“Nope. I was going to make myself a sandwich, but then the smells from the fridge made me hurl chunks. So food kinda fell by the wayside.”
“Hols, you gotta eat.”
“Yeah, tell that to this kid banging around in my vagina. He apparently likes to live off the blood of the damned.”
“Come on. I’ll make you some eggs.”
“Really?” She smiles, and damn, if it doesn’t make me feel like Boy Virgin in a brothel. “With toast?”
“With toast.”
“And tea?”
“And tea.”
“And a foot rub?” She shoves her foot at my face, and pokes my cheek with her toe.
I gently knock it away with my hand. “Hell no. I don’t do feet.”
“Since when? I recall you loved my teeny, tiny feet, once upon a time.”
Fuck. I shoulda known she’d bring up that time when I propped her up on the bench in her parent’s kitchen and licked her toes clean because she spilled a carton of milk all over the floor. Shit. My jeans just got a little bit tighter.
I lead her into the kitchen, and she takes a chair at the table, resting her head on her hand as she watches me cook dinner. “How’d you get so domesticated, anyway?”
“What, the eggs?” I ask as I crack a couple into a pan along with some milk and butter and start scrambling. Then I shove the bread down in the toaster, and pour Hols a peppermint tea. “I had to cook a lot when my mum was sick. That’s about all I can make, though, so don’t get too excited.”
“I like eggs. It’s one of the only things I can keep down these days.”
“You see a doctor about that?”
“Yeah. If it gets much worse they’ll hospitalise me, but for now I’m just living the dream.”
“You heard from the father?”
She closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not this again?”
“Just hear me out.” I hold the spatula up in a placating gesture. She frowns, and lays her head down on her outstretched arm. She looks so tiny, so fragile like that, I almost feel bad for playing Devil’s advocate here. “What if it were you?”
“What if what were me?”
“What if you were in his position, and your ex-girlfriend was carrying around a bouncing baby boy?”
“Okay, first of all, um … no. And secondly, I think I prefer to be Coop in this case, and be completely oblivious for the rest of my life.”
“Come on, Hols, you can’t mean that?” I plate up the food, and pull the teabag from the cup.
“Not having this conversation again, Jack.”
“Fine, then you can shut the hell up and eat your eggs,” I say, and slide the plate in front of her.
“I’m suddenly not all that hungry.”
“Eat the fucking eggs, Holly.”
“You are one bossy son-of-a-bitch, you know that?”
“Ha. My mother would have loved you.”
“Your mother did love me, Jackarse. Remember? She wanted to take me home with her?”
“Yeah, her and me both,” I mutter, and meet her gaze across the table. Fuck, why the hell did I just say that? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Holly gives me an odd look, and then tucks into her food. Aw, shit. Now it’s all fucking weird.
I hear a door open, and a moment later the lovebirds come shuffling down the hall, Ana leading the way, and Elijah wrapped around her. They’re like some fucked-up, double-bodied cocoon.
“Hols?”
“Yes, Jack?”
“I’m a need you to punch me, because I’m pretty sure I just saw Ana and Cade in our kitchen, fully clothed.”
“You hear that?” Hols leers at Ana, who’s looking a little sheepish. “Jack’s so shocked you two aren’t bumping uglies that he just gave me permission to kick his arse. You’re going down, Rowe.”
“Not yet, darlin’, but you come see me later, and we’ll catch up on old times.” I wink. Holly narrows her eyes and flips me off.
“So, clearly nothing’s changed since we’ve been gone.” Ana sits down next to Holly and rubs her shoulder. “You look better. How you been these past few days?”
“Pregnant. You?”
Ana and Elijah exchange a secret smile, and then both reply, “Good.”
“I take it the smutty weekend away was awesome? Go team.” Holly waves her hands in the air like pompoms, and I can’t help but smile. Fuck me, she’s sexy.
“It was alright,” Cade mutters and opens the fridge door staring in at the half-empty shelves.
“Alright?” Ana protests. “What do you mean, it was alright?”
“Babe, I was trying to spare them the details.” He chuckles and abandons his search, leaning back against the closed fridge door.
