by Max Henry
“Sure.” He takes a step back, and then pauses. “Take it easy, Z. Give me a call if you ever need a hand out there, okay?” He jerks his head toward the garage.
I nod, well aware he only makes the offer as some sort of olive branch. But why the fuck would I want to hang out and reminisce with him if all it would do is remind me of my greatest mistake? Whether I knew it or not, I ruined what we had the day I drove a fist into his face and picked his daughter’s love over him. Nothing I did afterward changed the damage done that day. Nothing.
John leaves, the dull sound of his work truck filtering through the house as I march over and slam my fist down on the light switch. The room plunges into darkness, my chest immediately lighter. I retrieve my phone from where I left it on the dining table, and then head to get the bottle of water off the counter. No. Fuck that. Today calls for something stronger. I veer left instead and snatch the untouched bottle of bourbon off the top of the cupboards and take it to the sofa.
Who are you now, dove?
The alcohol cuts a hot path down my throat as I flick through my Facebook settings and bring up the list of blocked users. Only one. Only one person that I ever gave enough of a fuck about to go to such lengths. My thumb tingles as it hovers over the screen. Fuck it. She comes home tomorrow, and that thought alone means I should man up and deal with this like an adult. But I can’t do it. I can’t open that Pandora’s box.
The only way I can live with my decision to buy that ticket is by pretending I had no choice. But I had a choice. And I picked the one that would be best for her. Definitely not the easiest for me.
You’re addicted, Z. Addicted and not sorry about it one fucking bit. That’s the funny thing with addiction: you only feel guilty about it when you finally face the facts and acknowledge how bad it is for you.
Belle? Nope. I’d never admit that because she was never bad for me. It was me who was bad for her.
If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay the hell away from me when she gets back to Longdale.
Because I’m twice as selfish now, with half the fucks to give on what anyone else thinks.
THREE
Belle
I’ve found muscles I didn’t know I had. The guy in front of me insisted on reclining his seat the entire flight, whether he slept or not, which in turn meant I had to tuck my legs to one side and twist my hips. Every time I got up to stretch, the flight attendants would bring the damn refreshment cart out and force me back into my seat.
I’ve never been so happy to lie on a goddamn airport floor.
“Are you okay, love?” An older lady bends over where I lie beside the luggage carousel.
“Yes, thank you. Bad back,” I explain.
She nods knowingly. “Tell you what. I’ll set my carry-on just here so nobody catches your noodle there.” She places her little flower-covered suitcase above my head.
Maybe I’m tired, or maybe because it’s the first selfless thing a person has done for me in days, but I damn well cry at her consideration.
“Thank you.” I wipe the moisture away with my sleeve as she smiles down at me.
“Almost home.” She winks.
Her words strike a chord with me. I am almost home, and strangely the closer I get, the more homesick I am. I miss Dad. I miss our stupid TV marathons and listening to him talk about work over dinner while I don’t understand a fucking thing he says. I miss our stupid suburban street with the trees that always drop leaves on the parked cars in autumn.
I miss visits from Kate. And strangely, I miss Jodie.
She’s kept in touch while I’ve been gone with a message every six months or so, eager to know how I was doing after the showdown with Cerise. But just like Dad, she avoided the hard topics.
Nobody wants to talk about him, and I can’t deny the worry that stirs inside of me.
“Here they come.” The old lady gestures to the carousel as the gears grind and whine into motion.
I pull myself to a seated position as the first bags come out. People hustle around us, eager to get to the head of the queue. I rise to my feet and thank the old woman before doing my usual and walking to the far end of the carousel where it’s quieter and there’s more room.
Customs is chaos thanks to the two huge Emirates flights that got in around the same time as my smaller Air New Zealand one. I line up for the automated queue once I have my baggage, and wipe under my eyes again with the side of my finger in the hope the machine doesn’t reject me because my red-ringed, sleep-deprived eyes don’t match my passport photo.
Clean sailing.
I step out the other side and take a deep breath as people rush past me in the mad race for the exit doors. I’ve walked twenty metres through a damn security gate, and yet somehow everything feels different. Better.
Passengers file through the automatic doors, the cheers of ecstatic families coming back through in bursts each time they slide open. My heart hums against my ribcage as I stack my duffle bag on top of my suitcase and grab my carry on with the other.
This is it. Home, a new woman.
Most of all, just as a woman. I’ve grown a lot the last three years, learnt so much about myself and what makes me tick. It’s funny how no matter what age you are, you feel the wisest you’ve ever been, the most adamant that you know what’s best and that who you are will never change. And yet, add a few years, and you’re able to look back at how green you still were, how naïve, and you almost cringe at what a headstrong fool you were.
I thought at eighteen that I knew it all. I thought I knew what I wanted, and that the best intentions of those around me were misguided. But sometimes I wonder how much more Dad saw about me than I could. How much did he really know about what I needed?
I can’t deny that I’ve grown, that I’ve matured, but one thing remains the same: I left the best part of me behind when I boarded that plane to Colorado. I left my heart here, in Longdale.
