Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “I do,” I explained. “Completely and utterly. He just needs to learn how to love me.”

  Mitchell frowned, shaking his head. I couldn’t blame him for being confused. “How long are you going to wait for that to happen?”

  “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Don’t give him too long, Charli. Live your life. It’s not your fault he can’t get his act together.”

  I loved Mitchell Tate. Not in the desperate-complete-absolute Adam Décarie kind of way, but I loved him. I wondered how things would have worked out if I’d loved him à la Décarie.

  The girl who landed him would never endure living in a big city. She’d permanently live on a beach somewhere, never knowing the trappings of wealth or the pressures that come with it. On the downside, she wouldn’t own a single pair of shoes or a hairbrush for the rest of her existence.

  “Heads up,” he called, warning me of the next wave. We both dug our hands into the sand, anchoring ourselves as it washed over us. I came out of it spluttering, making Mitchell laugh. “That was number nine, Charli.”

  Alex first told me about the ninth wave theory when I was a kid. Of course he’d claimed it as his own, but plenty of diehard surfers and sailors are believers. The ninth wave is supposedly larger than those preceding it, making it the rogue of the set. Once it passes through, a new set begins.

  I coughed again. “I’m a little off my game, I guess.”

  “I’m not sure what your game is any more,” he teased. “You’re just a skinny girl who’s forgotten how to count water.”

  “Do you reckon you can fix me?” I sounded surprisingly serious considering the idiocy of his statement.

  He smiled. “You’ll be okay. Just go back to the beginning. Think of Adam as your ninth wave. The worst is over. Now the count starts again.”

  “You think I should go home, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Alex will be glad to have you back.”

  For the first time in a long time, I was open to the idea. Spending time with the one person who never let me down definitely had its appeal.

  December 10

  Adam

  Dirty Isobel eventually checked out, leaving Ryan and me alone for the first time in as long as I could remember. And it was weird. Especially when he started talking.

  “So. Have you heard from Fairy Pants?”

  “No.”

  “Do you expect to?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he offered. “I’d be happy to shed some light on why she dumped your ass.”

  It had been a long time since my brother and I had come to blows. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, wondering how I’d fare if I punched him. I decided against it. It might make living together awkward.

  “Thanks, but I don’t need your input on this one.”

  Ryan leaned forward and dropped the TV remote on the coffee table. “Were you really expecting things to turn out differently?” he asked. “If you were looking for a compliant little Stepford wife, you married the wrong girl.”

  “Shut up, Ryan.”

  He grinned, sardonically enough to make me reconsider smacking him. “So what’s the plan for winning her back? It better involve buckets of glitter and butterfly dust or you’re screwed.”

  I’d heard enough. I was almost out of the room when he spoke again.

  “I was kidding, Adam. Charli doesn’t want glitter. She has enough floating around her brain already. Don’t go the gimmick route. It’s not her style.”

  Infuriated, I turned back. “How the hell would you know what Charli wants? Why would I take the advice of someone who wakes up next to women he’s known less than twelve hours?”

  “We’re not talking about other women.” He shrugged. “We’re talking about your wife. She’s not that complicated. Charlotte made it very clear what she wanted. Everyone heard her say it but you.”

  He was wrong. I’d heard it a million times. All she’d ever wanted out of the deal was me. It was the one thing I’d never been able to wholly give her. That’s why I was on my own.

  * * *

  I wasn’t looking forward to the Christmas break. School was a great distraction for me. I headed to the library after my last class, determined to load myself up with enough study to tide me over until classes resumed in the New Year.

  I found a quiet corner, settled in and began poring over the notes I’d taken in class. Even I knew it was excessive but I literally had nothing else going on.

  Just as I was getting into it, a girl dumped her book bag down, sending my papers flying across the desk.

  “Hey,” she greeted, either missing or ignoring the destruction she’d caused. “It’s Adam, right?”

  I gathered my papers. “Yes, and you are?”

  “Trieste Kincaid.” She sat. “I know, I know, you’re probably thinking I was named after the city in Italy, but I wasn’t.” I wasn’t thinking anything other than who was this girl and what the hell did she want? “My dad has a thing for the bathyscaphe called Trieste,” she continued. “You know, the one that explored the Challenger Deep back in the sixties?”

  Overloaded, I’d lost the ability to think. “What’s a bathyscaphe?”

  She giggled, a sharp sound that made everyone in the library look up. “Come on, Adam, keep up. It’s a submersible deep-sea research vessel.”

  I stared at her, trying to clear my head of the nonsense. The fidgety girl with the runaway mouth didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. “Trieste, do I know you?”

  “Not yet,” she replied. “But you will soon. You’re my new mentor. My third, actually. The other two quit.”

  Signing up for the peer-mentoring program had been Parker’s brainwave. At the time I’d been less than enthusiastic. Now, sitting beside the hyped-up Trieste, I was even less enthusiastic.

  “Look,” I began, trying to come up with a way of letting her down gently. “I’m really busy and –”

  “You’re my last hope. If you dump me, they’re kicking me out of the mentoring program.”