“Oh. Then, yeah. It was alright.” Ana gives him a wry smile. Goddamn it. These two even manage to turn smiling into an X-rated Olympic event. She makes her way across the room and drapes herself around him. Elijah slides his hand up her thigh, beneath her skirt. It’s as though neither of them care that I have to witness this. It’s sickening. I feel dirty. Violated, even. “Anyway, I gotta head into the shop and make some pies. This town isn’t going to make them itself.”
“I’ll come. I’m starving.” Elijah leans down to kiss Ana’s mouth. Holly and I both look away. Right into one another’s eyes. For the life of me, I can’t work out why things are so awkward between us now. I mean shit, yes, there’s always been heat between us, but now there’s this pull that I can’t ignore. Ever since she sucked me off in the car the night of the Fingergate incident after I took her out for ice cream—yes, that happened, and no, I wasn’t thinking past Holy-fucking-shit that feels amazing—all I can think about is bending her over the kitchen table, and fucking her brains out. Which would be the stupidest move I could ever make, but that doesn’t make me want to do it any less. Glancing at her as the other two leave, I can’t help but think it’s exactly what she wants, too. Which just makes it that much harder to do the right thing by everybody.
I LEAN in against the sink and splash my face with cold water. Jackson’s in his room, whistling along to some annoying Miley Cyrus song that the radio stations are giving way too much airplay. Whistling drives me fucking nuts. That’s why he does it. He said something once about how his grandfather used to just whistle nonstop. As in, all the time. Elderly or not, I would have junk-punched that dude so hard he’d be able to reach a few new octaves.
I stumble blindly across the bathroom until I find the towel rack, then I pat my face dry, and breathe in the sweet floral smell of fabric softener. Ana’s so fucking domestic she’s like the Aussie version of Martha Stewart, without the jail time, of course. I mean, what other nineteen year-old do you know that bakes pies, almost singlehandedly runs a diner, and uses fabric softener? The chick’s nuts. Half of the time I’m flat out trying to find where I tossed my shit to begin with, which begs the question: should I hold my best friend at gunpoint, and force her to adopt this kid? I mean, what kind of mum am I going to make when the thing is screaming for a bottle, or a dummy, or some other kind of baby crap, and I’m running around trying to find where the hell those things are buried underneath the pile of shit in my room?
And now I’m completely and utterly depressed.
Again.
Fuck my life.
I hang my towel back on the rack. I try folding it the way Ana does, but I manage to make even that look as if I took a chainsaw to it, so I just shove it back on the holder and ignore it when it falls to the floor. I turn to walk out when a loud bang sounds off in the distance. It actually shakes the ground beneath us a little.
“Hols?” Jackson’s standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hall, his eyes are wide with panic. His tanned hands grip the doorframe tightly. The fear on his face takes me a little by surprise.
“I’m okay. I think it was coming from town.”
He races out into the living room, and stares out the window in disbelief before firing off a
round of expletives. Jack darts around the room gathering his keys and wallet.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I want you to stay here.”
“Stay here? Where the hell are you going?” I glance over at the window, and see the flickering orange of flames in the town below. My brain kinda goes into meltdown for a moment, just staring at the beauty of the buildings burning against the midnight sky, and then it hits me, and I sink to my knees because there are spots dancing before my eyes, and I have this insane urge to fall through the hard wood floors. “Ana.”
Jackson helps me to my feet, and sits me down on the couch. I’ve never seen him look so afraid. His sky-blue eyes are wide, and his face is ashen. “You need to stay here. I’m gonna go check it out and I’ll be back. But I need you to go lie down, okay? I just have to get down there.”
“Belle’s Pies is on fire.” I mutter, clutching at his shirt, and trying to make sense of what I just saw. “Why is Belle’s Pies on fire?”
“Hols, I need you to calm down. I have to go.”
“No. I’m coming with you.”
“It’s not safe. A fire that big has a lot of smoke. It’s not healthy for the baby.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. You’re not.” He cups my face in his big hands. “Hols, don’t do this. My family’s down there.”