Still, I wouldn’t trade the experience or the things working side by side with some of the best artists taught me in my apprenticeship and subsequent short career. And it’s that pride, that sense of independence that has me walking through the automatic doors with my head held high.
“Sweetheart.” Dad damn near vaults the dividing barrier to crush me in a bear hug as I near the end of the narrow walkway.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my carry-on tipping over as I let it go. “Hey, Dad.”
“God, I’ve missed you.”
“Shut up,” I tease as I pull away. “You’ll make me cry.”
“Leak happiness,” he corrects with a wink, echoing his words from the day I left.
A curly-haired lady steps out from the crowd and I recognise her immediately. “Sharon.”
She pulls me in a hug that feels strangely familiar for somebody I’ve never met. “Aren’t you just ten times more stunning in person,” she coos, her chin tucked on my shoulder.
I was over the moon the day Dad told me he’d found somebody. Two years after he booted Cerise out of the house he literally fell over Sharon in the supermarket. Spilled produce turned out to be the start of a wonderful thing. She’s good for Dad, and most importantly, I get the best vibe off her.
She’s nothing like my mother, and I love that.
“Are you hungry?” she asks as Dad retrieves my bags. “We can stop on the way home if you like?”
“No. I ate on the plane.” And truth be told, my stomach refuses to settle.
I’m back in the same country as Zeus. More than likely in the same town, if he hasn’t sold the house. Back chasing old ghosts around familiar haunts. There’s so much I left behind the day I flew out, and not all of it tangible. Being home, heading to Longdale, leaves me apprehensive of the old emotions that are emerging from the depths, arms stretched over their heads as they awake.
At the forefront: regret.
I pushed my way into Zeus’s life, and then when the shit hit the fan, I bailed—albeit with his help—and left him to face
the fallout alone. I always was a selfish kid, but that? Yeah….
We make our way through the parking building to where Dad’s new work truck is squeezed in between two compact cars. Sharon walks ahead to unlock the vehicle, while Dad hangs back at my side.
“They keep making these places smaller and smaller,” he gripes as he stacks my bags on the tray under the protection of the canopy. “Makes it so damn hard to take this anywhere.”
“Your father almost bought himself a little Suzuki Swift,” Sharon says with a smile as she opens my door.
“I need something that doesn’t threaten a stress-induced heart attack every time I go into the city,” he explains.
I laugh at the visual of my dad, as tall as he is, folded into a tiny little car like that. Sharon gets into the front passenger seat, resting her hand on Dad’s thigh as he reverses out of the park. I watch them in silence as we start the journey home, the small gestures they make without knowing it. They’re in love, and it’s adorable.
It also makes me ridiculously envious. I could have had that. I did have that, even if only for a single breath in the capacity of a lifetime.
Dad’s gaze flicks to me in the rear-view as we cruise down the motorway; Sharon stares out her side window at the passing scenery, oblivious to the unspoken conversation going on between the two of us.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
I nod, avoiding his eye. “I think so.”
“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t said a thing about him.”
I open my mouth to point out neither has he, when he reminds me we aren’t thinking about the same person.
“It’s not a great impression that this Damien fella makes, you know.” He smiles, glancing my way. “Do I need to prep the shotgun for when he finally makes it back?”
I stare out the window at the mention of my… fuck, what is he? Boyfriend? That term seems so juvenile, yet we’re not serious enough to be partners. “You don’t own a shotgun.”
“I could.” He huffs through his nose. “You let him know you got here okay?”
Shit. “I guess that would be a good idea, huh?”
Dad frowns as though to say what the hell is up with you?
I smile sheepishly as I retrieve my phone and hammer out a quick message to Damien. I don’t even know if he’ll get it, or if he’s so wrapped up in heading off on this trek that I’ve clean slipped his mind also. At least I can say I’ve done my part.
I exit his thread and tap on Kate’s.
K: Let me know when you’re settled. We’ll catch up.
My thumb hovers over the screen. She messaged me while I was in the air. Fuck—I’m too tired for visitors, even if I probably will spend the next twelve hours awake while my body clock adjusts.
B: Sure thing. Later in the week when I’m over the jet lag ;)
Dad glances in the rear-view as I drop the device in my lap. “Sorted, then?”
“Yeah. I had a message from Kate. She wants to catch up.”
“Good.” Dad’s hands flex on the wheel as we take our exit. “Your mother called.”
“Why?”
I catch Sharon’s intake of breath as Dad sighs. “Because she saw my post on Facebook counting down the days until you got home. She wanted to know who Damien is.” He glances back again as we approach an intersection.
“And you told her?” Sounds typical of Cerise; using Dad to find out things she wouldn’t dare ask me herself.
“I did. There’s no point lying to the woman.” He sighs, seeming to search for the right words. “She’s sobered up since you’ve been gone, and although I don’t expect you two to get along, it could be cathartic to bury the hatchet, so to speak.”
“Can I bury it in her?” I mumble.
“Belle,” Dad warns. “Don’t lower yourself to her level; be the bigger person.”
“I thought I was by pretending she didn’t exist.”
Tension chokes the air as Dad slows to stop at a red light. “She wasn’t to blame.”
“For what?” I snap. “Forgetting that I was alive for ten years?”
