House for All Seasons

by Jenn J. McLeod

  Will’s mood shifted, no more easygoing guy, but only briefly.

  ‘So, do you want me at the café tomorrow?’

  ‘Do I want you at the café? Gorgeous, I’d want you anywhere, any day.’

  ‘Very funny. You know what I mean.’ She leaned forward to kiss him again and Will pulled her onto his lap.

  ‘Don’t go. How am I expected to sleep with these images of having you at the café?’

  ‘You best find a way, ’cause in your dreams is the only way it’ll be happening, Travelli. I’m not a first-date floozy.’

  ‘You’re a cruel woman, Fraser.’ Will laughed and let her go. ‘Are you calling this a first date?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe we skipped the date thing and moved straight to meet the parents.’

  ‘Maybe Dom is right and I am a cretino,’ he said in a forced Italian accent. ‘I didn’t know if I was allowed to mention the word date. If a date is okay with you, how about dinner and a movie in Saddleton tomorrow? I’ll check the session times and let you know.’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Now get a move on. Smells like rain’s on the way.’

  Sara could smell the sweet nutty scent of those first few drops hitting the earth after a day of baking by the sun. ‘You’re right. Goodnight again.’

  ‘Drive safe.’

  ‘I always do.’

  13

  Maybe Sara was ready for wonderful. Wonderful best described that night’s dream-filled sleep, and the way she’d floated through her shift at the café the next day. Dom had asked Sara several times why she was smiling, while Jennifer had stalked her, as usual, making any private conversation with Will impossible. Both had decided to keep their Saddleton date that night a secret. They’d meet at the café and Will would drive.

  *

  Bursts of nervous energy had nagged Sara all day—about the date, not about Will’s driving. He was driving like any other bloke, and looked like any other bloke behind the wheel of his high-end, slightly souped-up twin cab ute. He looked tough. He’d look tougher still if he wasn’t acting like a peacock, constantly tweaking the controls on the console, one arm dangling out the window, a hand tapping out a tune on the driver’s door duco.

  Tough and cute, Sara thought.

  ‘How about some music?’ Will asked, thumbing the controls at his fingertips on the steering wheel.

  There was a split second when they both stared at each other as the Wiggles’ ‘Big Red Car’ song blared out of the speakers. Will’s expression was priceless. Had Sara been standing, she might have fallen over from laughing so hard. They laughed about it all the way to Saddleton, where Will parked in the shopping centre car park, halfway between the Glasshouse Tavern and the privately owned Saddleton Twin cinema complex.

  *

  Their meals took forever to arrive, not that either of them noticed. The food was good and plentiful.

  ‘Darn!’ Sara looked up from her wristwatch. ‘Is that the time? We’ll miss the beginning of the movie if we don’t get a wriggle on. Or should that be a Wiggle on?’ She waggled her index fingers at him and laughed.

  ‘You think you’re so funny, Fraser. Come on.’

  They’d planned it well. Will would pay for the meal on the proviso Sara paid for the movie tickets—only their last-minute dash across the car park stopped them in their tracks.

  ‘What the hell …?’

  ‘Sorry, mate. Urgent job,’ yelled one of two men in fluoro-yellow work shirts and hard hats. His mate had started jackhammering the concrete ramp that provided alternative access to the cinema foyer, eight concrete steps and two landings up. ‘Management told us we had two hours while the movie was in session tonight to get the ramp fixed. We figured everyone was inside already.’

  ‘Well, you figured wrong, pal,’ Will said.

  Jackhammer guy stopped when he saw Will and Sara and walked over to join the conversation.

  ‘There’s a ramp round back,’ he offered. ‘You can take your car up to the second floor of the car park. They’ve got disabled access there too.’

  Will cursed under his breath. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

  ‘The movie’s started,’ Sara added, the euphoria of the evening crashing fast. ‘We’re going to miss the beginning.’

  ‘Forget the movie, Sara.’

  ‘No, that’s ridiculous. Two seconds and two strong men and we can be on our way. Good grief, guys, it’s only eight steps.’