“So is mine!” I wrench myself out of his grasp, and march over to the door, holding it open for him. “If you don’t take me, I’ll take my own car, but you should know I’m not up to driving right now.”
Several long minutes later we pull onto Main Street, and Jack cuts the engine near a crowd of people, the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles make me a little dizzy. I drag myself out of the car. My feet feel like lead, and my heart is slamming against my chest so hard it hurts, and I’m hoping and praying like hell that no one I love got hurt. Logically, I can’t see how they couldn’t have. Elijah and Ana left well over half an hour ago. She had to be inside … she had …
The ground rushes up to me, but Jack’s strong arms pull me back into his chest, and then I’m not tilting anymore. The world rights itself, and yet it can never be right again if my best friend is gone.
Sammy’s wailing snaps us both out of our heads, and as Jack pushes us through the throng of bystanders, the picture becomes a lot clearer. The entire diner is engulfed in the blaze. Burnt amber flames lick at a black sky. I cover my mouth, and feel as if my world is spinning out of orbit.
There’s an ambulance on hand, and a stretcher sitting idly by, but no one on it. I’m frantic. My pulse pounds at my wrist, and my heart is beating so hard I feel like it might just hammer its way out of my chest. I can’t see anything over the crowd of people. Now is so not the time to be a tiny pregnant woman, because I can’t see jack-shit over the heads of the bystanders, and pushing them out of the way with my baby belly won’t do much but hurt the little jellybean.
“Jack, where are they?” I tug on his hand. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes glassy. It’s hard to tell if it’s from the sting of the smoke, or if he’s feeling the terror of rising panic like I am.
“I don’t know, Hols. I can’t see shit.” He stretches up on his toes, and—keeping my hand firmly grasped in his—he launches us through the crowd of dumbfounded Sugartown residents. Some have their hands covering their mouths as they study the blaze in disbelief. Others stand there like zombies, not speaking, not crying, just staring. Crazy-Eyed Callaghan sits across the street, his cart pushed up against the roller door of Bob’s Bikes, while he sings to the mangy cat curled in his arms.
“They’re over here.” Jack leads us in the direction of the screams. Sammy’s screams. Ice-water runs through my veins. I break out in a cold sweat. God, please don’t let him be crying over Ana. We finally clear the throng of people, and I see Ana and Elijah standing side by side. My heart gives a stutter of relief. Like the rest of the onlookers, she has her hands clasped against her mouth, but the tears in her eyes, and the look of sheer horror on her face sets her aside from the others. Elijah has a wailing Sammy wrapped up in his arms. He absently smooths a hand down the kid’s back as he repeats something over and over in Sammy’s ear. Beyond them, Bob is on his knees in the middle of the road; his face is twisted with grief. I’ve never seen anyone cry like this: the sound is harrowing and heartbreaking, and not at all human. People should never sound that way. It grates on your soul like a knife on bone.
I let go of Jack’s hand and run towards them, crashing into Ana so hard that I almost knock her down, and then I’m hugging her tight enough to suffocate her. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m okay.” She sobs in my ear.
“Where’s Kerry?” Jack asks from behind me.
“She was inside. She had Sammy in there, too. I don’t know what the hell she was doing, but that pilot light sticks. You know I’ve been complaining about it for years.”
“Ana, I’m so sorry.”
“Elijah and I stopped off at the supermarket to get some supplies, and Sammy ran out the front door to meet us, and then it just … it just exploded. We were thrown half way across the street with the blast.”
It’s only now that I see the soot, blood and grazes on the three of them. Sammy’s scratched up pretty badly. His arm hangs limp around Elijah’s neck. It looks odd, but it could just be the shadows created by the dancing flames. I don’t think any of them are aware of their bumps and bruises, or what’s really happening. We’re all too numb.
Tears roll down her cheeks, she looks so small as she says, “It’s all gone, Hols.”