“You know what for.” He takes off a little quicker than necessary.
I stare at Dad in the mirror, despite the fact he focuses on the road. “You know, you haven’t mentioned him at all.”
“Didn’t see any reason for it to come up.” His frown deepens. Sharon reaches out to squeeze his knee.
I don’t know how much he’s told her, but that gesture alone says enough.
“I don’t just mean now,” I elaborate. “You haven’t mentioned him since I left.”
“What do you want me to say?” he snaps. “Are you expecting a rundown of his day to day? Because if you are, then I can’t help with that.”
“I’m expecting you to acknowledge that Zeus is a fucking person.” I stall, thrown by the sound of his name on my tongue. “Just a simple ‘He’s doing fine’ would be great.”
Dad makes a “hmph,” choosing to stay mute on the topic. I’m pushing him, and it’s not fair considering I’ve only just touched down. Maybe it’s the jet lag. Or maybe it’s simply that the subject of my mother always heats my blood.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper my apology, unable to look at Dad. “I’m a bit tired, and I’d sort of hoped that after three years people wouldn’t still treat me with kid gloves when it comes to him.”
He sees straight through the bullshit. “I worry, sweetheart. You’ve got your own life to sort out now you’re back, and I don’t want past grievances to overshadow that.” His brow sets hard, and Sharon reaches across to rest her hand on his leg again. “I want you to keep focus on yourself like you have these past years. Don’t undo all the hard work you’ve put in by hungering for scraps of information about him.”
“I care, is all. I just want to know he’s doing all right.”
“Is that all?”
“John,” Sharon cautions.
I scowl as Dad negotiates the last intersection before home. “I’m not the same girl I was when I left.” Still infatuated with a man seventeen years my senior, but at least now I have enough self-control to separate needs from wants. I have a life to build in Longdale. I have a business to start, a career to shape and a reputation to earn as the area’s best shop for new ink. I can’t let anything get in the way of that—even my own happiness.
I worked my arse off the past three years, built connections, learnt tricks of the trade and studied how Chris built his franchise. I found my passion, and just like Zeus wanted me to, I found myself. My work is everything. Without it I’m a lost girl lusting after things she can’t have all over again.
I’ve got all I need to live a normal acceptable life: a career, a guy my own age… Fuck convention.
“You get yourself unpacked,” Sharon says as we pull up the driveway, “and I’ll make us all a cuppa.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I open the door and inhale the familiar scent of the huge pine tree that stands at the side of the front yard. “I haven’t had a coffee since my last layover.”
God knows I need something to curb this frustration at my current situation.
I head to the back of the truck to help Dad with my bags. He nudges a shoulder against mine as we walk toward the house and flashes an apologetic smile.
“It’s good to have you home, sweetheart.”
I take a deep breath and grip my bag a little tighter as I drag it inside the house. “It’s good to be back, Dad.” I pause and look at the familiar surroundings, my gaze settling on the sofa where it all began for Zeus and me. “Good to be home.”
FOUR
Zeus
Clouds shield the sun as I sit at the dining table, only the scratch of the probation officer’s pen as he rewrites the notes he took during our conversation cutting the silence. My gaze drifts from the overcast sky out the window and back to the stack of paper he has clipped to the portfolio.
“How many more of these do I have?”
His pen hesitates over the page, ye
t he doesn’t look up. “Two.” Liver spots dot the back of his hand.
“And then that’s it, right?”
He sets the pen down, reaching up instead to stroke the end of his handlebar moustache. “As far as check-ins are concerned.” His fingers weave together as he sets his hands on the table before him. “You’ll still need to keep your nose clean, though. Your history means that any reoffense won’t be tolerated. The judge is entitled to pass down a harsher sentence than usual, especially given your recent indiscretion.”
I nod as I turn my head and stare at the fluffy white clouds instead. “Sure.”
His portfolio closes with a smack before he tugs the zipper around the outside. “We’re all done for today, Zeus.”
“Passed with flying colours?” I stand as he does, eager to see him out.
I have work on the car I’d like to get done before the weather forces me to close up the garage.
“You’ve done fine.” He tucks the paperwork under his arm, hand resting possessively on top as though I’m about to tear it from his hold. “You’ve kept steady employment, haven’t received so much as a parking ticket since your warning, and you’ve stayed away from the Iron Horse as required.”
“Good.”
He gives a single nod before starting toward the front door. “I’ll see you in another six months.”
“Take it easy.” I return his nod with one of my own and wait at the door as he walks to his sensible government-issued sedan.
He leaves without a backward glance, his tyres barely making a sound as the car crawls out the driveway and onto the road.
I like it quiet. The peace gives me focus, allows me to concentrate on the task at hand. Although, I like it when it’s dark best of all. The lack of visual distraction means I can lose myself to a fantasy of what life might have been like had I made a different choice.
What would I be doing now if Belle never got on that plane? Would I be waiting here for her to get in from work? Standing out the front of our house?
I’m mid-step, my hand on the door, when the purr of an engine slowing roots me to the spot. Jodie’s car appears at the end of my drive, the nose dipping as she turns it toward the house.