  ‘Sure, ma’am, no worries.’ The worker signalled his mate and between them they hoisted Will and his chair up with ease. But as burly as they appeared, the men were struggling by the eighth step and deposited the chair heavily.

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ Sara said, rummaging around her handbag on the run. ‘I’ll buy the tickets, Will. You go ahead.’

  Not until she’d reached the cinema doors several metres away did she realise Will had not moved from the spot he’d been put in by the workers. She stopped, walked back, her smile waning.

  ‘Come on, Will, what are you waiting for? Are you … is everything okay?’

  Will didn’t move a muscle, his cold stare fixed on some unknown point in the distance, sending a shiver through Sara. Something was very wrong.

  Sara froze, blinked, gulped. ‘Will?’

  Slowly, his gaze trekked back to Sara’s face and she saw the muscles in his jaw clenching.

  ‘Don’t ever do that again.’

  ‘Do what? I … I don’t understand. You mean, asking them to carry you … Oh, Will!’ Will held out a single hand, more powerful than any force field Sara could imagine, stopping her dead. ‘I didn’t mean to … I didn’t think …’

  ‘Forget it. We’re here, aren’t we? Are you going to buy the tickets or not?’

  ‘Sure. Yes. Do you want me to help you—’

  ‘No. I’m fine. Just get the bloody tickets, please, Sara. I’ll meet you at the cinema door.’

  Sara watched Will go. No choice. She couldn’t move or speak, her brain too busy trying to make sense of the scene that had played out between them.

  What just happened?

  Shocked and deflated, she headed over to the gum-chewing youth behind the confectionery counter and paid for two tickets and one choc-top peace offering before making her way to Will, now in a discussion with the attendant outside the theatre door.

  ‘Here we go, mate. Here’s my trusty ticket girl,’ Will said to the man, his smile forced, but a smile at least. ‘Just what every bloke needs, someone to fetch and carry.’

  Will raced off up the ramp into the cinema ahead of Sara, leaving her speechless and the attendant shrugging.

  *

  So much for seeing a comedy. Neither of them cracked a laugh through the entire movie, with Will remaining unusually subdued as they made their way back outside, down the new temporary timber ramp.

  ‘Talk to me, Will,’ Sara said, trying to keep up as Will scooted across to their car, parked on the far side of the tarmac. ‘At least slow down. I can’t keep up.’

  ‘Then let go of the chair.’

  ‘What?’ Sara leaned over his shoulder from behind the wheelchair, her legs in full stride. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said please let go of the bloody chair. I don’t need you to push me.’

  He put extra power behind each arm movement to propel himself well ahead, leaving Sara behind.

  Breathless by the time she’d reached the car, her disquiet turning to exasperation, Sara said, ‘Don’t be angry, Will.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s not like you to be angry.’

  ‘Everyone’s funny guy, eh? Yeah, that’s good old Will Travelli. The guy who gives you all a good laugh. The guy who reminds you how lucky you all are. Well, newsflash, Sara, that’s not who I am twenty-four/seven, and not without a lot of bloody encouragement. And by that I mean my kids. Without them I wouldn’t even be here. They were the only thing that made me put up with the frigging pain and humiliation after the accident. Can we just go?’


  ‘Will!’ Sara stepped in front of the wheelchair, between Will and the driver’s door of the car.

  ‘Don’t be so shocked,’ he scolded. ‘Do you honestly think I’m the one-hundred-percent-happy Will you see all the time? Do you know how much energy I put into making people feel comfortable around me? Sometimes I get so frigging tired. But then, hey, this wheelchair caper isn’t all that bad, I s’pose.’ Sarcasm stained his voice. ‘As you know, it does get me the best reserved seating in the house. That’s a bonus. On the flip side, though, I haven’t had a good root for years. Come to think of it, I haven’t had one—good or otherwise—for—’

  ‘Will, please.’

  ‘Uh-oh, there’s that shocked Sara look again. Don’t tell me you hadn’t wondered. Doesn’t everyone, men and women alike? It’s frigging tattooed on their faces when they look at me.’

  The way Will seemed unable to stay in one spot, jerking the right wheel of his chair so it thrashed from side to side, reminded Sara of a caged animal pacing back and forth in its zoo enclosure, fed up with being on display.