  She looked so pitiful that I thought she might cry. I had no idea how I’d handle her if she did – especially if she cried as loudly as she laughed.

  “What are you working on at the moment?” I asked, taking a softer line.

  She recovered instantly, unclipped her bag, took out a heap of papers and dumped them in front of me. “Constitutional Law.”

  “So, do you need help?”

  She giggled again and I dropped my head, shushing her before we both got kicked out. “No. I have excellent grades.”

  “So what do you need from me then?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know. It’ll just be great to know a friendly face.”

  I wasn’t friendly. I thought I’d made it obvious that babysitting a first year student was not high on my agenda.

  “Where are you from, Trieste?”

  She couldn’t have been local. The fashion police would’ve hunted her down by now. I’d never seen anyone pull off the toggle beanie look, least of all one with ears. Her thick black-framed glasses were a cute look, though.

  “Army brat.” She pointed at herself. “A bit of here, a bit of there.”

  I learned a lot about Trieste in the next minute and a half. She was twenty-one, but seemed much younger. She was on a full scholarship, and looking for a part-time job. She learned nothing about me and I planned to keep it that way. I figured I could help her out with a bit of study over the next few weeks and palm her off onto the next unsuspecting mentor.

  After the quick Q and A session, I started packing my gear. I was confident of making a clean getaway until Parker approached the table. I would’ve dealt with a thousand Triestes over him. I hadn’t seen him since the Christmas party from hell.

  “Hey,” he said.

  I didn’t reply. I just stared at him.

  The mistress of idle chatter beamed at him and held out her hand. “Hello. How are
you? I’m Trieste.”

  He rudely left her hanging.

  “What do you want?” I snapped.

  “I was just wondering how you were doing,” he said quietly. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  He nodded, looking slightly penitent. “How’s Charli? Have you heard from her?”

  If that was his idea of small talk, he was a bigger douche than I’d given him credit for.

  “Who’s Charli?” asked Trieste, oblivious.

  I glanced at her, then at Parker. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

  I must’ve sounded as furious as I felt. He walked away. He was a dick, but he wasn’t stupid.

  Parker was barely out of earshot before the interrogation from Trieste began. “Who’s Charli?” she repeated.

  “Do you have to know everything?”

  She tilted her head. “I like to know everything. My brain’s a big sponge. I need information to live.”

  “Charli is my wife,” I muttered.

  Her eyes widened and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You have a wife? Wow. You’re kinda young for a wife.” She pointed at my hand. “I saw the ring but I thought it was one of those purity rings. You know, the ones that signify sexual abstinence?”

  I almost laughed for the first time in days.

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your wife, Charli.”

  I wished I knew. “She’s travelling. She likes to travel.”

  “She left you, didn’t she?” she asked sympathetically. “Why did she leave you?”

  Answering her made absolutely no sense, but I did it anyway. “She saw through me.”

  “Oh, that sucks,” she replied, making me smile.

  “You have no idea.”

  December 18

  Charli

  I hung out with Mitchell for a week before leaving Kaimte, feeling no less wrecked than when I’d arrived. Mitchell drove me to the airport and stayed with me until my flight was called. He hugged me, wished me luck and told me he loved me.

  “One of these days I’ll visit you in when I’m in a better place,” I whispered.

  “Your happiness doesn’t depend on him, Charli. Remember that.”

  Very occasionally, Mitchell Tate could be an extraordinarily profound man. I wished I was better at taking his advice.

  The jolt to my tired body as the plane touched down in Hobart bordered on brutal. I recovered quickly, grabbed my bag and stood in the aisle, desperate to get off the plane. I loved to travel, but I’d never been especially good at it. It seemed to take me days to get over long-haul flights. Alex vehemently believed that salt water cured everything. I had a better theory. Chocolate cured everything, and luckily for me I was back in the land of the Caramello Koala. When I spotted the vending machine on my way to the car rental desk, the koalas were practically screaming my name. I pumped a handful of coins into the machine and pocketed an obscene amount of chocolate for the journey home.

  Finally free of the airport, I ambled across the car park with my head tilted toward the sky. The mild summer morning had a bite to it that only came with Tasmanian weather. It was like nowhere else on earth. I smiled to myself, realising I was travelled enough to make such a claim.

  I was officially on home soil, just over an hour’s drive from Pipers Cove and more importantly, Alex.

  * * *

  I drove south in the unimpressive little white hatchback I’d hired, inhaling the cool air through the open window while I munched on my fourth koala.

  As far as I could tell, the only thing that had changed in this tiny pocket of the world was me. Two years earlier I’d been desperate to leave, but as I got within the last few kilometres of the Cove, I was getting jittery, excited – and nauseas.

  I looked at the growing pile of wrappers on the passenger seat and regretted my binge. Now I really wanted to get home and my eagerness to get there was reflected by my driving. I didn’t even look down to check my speed until I noticed the blue and red lights flashing behind me.

