by S. K Munt
‘We’re in for a lot of storms this week,’ Marnie said softly. Despite her obvious fear for Callie, she was standing as close to Ryan as she could, half-hovering like she needed to be in his personal atmosphere. ‘They say there’s a cyclone forming up near Bowen, but the dry Spring we’re having is provoking electrical storms to the south. We’re probably going to cop a bit of both after the weekend at this rate. How’s Callie going to handle that?’
‘Her mother will pull her from school if it gets bad enough.’ Hunter stroked Callie’s back, relieved that although she was still sobbing like her heart was broken, and still holding the desk- the octave of hysteria had abated from her cries; she was coming back to her senses. ‘They have before.’
‘Oh.’ Marnie clearly hadn’t taken Callie’s phobia seriously the other night, but was now getting it and looked appropriately amazed. She took a step back. ‘I’m going to go down to the office and call her folks, okay? This storm looks like it’s setting in, so Callie probably needs to be... not here.’
‘Good idea.’ Ryan agreed, smiling weakly at her. She blushed and hurried off.
‘Goodness.’ Mr Banks had finally found his voice. He’d been pacing the room the whole time, scratching his head, looking flustered. ‘Can’t she be medicated?’
Ryan scowled up at the teacher. ‘She has a fear, Mr Banks, not a psychosis.’
‘You sure about that?’ Mr Banks looked over at Callie like she was a ticking bomb. ‘Imogen said that she was quite hysterical.’
‘Who’s Imogen?’ Hunter asked, looking up.
‘My uh, my…’ Mr Banks flushed, then gestured towards the empty desk. ‘The young lady I’m seeing, Hunter.’ His ashen face was suddenly rosy. ‘She was up here, dropping off some things for me to lend to Miss Scawfell for her senior music class this afternoon.’ He paused. ‘Imogen is an antiquities dealer. That’s how we met, when I bought a first edition copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin from her….’ He added the explanation quickly, as though excusing himself for having met a woman, which was strange but then again, Mr Banks was strange. ‘She had some old instruments she was taking to a gallery in Rockhampton for an exhibition, and she was kind enough to lend them to the school for the day.’
Ryan looked up then, his concern changing to interest. ‘What kind of instruments?’
‘I don’t know much about music.’ Mr Bank’s gestured to his desk again. ‘A lovely little harp. A ukelele. An African ritual drum, last century. Something that could be a flute or um, two flutes… an odd guitar.’ He tugged on his tie. ‘You are all quite musical, aren’t you? Perhaps once you uh, pry Miss Clay’s fingers out of the carpet, you could have a look for yourself…?’
Hunter didn’t care, but he noticed that Ryan was already making a move towards the desk, his curiosity piqued. Perhaps he wanted to redeem himself on something else after the Sitar tragedy.
‘Callie?’ Hunter pulled Callie’s sleek ponytail over her shoulder so that it snaked down her back and leaned over to whisper. ‘Come on babe, look alive. Mr Banks is talking about medicating you, but before the little van comes- there are some instruments here you could check out. Ryan’s into it- you don’t want to hear him ruin music again like he did with that damn Sitar, do you?’
Callie’s shoulders mirrored her labored breathing, hiccuping still, her tears flowing freely onto her forearms. Hunter sighed, feeling like the biggest heel in the world for not seeing that sudden storm approaching. Callie never made demands of them, in fact, she was one of the lowest-maintenance girls he had ever met- this was only the third time Hunter had seen her cry in eight years! And yet they’d let her down one of the few times she’d needed them to be her rock.
‘It’s a Tabla…’ the reverence in Rya’s tone could be heard from across the room. ‘They’re Indian drums, Mr Banks, not African,’ he paused, ‘wow... is that really an Auslos?’
‘A what-now?’ Hunter couldn’t help but ask.
‘It’s like, an old version of the recorder. Grant has one…’ Ryan named his personal guitar instructor. Hunter had stopped paying someone to teach him years before but Ryan was always questing after perfection. Hunter looked up to see Ryan brandishing what looked like two wooden pipes that were joined together near the top of one end. He shrugged, never having seen one before in his life. But Hunter only got the briefest glimpse before Ryan was putting the pipes down and reaching for something else, excitement clear on his face. ‘No way! A Cithara!’ He strummed some wires and a strange, stringy yet hollow and completely whiny sound filled the room. ‘You should appreciate this Hunt! This is the first kind of guitar ever made!’
