by Belle Brooks
There’s silence far beyond one where you can hear a pin drop—a feather falling could be heard floating from a great height.
“He did what?” My mother’s voice shakes. “When? Tonight? Why? He hit you?”
Mumma doesn’t know. I’m guessing my father never told her like he said he would. ‘Let me handle telling your mother, Roselette. It will be better coming from me.’ He’s a liar.
“He struck me, Mumma. It’s why Slade sent all the gifts.” I say this with a little more force.
“He made a mistake. Mistakes happen, Roselette. We’re men. We get it wrong sometimes.” Has my father struck my mother as Slade did to me?
“Have you ever taken your hand to Mumma?” I glare fiercely into his dark eyes.
“Never.” He shakes his head.
“So it isn’t a mistake that it happens then, is it?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Well, I can’t be with someone who does such things to me.” I hold onto the small amount of strength that remains to restrain any tears from flowing.
“We can still make this work. I can ensure he won’t do such a thing to you again. I saw him, Roselette. Spoke with him. He felt terrible guilt for what he did to you. I know he’ll never do it again.” Does my father even believe this himself?
“Really? Well, I believe he played you for a fool, Daddy, because my wrists still burn from him restraining me by them tonight. May I be excused?”
“No!” he barks.
“Why?” My tone lifts as do my hands to my heart.
“Roselette, you have to understand—”
“Nothing. I don’t have to understand anything. I’m going to my room.” Glancing to my left has me gasping. It’s the first time I’ve shifted my eyes to my mother, and she has fallen against a matching day bed, to the one I’ve been holding on to tightly. Her eyes are wide and her mouth hung open. Her raw heartache is displayed.
I take two steps, only to halt when my father comes to stand it front of me. “Move,” I shout.
He shakes his head.
Scowling, I bump shoulders with him in passing as I stomp off, and although out of the corner of my eye I see him launch out his hand to grab me, he doesn’t. He lets me retreat and offers me space.
The most casual item in my wardrobe is a plain yellow summer dress my grandmother bought me before she died last spring. Running the light material through my fingertips, I stare out my bedroom window and try desperately to remove the memory of the anger in my father’s eyes last night—an anger I’ve never experienced before, and it’s one I hope I never have to bear witness to again.
“Roselette, Daddy is wanting you to come downstairs, please.” Gabriella has such a look of pity to her gaze as she stands just inside the doorway to my bedroom.
My stomach squirms.
“I can’t go down there.”
“As the saying goes, everything is always better once day breaks … I believe it will be better for you this morning. I heard what happened last night. So did Maranda.”
“Gabriella, that is not even a saying. I can’t go down there. Please, please help me.” I find myself pleading for her to show me the compassion I’m seeking.
“What do you plan to do?”
“Put on this dress and leave.”
“Where will you go?”
“Out for a few hours to clear my head.” Please help me.
“You’ll come back, though?” She shifts to look behind her before facing me once more.
“I will.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Her head bobs around as if she’s checking our surroundings for clearance, and then she whispers, “I’ll distract Daddy for ten minutes. You will need to be gone before then.”
“Thank you,” I mouth as a single teardrop skirts my cheek.
“You’d do it for me. I believe you would.” Her voice wavers with doubt.
“I would,” I reply quickly.
The moment she swivels on her heel, I strip away the silk negligee I wore to bed last night and dress in a yellow bikini before pulling over the light material of the sundress I’ve held in my hands since I first peered out the window.
I don’t take time to place the socks and jogging shoes I received yesterday from Finlay on my feet. Instead, I throw them into a large handbag, along with a pair of underwear and a bra.
Creeping into the hall, I take one large breath and pray this will work. I try to devise a plan to escape through the back entrance without being seen, but apart from moving quickly, I have none. I make it only a short distance before I suck back a needy mouthful of air when Maranda appears out of nowhere. She smiles broadly in my direction and quickly flicks her head in an overstated way that tells me she’s pretending she’s not seen me at all.
My sisters are running interference for me because as I make the stairs, I hear Maranda call out, “Mumma, I need you to come to my bedroom, please.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Mumma replies promptly.
If Gabriella has Daddy occupied as promised, I will make my freedom—and I do. Now I only need to worry about the search party I assume will be launched as soon as my father figures out I’m gone.
I’m hopping from foot to foot, waiting for Finlay to answer the front door after I’ve sprinted between the properties. What’s taking him so long? I’m desperate to get inside and out of sight.
“Rose.” His deep voice is welcoming.
“Move. Move,” I rush out in a strained whisper, barging past him.
The door closes with a loud bang, and with the sudden noise, I jump.
“Why are you so jumpy?” He stares right at me.
“No reason. Can we go now, please?”
“Okay.” His crossed gaze tells me he’s puzzled by my behaviour.
“Good. I’ll meet you in the car?”
“Do you want to put your shoes on first?”
“No time. There’s no time. Hurry up.” Rose, calm down, I internally prompt myself; it doesn’t work. I need to leave now.