  “Oh, crap,” I muttered, coming to a stop on the gravel verge. I used the time that it took for the policeman to approach my car to practise my please-don’t-give-me-a-ticket speech. I hadn’t had to use it in a long time.

  The constable didn’t look much older than me. He seemed awkward, like he was still getting used to his starchy new blue uniform.

  “Good morning,” he said politely. “Where are you headed?”

  “Hi. The Cove.” I pointed ahead through the windscreen as if he needed direction.

  “And where are you coming from?”

  It occurred to me that a smart mouth might not work in my favour but I couldn’t help myself. “Africa, actually.”

  “I see.” His lips formed a tight smile. “And did you speed the whole way?”

  I didn’t answer him. I had other things on my mind – like what the rental company would charge me if I vomited in their car. I threw open the car door and he took a quick step back to avoid being hit by the door. He took another leap back as I lurched out of the car and threw up all over the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, humiliated and convinced he thought I was drunk.

  “Can I get you something, Ma’am? Some water, maybe?”

  I tilted my head to look at him. “No thank you. I’m okay.”

  “Good. In that case, can I see your licence please?”

  I straightened up and grabbed my bag off the passenger seat, sending koala wrappers flying in all directions. “For a second there, I thought you were going to take pity on me and not write the ticket.”

  “Being ill doesn’t excuse the fact that you were doing a hundred and seventeen in a hundred zone.” He clicked his pen authoritatively.

  “Have you had a good look at this car?” I asked. “There’s no way I could have been going that fast.”

  His smile broadened but he continued writing. “You don’t remember me, do you, Charli?”

  He kept writing while I stared at him. “Should I?”

  Finally he stopped scrawling, tore the ticket off the pad and handed it to me. “Flynn Davis.”

  My eyes widened. “Floss and Norm’s grandson?”

  He handed me back my licence. “The one and only.”

  I hadn’t seen him in years. I remembered the times he’d visited his grandparents over the holidays. Flynn was a couple of years older than me, which is as good as decades when you’re children. I’d never known him well. All I really remembered was his penchant for heavy metal music and Floss threatening to cut his long hair with garden shears.

  “I didn’t recognise you without your Metallica shirt and duffle coat.”

  He blushed. “Well, we all go through an awkward phase.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “I think I’m still in my awkward phase. So are you living in Pipers Cove now?”

  “Yeah, I’m renting a house on the beach. It keeps me out of trouble.”

  “I thought being a policeman would keep you out of trouble.”

  “What about you, Charli?” he asked, ignoring my smart-arse comment. “Are you just visiting?”

  “For a while,” I said vaguely.

  Flynn stepped back and I wondered if I looked like I was about to vomit again. “Well, I’ll let you get on your way. Drive safe, okay?”

  I turned the key and the little hatchback purred to life. “Of course I will,” I replied, pointlessly revving the powerless engine. “Look at the car I’m in.”

  * * *

  I had no idea where to find Alex. I decided to try the house first because it was on the way into town. My promise to the rental company of driving only on sealed roads went out the window as I bounced the little car up the gravel driveway. I almost hoped Alex wasn’t there. Seeing my out-of-practice driving skills would probably lead him to confiscate my keys. As I got nearer, I saw a shiny new red ute parked at the house. It had
to be his. He would’ve traded up at least twice in the time I’d been away.

  As I got out of the car, Alex stepped out on to the veranda and a weird, silent standoff ensued as we stood staring at each other.

  My father looked exactly as he had the last time I’d seen him. His sandy hair was still unkempt and boyish. He wore faded jeans and a once-white T-shirt that had been destroyed by his tinkering in the shed.

  I didn’t know whether to go to him or not. Alex just looked baffled, leaving me convinced that he’d forgotten who I was.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said in a tiny voice.

  He snapped out of whatever confusion was plaguing him and bolted down the steps without touching any of them, slowing his roll as took the last few steps toward me. “You’re really home!” He took my face in his hands.

  I nodded and his hands moved with me, until he let go to pull me into a bone-crushing hug. I endured it as best I could before wriggling free and drawing a long, steadying breath.

  “Are you tired?”

  “Deathly,” I replied, mustering my best smile. “It was a long way home.”

  “Come inside,” he ordered, draping his arm around my shoulder as we walked. “I’ll make you lunch and then you can sleep.”

  * * *

  The house looked different. The ugly but comfy brown leather lounge suite was gone. In its place was the pristine white suite from Gabrielle’s cottage. Some of her artwork hung on the walls, and the once unimpressive bookshelf was now stuffed full of books. Those were the most obvious changes, but a hundred others were subtler.

  The last thing I wanted to do was appear miffed. Alex had every right to move Gabrielle in. No one deserved happiness more than him and the Parisienne.

  “Is Gabrielle here?” I asked.

  “She has an appointment in Hobart this morning. I’m glad we have a few hours alone, though. It’ll give us time to catch up. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “I have a lot to tell you,” I replied, following him to the kitchen.

  For two people who had a lot of talking to do, not much was said over the next few minutes. I felt calm just being in the same space as him. Alex set about making sandwiches while I sat at the table.