Oh. That makes sense.
“Hazel,” he said. “I drew you exactly how I see you. Just because this isn’t how you see yourself doesn’t mean it’s not how you are.”
She half-smiled. “Thanks, I think.”
“You can keep it if you want,” he offered.
“No, it’s okay. I want you to have it. To remember me by.”
He frowned at her for a moment, clamping his lips together. “Right,” he said finally. “Temporary. Almost forgot.”
“You should definitely show more people your art, though,” Hazel said, hastily changing the subject. “These paintings should be in a gallery or something. I mean, not the one of me, but…”
Red shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”
She placed the book carefully back on the shelf and squeezed his hand. “They’re good. I promise.”
“It’s not that,” he said. “What if I put my art out there and people don’t care?”
“Don’t you think that’s how every artist feels? Every writer? Every musician? You can’t just sit on all this, hoping that one day you’ll be good enough—you have to trust that today you already are.”
Red threw his arms around her and pulled her in for a tight hug. “How come you always know the right thing to say?” he said, voice muffled in her shoulder.
“Years and years of practice,” she said, laughing. “So come on, tell me more. What kind of art is your favorite? Painting? Sketching?”
“I like all of them the same except sculpting,” he said. “But I’ve been doing photography the longest.”
“Hence the camera?”
“Hence the camera. Wanna see?”
She nodded earnestly, and Red pulled down another book from the shelf, this one filled with glossy prints. He handed it to her, and Hazel flicked through the pages in awe. Most of them were of city lights, lively urban landscapes made of vibrant colors.
“Is this Port Sheridan?” she said.
Red shook his head. “Sydney.”
“It looks like a great place.”
He was quiet for a moment, keeping his expression carefully blank. “It is.”
“Do you miss it?”
Yes. So much that sometimes I feel sick with it.
“Occasionally.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Hey, ‘In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life,’” he said. “‘It goes on.’”
“Robert Frost?”
Red shrugged and flashed her a half smile. “What can I say? I’m a closet poet.”
Hazel shook her head and turned to the next page, and her breath caught in her throat. Red knew what spread she was looking at; it was the one with a shot of the Sydney skyline on the left-hand page, and a picture of Luca on the right.
It was one of Red’s favorite photographs that he’d ever taken, and if it wouldn’t feel completely dishonest, he’d submit it as part of his portfolio for Hodgkins’s assignment. He didn’t remember exactly when it was from—he just knew that it was sometime before Ryan died. It had to be, because Luc was grinning, real laughter lines creasing the edges of his eyes, his shoulders back. He looked relaxed, comfortable, but it was more than that.
“He looks so happy,” Hazel murmured, finishing his train of thought, and the confusion in her voice—that Luca had once existed as someone carefree and unbroken—made his chest ache.
Red snapped the sketchbook shut and took it from her, replacing it swiftly on the shelf.
“‘It goes on,’” he repeated softly.
17
Graham arrived at the Cawleys’ house to pick Hazel up just before five, intending to drop her off at home and then continue on to work. Claire was making small talk with him while Hazel went to find her things, and by the time she got back, Claire was trying to convince him to stay for dinner.
“Can’t have you living off of takeout, Hazel,” she said briskly. “You’re a growing girl! And Graham, you can’t work on an empty stomach—it’s not like anyone can fire you for being late. You’re both eating here, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Graham looked from Claire to Hazel and then back again. “Fine,” he said finally. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Nonsense. We’ll enjoy the company, won’t we, Red?” she said, and Red just beamed in response.
Dinner was spareribs in a sticky barbecue sauce, with homemade sautéed potatoes and a fresh garden side salad, and the four of them sat around the table in the dining room—Graham and Claire on one side, Red and Hazel on the other. Hazel wondered briefly if Luca was somewhere in the house, perhaps shut away in his room, and then pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
“The house looks good,” Graham said after a while of quiet eating, pausing momentarily to survey the room. “It looks really good. You’ve done a great job.”
“It was mostly Marc,” Claire said. Marc. Red and Luca’s father—not that Hazel had ever heard him mentioned before in the Cawley house. “He always did have a good eye when it came to decorating.”
“I remember your place in Brisbane, the one with the nautical theme. I loved it.”
“Brisbane?” Red said. “As in the house where I was born?”
“Graham came to visit when you and Luca were four months old. He was a great help, actually. Your dad and I had our hands full—everything was double. Double stroller, double crib, double bottles, double dirty diapers…”
“Nice,” Red said, grimacing.
“Then you moved all the way to Adelaide!” Graham said. “I wish I hadn’t been too busy to visit. I bet it was just as nice.”
Claire smiled fondly at the memory. “Oh, it was. My favorite house was in Canberra, though. Shame Marc couldn’t handle the cold nights—it’s a great city.”
“Then after Canberra, we moved to Sydney, right?” Red asked. “That’s the only house I really remember.”
“Then we moved to Sydney, yes, when you boys were five.”
“And you actually managed to stay there for longer than a year,” Graham teased.
