The Summer Sisters

by Lilly Mirren

  “I had no idea…” she said.

  He shrugged. “I was too shy to say anything.”

  “Okay, now I know you’re lying. You weren’t shy, you were the coolest guy in school, the one all the girls fawned over. You were the hot surfer… I couldn’t even talk to you without getting death stares.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? It wasn’t really me. I might’ve seemed to fit in with that crowd, but you may remember I didn’t actually date any of those girls. I wasn’t interested in them. I was interested in you, but you didn’t even give me a second look. You were smart, fun, sweet — way out of my league.”

  He stopped, faced her with the hint of a smile playing around his lips. “I never thought I’d get to be here, standing with you on the beach at sunset. Never thought I’d get to kiss you.”

  He stooped down and pressed his lips against hers, taking her breath away. Her eyes drifted shut and she inhaled his scent — aftershave mixed with salt and a masculine musk. It sent a tremor down her body and through her legs, making them wobble.

  She linked her hands behind his neck, staring into his blue eyes with wonder. “If only I’d known.”

  “What would you have done?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

  She frowned. “Absolutely nothing.”

  He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “But it still would’ve been nice to know.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  She eyed him, still feeling the giddy aftereffects of that kiss. “I’m losing the fight to keep you at arm’s length, Josh Owens.”

  He grunted. “My devious plan is working then.”

  “I don’t know where this is going…”

  “Neither do I. We don’t always have to be in control, Bindi. Sometimes we simply have to catch the wave and ride it to shore. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, trust that I won’t hurt you,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes with a gentle touch.

  “And what happens if I hurt you? What if…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It hurt too much to think about what the future might hold for her, or what it might not. In this bittersweet moment, she couldn’t imagine giving up on the life she’d built, the joy that hovered fragile in her heart.

  He squeezed his arms tighter around her. “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. You and me against the world.”

  “Together,” she echoed. She liked the sound of that. How long she’d waited to have family in her life. Now she was surrounded by it, and it might all be taken away in the blink of an eye. She sighed, rested her head against his chest and let her thoughts drift away to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

  19

  November 1950

  Casoli, Italy

  Charlie tramped along the footpath, up the hill and stopped at the door to the unit. His breath formed a fog in front of his mouth and his eyes watered. He stamped both feet on the cobblestones while he rifled through his pocket for the key, then opened the door and stepped across the threshold.

  A baby cried upstairs, and he could hear Maria’s low voice shushing Stefano towards sleep. In the kitchen, there was a banging sound, likely Marion playing something on her own while she waited for Maria to return.

  He hung his coat on the coat rack, grateful for the warmth from the fireplace in the living room that pushed the cold back out through the door as he shut it behind him.

  With a sigh, he unwound the scarf from his neck and hung it up as well, then kicked off each boot and slid his feet into the slippers waiting for him beside the shoe rack.

  He threw his keys into a small bowl on top of the credenza. A pile of unopened mail caught his eye. No doubt a series of bills. He shook his head. The bills were never-ending it seemed. No sooner did he bring home his paycheck, than the bills began arriving, one after the other. Keeping a family alive was a lot more work than he’d ever realised. His own parents had made it look so easy.

  He picked up the mail and sifted through it. Gas bill, water bill…and an envelope addressed to him in a familiar hand. In one corner, an Australian stamp.

  His breath caught in his throat. The bills went back onto the credenza and he carried the letter with him to sit by the fire. With one finger sliding beneath the envelope flap, he ripped it open and pulled the sheets of paper free.

  His parents were alive and full of joy at receiving his letter. He stopped after the first paragraph and set the letter in his lap, his heart racing.

  They’d thought he was dead. They’d even held a service. Everyone attended, it was the hardest day of their lives, his mother wrote. So, when they received his letter, she’d fainted on the kitchen floor. Thankfully, Father had been there to catch her, and everything was fine.

  He shook his head as he read, almost hearing her voice through the words scratched out in what looked to be a flurry on the page. His mother usually wrote with such precision, each letter perfectly formed, each word well thought out. This was written all in a rush.

  His sister, Sylvia, was well. She was enjoying living in Sydney with her carpenter husband. How funny, wrote his mother, that Charlie too had become a carpenter. She supposed there were plenty needed to rebuild the world after such a war.

  She wrote then that she was overwhelmed with happiness to hear she was a grandmother again and couldn’t wait to meet the children. She hoped she could persuade his father to allow them a trip to Italy to see Charlie and his family soon.

  As for Edie…

  As you requested, we have not mentioned your situation to Edie. You suspected that she would’ve moved on with her life, and you were right. She married Paul Summer, an American serviceman who we believe she treated when she was a nurse in Sydney during the war. She, Paul, and Keith have moved north, to Cabarita. A place we’d never heard of before, somewhere on the northern NSW coastline.

  Edie and Keith seem happy, and Paul appears to be a fine husband and father. Edie was devastated at losing you, but as you know, she had to move on, for Keith’s sake as well as her own. She waited for your return for as long as she could manage, but none of us believed you were alive. We all thought the worst.