  ‘All the blokes in rehab used to say the same thing. Oh and Sara, just so you know …’ Will prepared to climb into the car. ‘Besides the legs, everything else down there works like it’s supposed to. I checked. Had a little lady help me out on that occasion too, just so I could be sure. A very classy and obliging escort, arranged by my equally supportive rehab counsellor in Sydney. And yes, while I am sure Jennifer would also be willing to keep things in good working order, I’m not interested. I might have lost my legs, but that doesn’t mean I lost my scruples as well.’

  The dim overhead lighting in the car park stopped Sara from seeing his face, which was probably a good thing.

  ‘Will, I think it best we get back to Calingarry Crossing.’

  *

  They remained quiet all the way back to the café, Will’s silence letting Sara see the man behind the mask, her mistake tonight painfully clear. She’d treated him no differently to the pimply faced usher at the school when he’d put Will in a special spot. Even his goodnight—a quick embrace and a peck on Sara’s cheek—seemed cool.

  Helping was second nature to Sara. She was so used to caring for her parents. She’d done everything for them for years. But Will wasn’t her parents. He wasn’t old or weak or useless. Will Travelli was a virile forty-year-old man who’d been cut down in his prime.

  Tonight Sara had cut him down again.

  14

  Elliott rounded the house, having dealt with the morning animal chores, and tipped his hat in that quintessential country way Sara was now used to seeing.

  ‘Morning!’ He stopped, lowered his sunglasses on his nose. ‘Oooh, that face is not a happy one. What’s up?’

  ‘There’s something I want to do, Elliott. Will you ride with me?’

  ‘Sure. Where we headed?’

  ‘The cemetery.’

  Sara couldn’t get any more miserable, so today was perfect. She had been avoiding the cemetery, until meeting Will’s parents and seeing the family dynamic in action—warts and all. The experience had provided the shove Sara needed to make her own connection. To distract herself from thinking about Will all night, she’d thought about her family, how they’d cared for each other, shared everything, made their small world together. Will’s family life—or at least his parents’ contribution to it—seemed so forced. And after dinner at Will’s that night, Sara had to wonder how much of Will’s behaviour was show, for the benefit of others.

  *

  Elliott was soon pedalling fast down the punt road, Sara in pursuit, egging him to go faster until they reached the entrance to Calingarry Crossing’s cemetery some twenty minutes later. Dismounting, they walked their bikes in respectful silence through the rusting gates and straight to the spot that marked her parents’ final resting place.

  ‘I wondered if you’d come out here yet.’

  ‘Despite what you just witnessed, I’m not rushing to get to any cemetery these days.’ Sara’s joke fell flat. As flat as her mood.

  Two small plaques.

  ‘This is the only lasting evidence that two beautiful souls existed.’ Sara dropped to her knees and broke away some long grass and weeds from around the stone blocks.

  ‘They left some other pretty impressive evidence behind,’ Elliott said, knocking the top of her bike helmet with his knuckles. ‘Shall I leave you alone for a bit?’

  ‘No, I’d like it if we could maybe sit together.’ Sara unlocked the catch on her helmet and placed it on the grass next to her.

  Elliott gathered some yellow dandelion flowers and placed them at the base of each plaque.

  ‘Some daughter I am. Didn’t even think to bring flowers.’

  ‘Why are you being so tough on yourself? Did something happen with Will last night?’

  ‘Yes. No. This isn’t to do with Will. Last night wasn’t great, and to top it all off, this morning I found a note in my room.’ She rolled onto one hip to fish the mauve-coloured Madgick & Associates envelope out of her back pocket. ‘This had fallen down the gap between the bed and the dresser. I guess that’s why I hadn’t seen it before now.’

  ‘A letter? From who?’

  ‘From Gypsy.’ She toyed with the envelope, opening and closing the flap, daring herself to re-read the message. ‘I don’t know how Gypsy died, but she left a letter so I’m thinking she must have known and had time to … you know … put her affairs in order—hence the inheritance and the house, the bedroom, this letter …’

  ‘Are you going to play with it or read it to me?’