“Eleven, actually,” Claire said with a laugh. “Which is a family record. And now we’ve come full circle. Back to Port Sheridan.”
“Back to the beginning,” Graham agreed. “It only seems like yesterday that we were bartending at Lee’s.”
“You and Dad and Graham were in the same year at Finchwood, right, Mum?” Red asked.
“That’s right.”
“I also showed her how to make her first cocktail,” Graham said. “A mango-and-passion-fruit frozen daiquiri if I remember correctly.”
“Really?” Red said. “Mum tried to teach me how to make a few cocktails a couple of months back, but I never quite got the hang of it, did I?”
“It wasn’t exactly your thing,” Claire said, ever diplomatic. “But only because you refused to follow the recipes and kept trying to add in extra ingredients.”
“I was being creative!”
“You never were the practical one,” she said fondly. “That was always Luc’s job.”
“Is he good at making cocktails, then?” Hazel asked, and Red and Claire shared a look across the table.
“We don’t know,” Claire said. “He’s never tried to make one.”
“Why not?”
“Because Luca doesn’t do anything,” Red said flatly. A heavy silence settled over the table, and the four of them ate quietly for a while.
“Have you heard any more about when Marc will be back in town?” Graham asked.
“He’s had some problems with a client,” Claire said. “He should be back in a few weeks.”
“And he’s still in Cairns?”
“Yep. So not too far.”
“No, that’s not too far,” Graham agreed. “You and the boys must miss him, though.”
Hazel had wondered why Marc Cawley wasn’t here with his wife and sons, why he hadn’t been here since Hazel had arrived in Australia. It had been almost two months
, and that was a long time to spend away from home.
“We do,” Claire admitted. “We could really use his help around the house too.”
“Well, if you ever need a hand…”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “It’s just strange, that’s all. Being back here and not having him around much lately. It’s just … It’s a reminder of how everything has changed. Everything always changes.”
Hazel found Red’s hand under the table and squeezed it tight.
part two
18
Luca found that training with Hazel was … a process. A very long and difficult one, at times.
During half-term week, they met every day on the track, and then when school started again they went back to meeting twice a week. Hazel never asked questions, just called out his time for each lap as he passed her.
With each training session, he managed to shave a few seconds off his time. Some days were better than others—one Thursday night they brought his time down by nearly ten seconds, which Hazel had been particularly thrilled about. She’d literally jumped to her feet in happiness when Luca finished his final lap, flushed with excitement. He hadn’t known what to do; it had been a long time since anyone had reacted to anything he’d done with something other than concern or mild annoyance.
When they got under fifteen minutes, Luca offered to walk Hazel home after the session but she shrugged him off, telling him that it wasn’t far and she could walk herself, which … wasn’t exactly the point. Luca had thought it might be nice to spend even a couple of minutes with each other off the track.
Tonight, their final Monday training session in October, Luca was determined to do his laps in fourteen minutes. He made his way over to the stadium early, so that he could be ready to start as soon as Hazel got there, and was just finishing his warm-up when she arrived. He gave her an awkward half wave. She’d changed out of her school uniform into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and her dark hair was loose around her shoulders.
“So under fourteen minutes then?” she said when he approached the start line after finishing his stretches.
Luca nodded and crouched down in position, poised and waiting. “Ready.”
She held the stopwatch up, about to press the Start button. “Hey, Luca?”
He twisted his head to look at her. “Yeah?”
“You can do this.”
He held her gaze for a moment. You can do this. I believe in you. “Thanks, Coach.”
Hazel rolled her eyes at the nickname, but she was smiling as she counted him in. “Three. Two. One. Go.”
* * *
He made it. Thirteen minutes and fifty-two seconds. When Hazel read him his time, he let out a brief whoop of happiness and collapsed on the grass in front of her.
“Pleased?” she asked.
Luca nodded, stretching. “Jesus. Under fourteen minutes. That’s … That’s good.”
“That’s more than good, Luca. It’s amazing.”
“Not amazing.” He frowned. “Under twelve minutes would be amazing, but we’re getting there.”
“Yeah,” Hazel said, smiling. “We are.”
Luca lay still for a moment, taking in deep, measured breaths and then letting them out, slowing his heart rate back down. After a minute or two, he sat upright and shifted on the ground to face her. “Walk you home?”
Hazel hesitated, looking like she was ready to shoot his offer down again, and then shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”
They walked in silence for a while before Luca spoke up. “So. Got any plans for the weekend?”
Luca knew that Hazel liked to keep herself busy while her dad worked—often she was round their house seeing Redleigh, or the two of them were off sharing long, relaxed lunches in town or having lazy days at the beach. His brother had, apparently, taken it upon himself to show Hazel as much of the area as he could. He was determined for her to fall in love with Port Sheridan before she left.
“Well, there’s a party Friday night, and I think Hunter mentioned something about taking us to the waterfall?”