“Stop! What’s happening here?”
I sigh.
“Rose.”
“I’ll explain on the way. Can we just go, please?” I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet with a pleading gaze. Stop asking questions and move, dammit.
“Righto. Okay. Let me grab my stuff.”
“Hurry.”
Finlay takes the same camping bag he had yesterday in his hand, and we make a beeline to the garage.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Nobody has hurt you?”
“No. No, it’s not like that.”
“You haven’t done something stupid, have you?”
“Fin, less talking and more getting us the hell out of here, pleeeaaase.” There’s desperation in my expression, I know there is, because my jaw throbs and my eyes are bug wide.
As we drive down the long driveway, I sink in the seat until my head cannot be seen above the window. My chin digs into my neck when I attempt to position myself so I’m completely invisible to any prying eyes that might attempt to look in. Every breath I take is quick and somewhat compressed from my twisted neck, but I don’t dare straighten out.
I’m not sure how much time passes before Finlay says, “We’re nowhere near the house anymore. You can get up if you want.”
With a slight hesitation, I do, circling my neck until it cracks loudly.
Finlay clears his throat and with this clearing, I shift my body until I’m sitting across the seat.
“What was all that about?”
“Where do you want me to start?” I say.
“Wherever you’re comfortable with.” His eyes leave the road only momentarily and flash in my direction before rebounding straight back to the windscreen.
“My parents are not overly happy about what happened last night, as you can imagine.”
Finlay doesn’t say anything. He just concentrates on the traffic in front of us.
The grunting sound coming from Finlay has me focusing my attention to the tight grip he now throttles the steering wheel with.
“I snuck out this morning. I couldn’t talk anymore about the situation, and Daddy is requesting for me to do so, I believe. He said he can ensure Slade will never lay a hand to me again if I give him an opportunity to make it right … He wants me to go away with Slade for—”
“No!” Finlay snaps.
“I just don’t know what to do. Things are complicated. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s so much more going on than you …” I stop myself. I can’t have Finlay learning of our family’s financial troubles.
“More going on than I, what?” He glances in my direction.
“Nothing. I misspoke. I just need time to think about things. Fin, I was truly petrified last night.”
“I know you were.”
“Anyway, some fresh air this morning will help me to figure out where I go from here and what it is I’d like to do.”
A small brown painted sign with yellow lettering stating Frangullies National Park comes into view as I look past Finlay’s side profile.
“There’s a sign,” I say, pointing towards it.
“Where?” Finlay says, braking.
“There.”
“That wasn’t there yesterday?” His tone heightens.
“Maybe it was covered by overhanging branches or something?”
“Strange,” he mumbles as the car begins moving forwards once more.
Finlay puts the utility into park. I secure each jogger to my feet and run my hands down the front of my sun dress.
“Are you ready?” he says.
“Yes.”
The air is dead still, not a single breeze to rustle the leaves high above us, nor a lick of its presence on my skin. We walk side by side down the same walking trail we took yesterday afternoon, and something about this place seems different to me this morning, but I’m unable to identify what. Taking in the surroundings as we move kilometres with a comfortable, yet faster pace than we did the day prior, I’m finally awash with the sense of calm I’d been hoping for.
“Are you hurting, Rose?” Finlay says with his chin pointed to his feet as he continues striding.
“I’m not sure. I think so.” My emotions jump from relief, to sadness, to fear, back to relief, consistently.
“You love him, yes?”
I pause long enough to reflect on what he’s asking. “I think so, but I’m not sure I have full knowledge of what loving a man is. I’ve only had one partner, and I’ve only ever been with one man—Slade.”
“What?” Finlay stops suddenly before swinging his head in my direction. He studies me in a way I’ve never been studied before. I’m not quite sure what his tight, pulled expression is implying.
“Daddy … well … he … he suggested I make myself available only for the man I would marry … Slade … well …” I’m stumbling in my explanation. “Slade chose me,” I continue, trying to stop my jumbled speech. “After we met two years ago—if I remember correctly, it was just after I had my twentieth birthday—he promised to love me forever. Six months ago, he proposed, and I said yes. He wanted me. The most eligible bachelor in Hoffman chose me, and Daddy wanted this for me too.”
“What did you want?”
“Slade,” I breathe.
“So, I’ll ask you again. Are you hurting, Rose?”
“I am.” My voice shakes. “Have you ever been in love, Fin?”
“Yes.” He’s quick to reply.
“Oh.” My heart thumps one intense beat.
“We’re almost at the waterfall.”
Is he trying to change the direction of the conversation? “How many times have you been in love, Fin?”
“One.” It’s almost inaudible.
“Can I ask—”
“No.” His pace quickens. What is he running away from?
I jog to make up ground. “What happened?”
“With what?”
“The one you loved.”
His voice breaks like a pubescent boy when he says, “She died.”
“I’m so sorry.” If the sadness I was already feeling wasn’t overwhelming enough, now it’s multiplied tenfold.