Hunter appreciated it. He wished he had time to go over and poke around himself- but then Callie inhaled the deepest, longest breath she had since she’d walked into the room, and he was immediately distracted.
‘You coming back babe?’ He asked, having a go at her grip on the table legs again. She didn’t let go, but some of the tension had gone out of her shoulders. That was a good sign- and so was the fact that she had anchored herself instead running panicked down the stairs and falling on her perfect face.
Perfect face? He repeated to himself, making a less than perfect face of his own. Geez. I’m starting to sound like I’ve got an actual crush going on here!
‘Oh Callie! Winner!’ Ryan leapt over the desk she was holding tightly too, kneeling at her side with an unfamiliar string instrument clutched in his hands. ‘Come on girl, come back to us! I am holding a Lyre Callie. A real one! You’ve always wanted to learn this right? Well it’s right here!’ Ryan lightly tapped Callie on the top of her head with it. ‘All you have to do it sit up…’
There was a knock at the door. Hunter glanced up, saw a woman lingering at the door, looking timid, and was about to glance away, but then did a double-take, feeling the blood rush from his head and to his lap. Mr Banks beckoned the bombshell in and wrapped his arm around a waist that looked like it would snap under the weight of her breasts. Hunter had never seen blonde, jeans or a simple white Tee look quite as fantastic as it did on Mr Bank’s girlfriend. The woman was a knock-out!
‘Bloody hell...’ Ryan whispered, grinning at Hunter. ‘Mr B has some game, eh?’
‘Is she okay?’ The woman asked timidly, peering over at Callie.
‘I don’t quite know yet.’ Mr Banks immediately sounded less flustered, more confident. He kissed the top of the woman’s head then pointed to Ryan. ‘Mr Weaver is hoping to coax her out of it with that uh, harp thing.’
‘The Lyre.’ Imogen pulled away from Mr Bank’s and smiled down at the instrument in Ryan’s hands. ‘Are you a musician?’
Ryan blushed, looked at the Lyre in his hands, and then placed it carefully on the desk. ‘I’m trying to be.’
‘We both are.’ Hunter couldn’t help but point out. If this woman liked musicians, he would be Bono. If she liked laborers, he’d go and get himself a trade! Imogen looked at Hunter then, and her eyebrows rose. ‘Ahhh… there’s two of you… interesting.’ She tilted her head to the side, her expression contemplative. She looked from Hunter, to Ryan, and then back to Hunter, not quite meeting their eyes. ‘Yes, I can see it. In you especially.’
‘Really?’ Hunter grinned- he couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him and Ryan and decided that Hunter was the gifted one, and it made him feel warm all over.
‘Get over yourself,’ Ryan muttered under his breath. ‘Ten bucks says she’s a Westlife fan.’
‘Fuck you.’ Hunter said good-naturedly.
Callie sat up then immediately began to recoil, backing up onto Hunter’s lap. She wasn’t heavy, but her weight was enough to stimulate him so sharply that he almost bit the collar of her shirt to muffle a groan. His arms closed around her on reflex, and for the briefest of moment’s, he prayed that she would wiggle again.
But then he saw her profile and it was enough of a sobering sight to knock the wind out of his pesky sails; Her face was swollen and puffy from tears, her hat askew, her che
eks and neck wet and her eyes unfocused and wild. She glanced at the Lyre, then over at Mr Banks, and then at the woman.
‘You!’ Callie staggered to her feet, and Hunter snapped his knees together so no one would notice his half-mast state. Callie was advancing on the woman. ‘You… changed?’ Her face became a mask of confusion as her gaze swept over the Monroe across from her.
The woman swallowed, looked over back at the teacher, and then to Callie. ‘Um, what…?’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m sorry Callie. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. I’m Imogen Sans, Patrick’s friend. I mean, Mr Banks.’
Callie did not take the woman’s hand, regarding her with a petulant expression instead. ‘Why are you being nice now? Where’s your dress? The water...?’
Hunter stood and took Callie’s hand, starting to wonder himself if maybe his friend did need medicating. ‘Yoo-hoo.’ He squeezed the limp fingers in his palm. ‘Cal? What’s going on hon? What are you talking about?’