Both of Sugartown’s police officers are on the scene, trying to keep the onlookers at bay while the firefighters contain the blaze. It’s already spread to the two empty shopfronts either side of where Belle’s Pies used to be. The building groans, and then it makes this odd screaming, whistling sound as the roof caves in. Ana and I shrink back, feeling the vibration through our legs. Bob staggers to his feet. He takes an unsteady step, and then he charges toward the burning buildings.
“Dad!” Ana screams. Sammy starts wailing again. Jackson tackles Bob, and pins him down on the pavement.
“Let me go! My wife is in there,” Bob bellows.
My heart feels like it’s snapping in two. I don’t know how much more suffering this family can take.
“No, mate, she’s not,” Jack grunts as he wrestles with the bear of a man beneath him. “You need to pull your shit together.”
“She’s my wife. My wife’s dead!”
“And your kids just watched you try and jump in the blaze after her,” Jack spits, and then releases him anyway. For a minute I’m about to call Jack out on that shit, but then Bob is on his feet and stalking toward him like a man hell-bent on burying him in the ground. “You wanna hit me, Uncle?” Jack makes a beckoning gesture. “Come on, then.”
And he does. Bob’s fist swings out, but Jack ducks the first hit and bounds away. Ana screams as Bob charges at Jack. I try to hold her back by looping my arms around her waist, but she’s stronger than I am, and slips free. Elijah steps in front of her, and says, “Leave it, babe.”
“Leave it?” Ana glares up at him with wounded eyes.
“They’ll be okay.” he whispers, and frees up one of his arms that’s supporting Sammy’s weight. He tucks her into his side and kisses her head as she sobs.
A guttural cry pulls my attention back to the fight. Bob punches him square in the jaw. Jack’s head rocks to the side, and he spits blood on the ground, but he remains glued to the spot all the same as Bob hits him again and again. Jack never falters. He takes the beating Bob dishes out without even flinching. He takes it willingly, until Bob can no longer do anything but cry, and drop to his knees again. Jack sinks down beside the man who has always been like a father to me, always been more loving than my own, and comforts him. His face is all bloody, one eye is swollen already, and his lip is sporting two new cuts. For the life of me, I can’t understand what the hell j
ust happened, but Bob is now embracing his nephew and silently sobbing into his shoulder.
Constable Miller has finally realised what’s going, and he steps up to intervene, but he’s a little too late. Jack’s face is a bloody mess. Belle’s Pies is burning, and a family has been ripped apart. There’s not a whole lot the men in blue can do now.
“Ana,” I say, touching her arm and saving her from having to watch her dad fall apart. Again. They’ve both been through this before when Ana’s mum died. It hurts me to see Bob this way, so it must be damn near killing her. “We need to get Sammy checked out.”
“You’re right,” she says robotically.
“Ana wherth Mummy?” Sammy asks from over Elijah’s shoulder.
Ana covers her face to hide the tears sliding down her cheeks and whispers, “How do I answer that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do I say to him, Hols?” she pleads.
“Mummy’s not here, little man,” Elijah says and strokes his back. “We gotta let the doctors fix you up, and let the firemen put out the blaze. I’m gonna need you to be really tough for me, okay? Can you do that? Can you be brave?”
“Uh-huh,” Sammy says through his whimpering.
“Thatta boy.” Elijah stalks over to the ambulance, and starts demanding the ambos look after Sammy. He leans right over the stretcher, and talks to Sammy the whole time they’re assessing him, blocking the kid’s view of his distraught father.
“What are we supposed to tell him? He just saw his mother get blown to pieces. If Elijah and I hadn’t stopped, maybe none of this would have happened.”
“Shut up,” I say, grabbing the tops of her shoulders and shaking her. “If you had been here ten minutes earlier, it would have been all of you we’d be mourning right now. This situation sucks, Ana, but we’ll get through it. We always do.”
Jackson seems to have calmed Bob down a bit. I don’t know how he did it, but the man went from ready to rip Jack to shreds to a haunted mess of a man who just lost his second wife, and the mother of one of his children. He sits on the bitumen, and stares as the flames eat away the dream that belonged to his first wife. The paramedic comes over to tend to Jackson’s face, but Jack shoos him away.
Enjoy Your Stay Page 2