  We see Keith every now and then, when Edie and Paul visit her folks here in Bathurst. He’s a wonderful boy, you would be proud of him. Your father has finally accepted that he is your child, so our time with him is enjoyable and I look forward to it for months before their visits. I will try to get your father to travel north with me to see them sometime, but don’t think my chances of succeeding in that venture are particularly high. You know how he feels about travel. Only, I believe he will relent on this point for you, our dear son.

  I’m sure you don’t know, and I hate to be the one to have to tell you, but Bobby was killed in the war. He was a good friend to you, and we all miss his ready smile.

  I’m so sorry, my darling boy, that you have been through so much and that we were unable to help you…

  * * *

  The words blurred on the page as competing emotions fought to gain control inside Charlie’s chest. Bobby was dead. He hadn’t even realised his friend was gone, and he’d been dead for years now. Grief welled up within him and he choked back a sob.

  He was happy that Edie and Keith were well, but that she’d married someone else filled him with another kind of grief. Of course, he’d done the same, so he couldn’t blame her. For her to lose both him and Bobby must’ve been more than she could bear. He hated that she went through it all without him.

  It made no sense to feel jealous of her husband. He knew it was crazy. But he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  He sighed. The relief he felt at knowing his family was well, safe, and still living in his childhood home, washed the other emotions aside for the moment. They were all well, happy and whole. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough for now.

  There was a creak on the staircase, and suddenly Maria was there. Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to one side, resting a tender hand on
his shoulder.

  “What is the matter, my love?”

  He shook his head, momentarily lost for words. He pushed the letter towards her. She took it in her hands and scanned the page, her eyes widening.

  “I cannot read this. Is it from your home?”

  He nodded. “My mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  He hadn’t told her yet that he’d recovered his memories. For months now he’d wrestled with the truth of what he’d recalled. Telling her would’ve opened him up to more pain and confusion than he was ready to bear. But it was time.

  “I remembered everything a few months ago,” he said.

  She slumped into an armchair beside him, her hand fluttering over her mouth. “What? You didn’t tell me?”

  He shook his head, reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t. I had to work things through in my head first. I wrote to my parents and told them I was fine and all about you and the kids.”

  He raised the letter. “And this is what she wrote back.”

  “What does it say?” asked Maria.

  Marion ran into the room in a rush, a toy car held high in the air. “Zoom, brrrroooom…” she cried, racing around the outside of the living room.

  “Papa!” she shouted, when she saw him. In a moment she was on his knee, kissing his cheek.

  He laughed, his throat tight, and kissed her cheeks, then held her tight to his chest. “Hello, my love. I hope you’ve had a good day with Mamma.”

  She nodded. “We made biscotti.”

  “Mmmm, my favourite.”

  She grinned, then climbed from his knee and kept playing with the car, pushing it back and forth on the floorboards by his feet.

  He sighed and faced Maria. “She and Dad thought I was dead. They held a funeral and everything.”

  Maria shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was certain I didn’t have a family, since I truly believed all these years I wouldn’t have been able to forget them. I guess I was wrong.” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “She wants to visit us, meet the kids.”

  Maria smiled. “That would be lovely.”

  “There’s more,” he said, his throat tightening. He cleared it with a cough, but the lump only grew. He inhaled a slow breath. “Before I left for the war, I was in love with a woman called Edie. We were childhood sweethearts and had promised each other we’d get married after university. Of course, the war got in the way and we were never able to make it to the altar.”

  Maria’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “After I left, she found out she was pregnant…”

  Maria gasped, raising her hand to her mouth.

  He swallowed around the lump in his throat and continued. “When Keith was born, I was so happy. Only I wished I could’ve been there, of course. But I made her another promise, that I’d be home soon, and we’d get married and be a family.”

  Tears fell from Maria’s eyes, sliding down her cheeks in silence.

  He reached for her hand, squeezed it. “When I didn’t return after the war, she grieved and then married someone else. She and Keith are healthy, happy, and fine.”

  Maria slid from her seat and settled on the floor between Charlie’s feet, resting her head on his leg. “I’m so sorry, my darling.”

  He smiled through the pain in his throat. “It’s all for the best, because I have you and the children. So it helps me to know they’re safe and happy. I can move on with my life.”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied. “But it is a tragedy, no less.”

  He nodded. “It is and it isn’t. I’m happy here.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I love you and the kids, and this is where I belong.”

  She nestled her cheek against his hand, let her eyes drift shut. “You are happy here?”

  He nodded. “I’m happy, this is my home.”

  He kissed her upturned lips and wrapped her up in his arms, even as his heart burned in his chest.

  20

  January 1997

  Cabarita Beach

  “Ready to go?” Bindi asked, slipping the purse strap over her shoulder.

  Six loaves of bread sat rising beneath cloths on the bench in a rectangle of light from the window. The scent of yeast filled the air.

  Kate dipped her head. “Just need to wash the bread dough from my hands.” She ran them under the tap, then wiped them dry on a hand towel. “Let’s go.”