Luca laughed. Hunter had been trying to get him to visit him at work for months, but Luca had always made excuses. It wasn’t that Luca didn’t like Hunter—he did—but the thought of the two of them spending all day together was a little … daunting. Even back in Sydney, he’d never really gotten the hang of having lots of friends. It had always just been him and Ryan.
“Why don’t you come to the waterfall with us?” Hazel said when he didn’t answer.
“Oh, I … don’t know.”
“It’ll be fun!”
“It’ll be a lot of socializing,” he corrected.
“What’s wrong with socializing?”
“I wouldn’t know what to say to anyone,” he said. “I’m no good at talking.”
“You’re talking all right now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but you’re…”
Hazel looked indignant. “I’m what?”
“You’re you.”
“Thanks, Luca,” she said wryly. “So charming.”
Luca just sighed. “Forget it. You should go, though.”
“I think we should all go,” she said. “The five of us.”
Luca didn’t know if she was just being nice—being Hazel—or if she really meant it, so he said nothing, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived outside the gate to Graham’s house, they came to a standstill on the sidewalk and turned to face each other.
“Well,” he said, “here you are.”
“Here I am.”
“Thanks for your help.”
She just smiled at him. “Thanks for walking me back. It was a good session.”
“See you in homeroom,” he said, and headed back the way they’d come.
19
On Wednesday, Hazel went to the Cawleys’ house for dinner—baked potatoes with chili and salad. Claire kept telling her it was nothing special, but Hazel thought it was categorically the best meal she’d had since last time she came for dinner.
Claire burst into laughter when Hazel told her. “Oh, honey. That’s sweet.”
“It’s true,” Hazel insisted. “I know Graham owns an amazing restaurant and he’s probably an amazing chef, but at home he really does specialize in microwave meals and takeout.”
“Have you ever asked him to cook?” Red said.
Hazel pulled a face. “You know I couldn’t do that. I’m already forever indebted to him for his hospitality. I can’t go around demanding he cook on top of everything else he already does for me.”
“You’re not indebted,” Claire assured her. “You’re his daughter, Hazel, and he loves having you around. Trust me, he enjoys the company. He’s lived alone in that house for far too long.”
“Hey,” Red said. “Maybe you and Graham could even cook together. That’d be nice, right?”
“Maybe. This really is lovely, Claire,” she said, changing the subject as expertly as always.
“Thank you, it’s my new…”
She trailed off. Hazel followed her gaze to the doorway.
“… Luca?” Claire said, her voice laced with surprise. Hazel knew why—she hardly ever saw Luca out of his room when he was home, let alone near the kitchen at dinnertime.
He hovered where he stood, clearly uncomfortable with having so many pairs of eyes fixed on him. “Is there space for me?”
“Of course!” Claire jumped to her feet, rushing around and grabbing cutlery and a plate of food and setting them in front of the empty chair opposite Red.
“There’s always space for you,” she added softly, once he sat down.
For a moment, no one moved. Red had told her that Luca hadn’t eaten with them in months, but here he was. Sitting at the table, about to have dinner with his family.
Wordlessly he picked up his fork and began to eat his baked potato, breaking the spell. As the kitchen table burst into life again, Hazel thought that the expression on Red’s face looked a little like relie
f and a little like happiness—but as he broke into a smile, she realized it was neither.
It was hope.
* * *
The four of them stayed at the table together long after they’d finished eating, making conversation. Luca didn’t say much, like always, but having him there seemed to be enough. Hazel didn’t know what had brought about his sudden change of heart, but she was grateful for it. She knew it would make Red and Claire immeasurably happy.
After an hour or so Claire made her excuses and slipped away, leaving the three of them on their own. Red brought up the birthday party they’d been invited to on Friday. It was for a girl named Sienna in Hazel and Luca’s homeroom.
“Hunter said it’s a costume party,” Red said, leaving the table to refill the water pitcher. “Is that true or was he screwing with me?”
Hazel grinned. “No, it’s true. We have to come as something that begins with the first letter of our name.”
“R?” He frowned. “That’s shit.”
“No, it’s not!” she said. “Loads of things begin with R.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Robot? Rabbit? Raccoon? Robin Hood?”
“Runt?” Luca offered.
Red narrowed his eyes at him. “Laugh all you want, Luc. At least I’m making the effort to go.”
“Who said I wasn’t going?”
Red blinked at his brother. “I … Are you?”
“Maybe. I was invited—it would be rude not to, right?”
There was a moment of silence. Red opened his mouth and shut it again, speechless. Hazel was as surprised as he was; just over a month ago Luca had to be blackmailed into going to a party, and now he was going to go willingly? What had changed? Hazel wondered if Luca’s decision had been prompted by their talk the other night about the waterfall.
“I thought you’d be pleased,” Luca said when nobody spoke. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Me to socialize? To make friends?”
“Of course,” Red said quickly. He cleared his throat. “I just … I’m a bit concerned what you’re going to dress up as, that’s all. Little Bo Peep? Little Red Riding Hood?”
“Lifeguard, actually,” Luca said smoothly.
Don't Forget Me Page 8