Callie did not look at him. She pointed to their teacher’s girlfriend. ‘She was wearing a white dress when I came in! She attacked me! She called me a-’ her voice broke off, and she wheeled around, pointing to the wall behind her. ‘She broke the-’ and then Callie’s voice faded. ‘Window?’
Hunter looked at the window, which although in need of a good clean, was perfectly fine. He felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It so wasn’t like Cal to get all dramatic and freaked. She was acting like, well, a girl. ‘The window’s not broken Callie.’
‘And I didn’t say a word to you,’ the woman stuttered, looking wounded, ‘I went to say hello and then the thunder…’ she looked up at Mr Bank’s. ‘I have no idea what she means Patrick.’
Hunter didn’t either, but he released Callie’s hand when she tugged on it and knelt before the window, tracing its smooth surface with her fingertip.
‘No way!’ She whispered, her complexion waxy and wet. ‘No way!’
‘What is it Callie?’ Ryan crouched beside her, placed his hand on the small of her back.
‘I think-’ she swallowed again. ‘I think I had a nightmare.’
9.
Callie spent the next three days in bed with her six stacker stereo system fully stocked and the volume cranked up to high, trying to drown out the weather which switched between dismal one moment and cataclysmic the next. Her shade was down and yet that had not blocked the flashes of lightning and so Callie’s father had tacked an old bedspread across it with pins to block it out.
On Thursday morning, Callie’s mother came in with a tray of pikelets, jam and cream and sat it on Callie’s bedside table. Callie put down her worn copy of Insightful her mother’s first published novel, and smiled feebly.
‘You’re not supposed to read those until you’re twenty-one.’ Her mother reprimanded her, but there was a pleased smile on her face.
‘Hasn’t stopped me before.’ Callie drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. ‘I’m going to read the whole series this time, whether you like it or not. It would be easier if you just gave me your copies.’
‘For what I spend on your boots-not to mention your music equipment and costumes- you can buy your own copies out of your pocket-money.’ Her mother winked at her. ‘Think of it as paying it forward.’ Callie laughed but then, she saw her mother’s mouth tighten, and she knew the time for ‘the talk’ had come. ‘You can’t go on like this Callie.’ Her mother said softly, affirming Callie’s intuitive dread. ‘You’re going to be eighteen next year. While you’re getting above average grades, I can look the other way on you skipping some classes. But what about when I’m not the boss of you anymore? What about when you have an actual boss?’ Her mother motioned to the window. ‘You can’t take a blankie to work.’
Callie smiled. ‘That’s why I’m going to become a dancer- theaters muffle sound.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d never have to miss a performance.’
‘What about rehearsals? Grocery shopping? What are you going to do when you’ve got daughters of your own who need their mother to calm them down during a thunderstorm?’ Her mother didn’t offer the slightest smile. ‘You need to work through this fear before it becomes your cage.’
Callie’s hair had fallen over one shoulder and so she twisted it, knowing her mother was right. ‘So it’s time for me to go to a shrink then is it?’
‘There’s that,’ her mother said, pushing her gold bangle up her wrist. ‘or, you could do it the old-fashioned way; take the blankets down, lock the doors and stare out into the clouds until you realize that they’re not attacking you- that there’s nothing personal about lightning. It’s going to come, and then it’s going to pass and so long as you stay sensible- it is not going to cause you any harm.’
Callie twisted her hair so tight that her roots stung as she stared at her blankie. ‘I can try… but I just don’t know how it’s going to go.’
‘Well, you’re about to find out.’ Her mother stood up. ‘I’ve been offered a slot at the Byron Bay Writer’s Festival this weekend Cal, a prominent one. I want to go, and your father wants to go with me. We’ve needed to get away for a while now. I’ve been ignoring him while working on Cat’s Meow, and he’s fed up.’
Callie felt alarm prickle her skin. ‘You’re leaving me alone when there’s a cyclone on the way?’ She yelped. ‘Why can’t you just take me with you?!’
Her mother cocked her head. ‘You want to come? Then fine. Just give Hunter a bell, and let him know that you won’t be making an appearance at the gig this Friday night because you’re running from a bit of wind and rain. I’m sure he’ll understand, right? Ryan too?’