  Bindi followed Kate out to the car. They climbed in and Kate started the engine, then sat still, staring out through the windscreen, her hands resting on the steering wheel.

  “You okay?” asked Bindi, her brow furrowed.

  Kate nodded, inhaled a sharp breath, but didn’t otherwise move.

  Bindi watched then pursed her lips. “Hey Katie, is there something you want to talk about?”

  Kate faced her, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I’m scared.”

  “Okay.” Bindi waited for more, her throat already tightening.

  “Scared of losing you. I don’t want to find out the test results. I want to sit here, with you, in the car, believing that you’re going to be fine.”

  Bindi nodded, swallowing around the growing lump in her throat. “Yeah, me too.”

  “I know we have to go, but I want to live in this moment, right now, for a little longer.” Kate brushed a tear from her cheek.

  “I’m going to be okay, Katie.”

  “I know you are.”

  Bindi cocked her head and offered a wan smile. “Besides, you’ve got Alex and Reeda to help you through if anything goes wrong.” Her stomach twisted with anxiety. She was nervous enough about finding out her test results, she didn’t need Kate to make things worse.

  Kate burst into tears. “I know I have them, and I’m grateful, but I need you as well,” she wailed.

  Tears spilled from Bindi’s eyes. She couldn’t let her sister cry without joining in. No matter what they were crying about, she’d never been able to manage holding in her own tears if Kate or Reeda were upset.

  “I need you too,” she reached for Kate’s arm, rested her hand there. “I need you to be strong for me, right now. To help me through today. If the cancer hasn’t gone completely, we still have options.”

  Kate sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. “I know.”

  “So, pull it together woman!”

  Kate saluted. “Yes ma’am.” She wiped her eyes again.

  “I’ll tell you what, let’s go get a croissant and a coffee first.”

  Kate nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

  Kate pulled the car out of the driveway and headed for the tiny hamlet of Cabarita. There was a small, rustic cafe in the centre of the village called Joys, and when they were kids it was where Mum and Dad used to take them for breakfast when they were staying at the inn and just needed to get out for a while on their own. The place held too many memories for Bindi to have visited much since, but today it drew her in like a warm blanket. She needed to be close to Mum and Dad, to be wrapped in memories.

  Joys hadn’t changed much in the past decade or so. When they walked through the glass door, a bell tinkled overhead. The scent of fresh baked pastries filled the small space. A teenaged girl stood behind an antique-looking register, chewing gum. Next to her, an array of simple, yet delicious-looking, pastries were laid out in a glass display box. The only addition to the space seemed to be the shiny new espresso machine. When they were kids, the coffee had come from a plunger.

  They ordered coffee and croissants, then sat at the same table by the large square front window they’d always occupied as a family. It was the only table in the cafe large enough for a family of five. Bindi sat on one side, leaning her elbows on the square table, while Kate sat on the other.

  Bindi blew out a breath of air between clenched teeth. “This place brings back memories.”

  “I know. I don’t think I’ve been in here since…” Kate glanced around, taking it all in.

  Square black an
d white tiled floor, rickety worn tables, and mismatching chairs. A sign on the wall with a hand pointing to the back of the space where the single toilet was located.

  “Me either. But they do have the best pastries in the area.”

  “I remember them being divine, but I guess we’ll see how I feel now,” said Kate with a chuckle.

  They talked about old times, about their parents and trips to the cafe.

  “I realise now that Mum and Dad brought us here to get some respite from the craziness of the inn, but I didn’t know that at the time,” mused Bindi. “Funny how you see things when you’re a kid.”

  “I don’t blame them, Nan and Pop ran things so differently to us. They treated the guests like family, and looking back, I think it got a bit hectic. Do you remember the way Nan used to play piano and sing in the evenings, and the guests would sit around the living room listening, sometimes singing along?”

  Bindi shook her head. “I do remember that. It’s so strange… I can’t imagine us breaking into song for the guests.”

  “Mum must’ve felt a bit overwhelmed, bringing three children into that chaos for weeks at a time.”

  “No doubt,” replied Bindi.

  The waitress set their croissants and coffees down on the table without a word, then returned to her place behind the register.

  Bindi and Kate exchanged a look. Bindi bit down on her lip. The girl was so morose, every bit the teenager with her black Doc Marten boots, black jeans and black rock ’n roll T-shirt, with a flannel shirt tied around her waist. Black hair hung down her back in a ponytail and a black fringe obscured her heavily lined eyes.

  “I wish there were gothic clothes when we were teenagers,” said Kate, “I would’ve definitely been a goth.”

  Bindi hooted. “I would love to see that.”

  They ate while they talked. The warm croissants were almost as good as they remembered them to be, especially slathered with the fresh butter and jam that’d been included on their plates in small, round bowls. The coffee was hot and rich, and before long, Bindi’s nerves had subsided. As she laughed and chattered with her sister, she wondered why they didn’t do this more often. They’d have to make more of an effort, especially now that Kate didn’t live at the inn any longer.