to let David go. Well, I wasn’t going to stand by and let them conspiratorially send me to a mental institution. I could handle this. I’d dealt with worse.
“I’ll just see you there then.” David looked at me once then turned stiffly away.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. I said you should have checked with me first.”
David stopped.
“Okay, Ara.” Dad patted my arm. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
I took off, skulking along behind David, arms still folded, piercing his soul with eyes like daggers when he opened the car door for me. “I can get the door myself.”
“I’m sorry.” He took a step back. “I know you can. I was…”
I pushed past him and slumped into the passenger seat, shutting the door on whatever he was going to say.
In the silence, while Dad talked to David by the mailbox, the woodsy, lemony smell of his seats stirred the memory of our picnic by the lake—making my stomach growl again, spreading the familiar weak and shaky feeling through my arms. I looked over at Dad, his hand on David’s shoulder, with Vicki jumping in to touch his arm. It was nice of them to just leave me sitting here, in the heat, waiting.
David glanced back at me, just for a second, then shook my dad’s hand, jerking his head in my direction. I saw Dad’s mouth move, breaking into a grin; I knew they were laughing at my bad mood—they always did. No one cared to ask what was wrong. All they cared about was that my sulking was something funny to laugh at.
