Absolution

by Amanda Dick

  The second she saw Callum’s face, however, the smile died on her lips. “What’s wrong?”

  He stood in the open doorway, his red-rimmed eyes downcast as he fidgeted with the car keys in his hand. Finally, he shoved them into his pocket.

  “I think you should sit down,” he said quietly, turning to close the door behind him. “Maggie’s on her way over. We should wait for her.”

  Her heart raced. “Tell me.”

  “Let’s just wait till she gets here, okay?”

  “You’re scaring me,” she whimpered, her eyes locked on his. “What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t want you hearing it from anyone else,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Tom. I found him in his living room. He had a heart attack.”

  “Is he okay?”

  He shook his head slowly, his chin quivering. “He never even made it to the hospital.”

  Suddenly everything seemed to stop. Callum’s face blurred. Blood pounded in her ears. She felt the floor shifting beneath her and then his arms were around her, holding her up.

  “He’s gone, Ally.”

  Her heart ached with a loss so familiar, she felt like it had never really left her.

  From the moment he learned of his father’s death, Jack felt like the walls were closing in on him. He had to get home. Trying to fight it was like taking on the earth’s gravitational pull – exhausting and ultimately pointless. Emotions raged within him; grief, remorse, fear, and an overwhelming desire to make amends. His body was exhausted, but his brain would not let him rest. He stared at the road ahead and once again considered carefully what he was about to do.

  He was scared to death, but he had to go home. He owed it to his father. He should have done it while he was alive, because technically now it was too late, but he had to go. If nothing else, he had to say goodbye.

  He replayed the conversation with Callum in his head, followed by other conversations – countless ones with his father, echoing relentlessly. He shook his head to try and clear it, the muscles in his neck and shoulders twinging at the movement. He had been caught between a rock and a hard place. Not showing for the fight would have brought Ben’s wrath squarely down on his shoulders, so he had fought. But losing control like that in the ring was another matter. Ben would not take that lightly. He had screwed up – what else was new. But he had left town and Ben had no leads. He was grateful again for his obsessive need for privacy, but still glanced at the rear-view mirror again out of habit.

  He was going home.

  Home.

  The word always brought a sense of dread with it. Despite Callum’s warning to stay away from Ally, he couldn’t help but think of her. Would she change her mind and want to talk to him? Would Callum? Would anyone, after what he had done?

  He had pulled over onto the hard shoulder as soon as he had left the highway, retrieving his phone from his duffle bag and dialing Father David’s number from the scribble on top of the pizza box lid. Father David had offered his condolences and Jack quietly informed him that he would be coming home for his father’s funeral. He thanked him for organising things on his behalf. The words of comfort offered down the phone line washed over him, barely making an impression. He fantasised about dissolving into the cracks in the tarmac in front of him, falling through into oblivion.

  Driving through town after town, the road ahead seemed longer, not shorter. There was no turning back now. Fate had taken over, clearly sick of waiting for him to make the right decision on his own. Pressing harder on the gas pedal, he went over the last conversation he’d had with his father, turning it this way and that in his head. It had started out as always – pleasantries exchanged, the conversation slightly awkward. For the first time in a while, his father had mentioned Ally and Jack had interrupted him, reminding him of their pact; don’t ask, don’t tell. The conversation had taken a swift dive and thinking back on it now, he couldn’t remember who had hung up on whom.

  He pulled over to refuel just as the sun was coming up. He sat in the deserted gas station forecourt for several minutes, staring at the horizon as it changed colour. He closed his eyes, trying to recall his father’s face. It had been four years since he had last seen him and his face seemed blurred at the edges. His heart ached at the thought of all that wasted time – time he would never get back now.

  He leaned forward and rested his head on the steering wheel. At this time of the morning, on this lonely stretch of road, he felt like the only human being on the planet.

  His phone rang, breaking the silence. He stared at it suspiciously and picked it up off the passenger seat. Ben’s name stared back at him. He cancelled the call immediately, throwing the phone back onto the seat and glancing in the rear-view mirror, just in case. The road was clear.

  It was mid-afternoon before he stopped at a roadside diner, choosing a corner booth, away from the door. He couldn’t bring himself to smile at the middle-aged waitress, but he did leave her a tip. The food was tasteless and the coffee too strong, but he didn’t care.

  He didn’t stop again until later that night, at a cheap motel on the side of the highway. The tiny room reeked of cigarette smoke but it hardly registered. He lay down on the bed fully-clothed and stared at the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what awaited him at the end of this road.

  In the twenty-four hours since he had learned of his father’s death, he had come to the terrifying – and, if he was completely honest with himself – slightly liberating conclusion, that it was now or never. He had to fix this. His father had been right, only he had been too damn scared and stubborn to see it.