  Sara drew the folded slip of paper out and cleared her throat.

  My sweet, sweet Sara,

  What a joy you were to watch grow from a gorgeous baby into a beautiful woman, even though as you read this you are probably unwilling to see how beautiful, just as a butterfly cannot see the beauty of its own wings. I watched you develop and discover things you never knew you could do, patiently waiting, like a butterfly waits for its time out in the world.

  Willow was a butterfly too, but like the rarest of their species—one whose life is destined to be short—she left us far too soon. You and Willow were always like two wings of the same butterfly, identical but different, your connection so solid that you strengthened each other. You made each other fly.

  You will always be the other half of Willow, Sara, so you must fly for her, not hold back. Keep her memory alive here at the house where you both belonged.

  A butterfly lives from moment to moment, so spread your wings, take life step by step, and let people see your beauty. And remember … make love the wind beneath your wings.

  Always,

  Gypsy xxx

  Sara sniffed back tears, dragging the wad of well-used white tissues from her shorts and rubbing them back and forth over her nose.

  ‘Your Gypsy is right. You can fly, Sara.’ Elliott squatted down behind her, wrapped his arms over her chest and pulled her back until she was nestled between his powerful thighs. After smearing the tears on both cheeks with a swipe of her hand, she crossed her own arms over Elliott’s and hugged them to her chest. There they stayed without speaking until Sara was able to talk without sobbing.

  ‘There was this science teacher at school. He had an insect collection in a frame on the wall inside the lab. Dead bugs and butterflies pinned to a corkboard and labelled. I used to stare at that thing.’ The cruelty had made her want to cry, yet she’d been mesmerised. ‘I blamed my mum and dad for pinning me down. I loved them so much, but I was more their carer than their daughter towards the end. They didn’t even know my name by then. The things I had to do for them …’

  Unlike her petite daughter, Liz Fraser had been a solid woman. ‘I’ve got big bones,’ she used to say, the comment never failing to elicit a loving grin from tall, weedy Barry Fraser. He’d learned to tolerate the harmless ‘milkman’s baby’ jibes from his mates at the pub. Sara’s slight build had made caring for her mother in the latter stages o
f her illness difficult. Mere months after being admitted to a nursing home, separated from her husband and daughter, Liz Fraser had passed away. Barry, her adoring but increasingly confused husband, died in his sleep a couple of years later. Sara couldn’t be angry at him for wanting to be with his wife. If only her husband had loved her with the same intensity.

  ‘This is the first time I’ve been here since my dad’s funeral. I left for Sydney straight after. Didn’t even come back to oversee the sale of the property. The cash I ended up with in my hand would hardly have paid my train fare anyway.’ She tried to laugh. ‘I never thought I’d be back.’

  ‘So that was your house we rode past the other morning. The one where you stopped and went into some weird trance?’

  ‘Did I?’ Sara said. ‘No, that wasn’t our house. It’s where our house used to be and twice the size of the old fibro two-bedder we lived in. The house was okay. Mum kept it pretty nice until she got sick.

  ‘You should have seen Mum’s face the day the plumber installed the indoor toilet and asked her to press the button for the first time. Anyone would have thought she’d been invited to dinner with the Queen of England.’ A fusion of melancholy and amusement flooded Sara’s memory. ‘I was seven at the time. All I cared about was an end to spiders on the dunny seat, gumboots in winter, and that stink in summer.

  ‘Towards the end, that tiny house seemed awfully big without Mum and Dad.’

  Sara had left the empty old house and Calingarry Crossing behind her, swinging between a sense of loss and relief. In the end, she hadn’t done well enough to get into university, and the idea of locking herself into years of study didn’t appeal. She travelled a bit and found a job she enjoyed, a new gourmet coffee outlet in the city. She worked hard, learned all she could about the product, and came under the notice of Joel Fraser. They fell in love and life for Sara came together. She used to say she and Joel fit together like the teeth on a zipper. She hadn’t had to change her name either, not when they married and not when they divorced twelve years later.

  Now here she was, sitting in a cemetery with Elliott and contemplating her own life expectancy.