“Don’t be.” We move at an even faster pace.
“Finlay.” I place my hand to his arm in the hope it will cause him to slow down a fraction.
“Rose. Just drop it.”
I do. Who am I to ask such questions anyway?
As soon as Finlay makes the water’s edge, he drops the bag he’s carrying, slips off his shoes, the jeans, and white T-shirt he’s wearing, and rushes into the water and swims away.
He lost someone he loved to death. I couldn’t even imagine how he must have felt, or is it how he’s still feeling now? When did this happen? Is this why he was involved in the car accident, because he was mindless, lost in thoughts of grief?
I slip off my shoes, and the dress I’m wearing follows. I don’t cover myself, even though I’m standing in only my yellow bikini. I don’t feel I need to hide from Finlay today as I did yesterday. It’s a strange realisation for me.
The water is warmer than it was the previous day, and at first I plan to swim after Finlay, but I’d never catch him, as he powers through the water, moving farther and farther away. Casually, I wade out until I’m halfway between the falls and the shoreline. Lying on my back has me squinting at first due to the sunrays, but before long I close my eyes completely and allow my body to float.
Some time later, the back of my head is cradled and I’m moving in a circular motion. I’m not fearful or concerned, more like safe, because I already know who has me—Finlay.
His hands slide down under my shoulders and continue onto my lower back, which has my ears vacating the water as my head rises. He shifts me until my head rests on what I believe to be his shoulder because I can hear him breathing as if he is only inches away.
“Her name was Penny,” he speaks softly.
I don’t answer or try to look at him. I just stay loose-limbed, yet secure.
“She was murdered,” he continues, “six years ago.”
My heart aches.
“It was an attempted robbery … I was with her when it happened. I couldn’t save her, though.”
I roll, stopping when my hands hold Finlay’s shoulders. At first, I’m slightly dizzy, so it takes me a moment to focus, but when I do, I stare into his big dark eyes and swallow the reflection of pain they fill with.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I press my body to his and lay my head in the crook of his neck. My urge to hug him was too strong to battle.
He moans before enfolding his arms around my waist and holding me tight.
“I know what real love is, Roselette, and it’s not being hit or shoved by a man who is supposed to love you,” he whispers.
And for the first time, I’m starting to believe that maybe Slade doesn’t love me at all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Finlay
It takes all my strength not to run my hands and lips over Rose’s body as she hangs onto me. My need to explore her skin has been strong from the moment I saw her almost naked through her bedroom window. There has only ever been one other time I’ve had a need so possessive, and it came the day I found a frightened young girl draped in a fur coat, shivering and curled up on a bus bench.
“I can’t hold on to you anymore,” I say, releasing Rose from my embrace.
As she loosens her grip, I glance at her sunlight-dazzled faced before laying my cheek into the water, and then I swim away.
Clambering onto the shore, my heart escalates to the point where I’m breathless. I must have sprinted to be here. I curl at my midsection, and with both hands, take my weight by bracing either knee as I suck hard and ragged breaths.
Why did I tell Rose about Penny
? Why do I have the need to help Rose like I did Penny? I’m completely captured by this woman, and it’s almost as if history is repeating itself. Two girls from upper class lives running from their kept existence.
Outstretching my hand, I pinch the material of the bag with my fingertips, dragging it in my direction. With fumbling hands, I locate the two towels I placed inside before we left. Each breath I take becomes more steadied and slowed, and by the time I’m ready to wrap the towel around me and stand upright, I hear Rose sucking deep breaths of her own. I don’t get a chance to hold out a towel for her because she exits the water before I manage to do so.
Holy shit, she’s gorgeous. Tiny yellow string bikini ending just above her nipples keeps my eyes held. I know I shouldn’t be gawking at her like I am, but I’m in awe.
“Towel,” she says, winded, interrupting my obvious stare.
“Sorry.” I am sorry for gawking at her.
She giggles.
Laid out on a blanket I spread across the grass, Rose keeps herself covered by the towel as her eyes flick skyward. She’s either admiring the many treetops or she’s drifted off into thought. I’m not sure which, so I position myself beside her, ensuring there is space between us.
“It’s beautiful here,” she speaks with admiration.
“Yeah. I’m glad I found this place.”
“Me too,” she says quietly. “I wonder how many people know this waterfall is here. We’ve not seen anybody at all when we’ve been here.”
“I know.”
“Tell me about Penny.”
I’m not expecting her to ask this.
“What would you like to know?”
“Who she was. Where she came from. How you met.”
Normally, I’d do everything to avoid such questioning, but I feel the need to share this part of my life with Rose.
“It’s not a romance story for the ages,” I start. It’s far from such a thing.
“And mine is?”
I’m not sure if Rose’s life is or isn’t, but as I lie here, watching red bottlebrushes dance with the wind high above me, I decide it’s best not to try to decipher or compare the situations. “I met Penny when I was eighteen years old … She had just turned seventeen.”
“You were both very young.”