Callie pulled on her hair. ‘I can’t do that!’
‘I know. Which is why I’ve made arrangements for you to stay with the Marks family from tomorrow until Monday. Rick and Josie are aware of your phobia, and though I’ve made them swear not to baby you, they will keep an eye on you when they can. Hunter too.’
Callie’s gut clenched. Stay with Hunter? It wasn’t an off-the-wall suggestion. She’d stayed with the Marks’s, and Hunter had stayed with her in the past before when their parents had gone away. But that had been before Meredith. Before Ryan’s ‘mistake’. Before her confession and his acceptance of a dare she hadn’t offered up. Her heart sank. ‘When do you leave?’
Her mother smiled. ‘Later this afternoon. We could go in the morning, but flights could be cancelled by then. Josie’s already pulled out the trundle in Hunter’s room for you and I’m sure, has fitted it with very nice sheets. On that note; Josie spends four times on paint what we do-’ she pointed to Callie’s window. ‘And she won’t appreciate you leaving holes in the plaster.’
Callie felt like she was going to cry, but she nodded miserably. ‘I want to get over it mum. I just wish I knew why I always feel this way.’
Her mother sighed. ‘I might be able to offer up some insight. You know your father and I were going to wait until you were older, to tell you but… but you need to know how you came to be with us.’
Callie swallowed hard, thinking of Imogen, Mr Banks blonde. Thinking of the name Calliope. She hugged herself. ‘You think my adoption has something to do with my Astraphobia?’
Her mother nodded. ‘I can’t think of any other reason. We’ve had close encounters with storms over the years Callie, but even at six months old, you would screech at the slightest sound of thunder…’ She patted Callie’s hand. ‘You didn’t come through an adoption agency honey. And we think your fear arises from the fact that you were abandoned on our doorstep- during a blizzard.’
Callie’s mouth fell open.
Lauryenne nodded somberly. ‘You know how your dad and I met, after I did a student exchange in Canada, and you know how I moved over there to be with him after I graduated. He was studying to be a doctor, and I wanted to write…?’
Callie nodded again, still too shocked to say anything else.
‘Well after he’d finished his degree, we moved from Vancouver out to this littl
e rural town, and he became a GP while I wrote.’ Her mother paused, looking down at her hands. ‘He administered to women at a local refuge- girls on drugs, or unmarried mothers, women who had been battered, and two of those women were pregnant like I was.’ She paused, a tear sliding down her cheek. ‘On the night of the blizzard, my baby girl was born six weeks early, and stillborn.’ She looked away, her auburn hair concealing her profile, but Callie heard the anguish in her voice. ‘And when your father went outside to pull the car around and try to get us to a hospital- he found you on our doorstep. With a note saying: ‘Dr and Mrs Claiborne, please look after my little Callie the way I cannot. I am not strong enough, and I know you will love her as you will your own.’
Callie felt stricken. Not just that she had been abandoned by someone who sounded like a thoughtless loser, but because she could be the best Callie she could be but she would never be the baby her mother was weeping for now. She turned away. ‘And she never came back for me?’
‘If she did Callie, we wouldn’t know. We were furious with her for her neglect and when the blizzard cleared and your dad went to the shelter, both pregnant women had left town, so we didn’t even know which one you belonged to.’ She sighed. ‘It was highly unethical and illegal on your father’s part, but we kept you, and told everyone that you were ours, and buried our little Rose in Canada. Then we changed our name from Claiborne to Clay, immigrated to the states to cover our trail and then, when my Visa ran out, we moved back here so she’d never find us and try and steal you away.’ Callie felt warm, needy arms around her tugging her down onto the bed. ‘We didn’t get you the usual way, Callie. But we have loved you as our own, and we thank the heavens every day for you. You’re so gifted…’ fingers raked through Callie’s hair. ‘Beautiful…’ She felt her mothers tears against her neck. ‘But yes, to me it explains the fear of violent weather Cal. You were all alone out there, only a few hours old. We still have the blanket, and note you came with was there too, as well as a little music box that was stuffed into the bassinet with you.’ Lauryenne kissed her shoulder. ‘A ballet dancer who twirls to Greensleeves. Would you like to see them?’