  But he was firm in his resolve now. He hadn’t been strong enough to come home while his father was alive and that would probably haunt him for the rest of his days – but he still had the chance to do the right thing by Ally, and he needed Callum to know that he was sorry. It was highly likely that whatever he said would fall on deaf ears, but he had to try. He would make his father proud of him.

  But if they refused to talk to him – or to listen – then what? He shifted irritably on the bed, uncomfortable in his own skin. His muscles burned and he felt every split and bruise as if his body was on fire. He had to try to make them understand – which would be a lot easier if he understood it himself.

  No matter which way he turned this, it never came out in his favour. He was fairly certain that Callum would knock seven bales of shit out of him, which is exactly what he deserved. But he couldn’t help but hope that, at some point, they would also be able to talk.

  The ceiling blurred in front of his eyes. He didn’t even have the energy to reach over and switch off the light behind his head. As he lay there, the smell of stale cigarette smoke already fading, his concentration began to wane and his eyes slid closed. The day took its toll on him as he gave in and allowed his body to shut down.

  Callum helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee. “Sure you don’t want one?”

  Ally shook her head, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. He had spent the night on the couch, because it didn’t feel right leaving her alone. Movie night had been forgotten as they gathered in Ally’s living room and tried to process Tom’s death. After a lot of discussion, Callum picked up Tom’s cell phone from the table and walked out into the back yard to call Jack. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done and he wished to hell the responsibility wasn’t his. Ally had argued that he could ask Father David to do it, but Callum had an ulterior motive. Jack not only needed to know about Tom’s death, but he needed to know that if he chose to come home for the funeral, he better keep his distance.

  He stood in her backyard after the call, slipping Tom’s phone into his pocket. Just hearing Jack’s voice after so long had rattled him. He had no idea if he would come home or not – Jack himself didn’t even seem sure at that stage, although Father David had since assured him that he was. He would do everything within his power to protect Ally. He wasn’t going to stand by and let him rip her apa
rt all over again.

  And yet here she was, the very next morning, fidgeting with her grandmother’s ring, clearly not having slept a wink. The haunted look was back in her eyes. Losing Tom was bad enough but knowing Jack was coming home was making everything worse. He pushed his anger into that box in the corner of his mind that bore Jack’s name and slammed the lid on it.

  Turning to lean back against the sink, he sipped his coffee. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Crappy.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Sorry,” she raked a hand through her long dark hair. “My couch isn’t exactly super comfy, I know. Thanks for staying though. I really appreciate it.”

  “It suited me, too. I didn’t want to go home to an empty house.” He took another sip of his coffee. “And your couch isn’t that bad.”

  That part was true, at least – although it wouldn’t have made any difference how comfortable the couch was because he didn’t sleep a wink anyway. His brain had been in overdrive, trying to make sense of everything. He missed Tom already. Ordinarily, he would’ve called him to talk things over, or gone over there and helped himself to coffee while they worked through things at the kitchen table. Much the same as what was happening here, only with more results. It was like trying to ram a square peg into a round hole – no matter which way he turned it, it wasn’t pretty. Jack was coming home. Things were about to get messy.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he lied. “Don’t worry.”

  “Bullshit. Don’t you dare get all philosophical on me now.”

  She stopped fidgeting with her grandmother’s ring and took a deep breath, planting her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands, her face instantly hidden behind a curtain of dark hair.

  “Okay, you caught me,” he admitted, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite her. “I just thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”

  “It’s not. I want the truth,” she said from behind her hair. “I want to be prepared and I can’t be if you start lying to me now.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  “For when I see him – for when he sees me.”

  She looked up, smoothing her hair away from her face and resting her hands on the back of her neck. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do I talk to him? Do I listen to whatever it is he has to say? Or do I avoid him?”

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth and regarded her over the table. She really wanted an unbiased opinion here? Was she crazy?

  “What do you want to do?” he hedged.

  “Will you stop answering a question with a question please? I just want a straight answer.”

  He took a deep breath and dived in. “Okay. How’s this – whatever you want to do, I’ll stand by you, you know I will, but it has to be your decision.”

  “That’s a crock,” she huffed, fixing him with a stare that would have cut glass.

  “Fine, you want to know what I really think? I think that he’s gonna want to talk to you but I don’t think there’s a single thing he can say that will make a damn bit of difference now. I think the only thing that’s gonna come out of him being here is that he’s gonna turn you inside out and I’d do anything to stop him from doing that again.”

  She stared down at her hands on the table in front of her.

  “I also think I want to punch him in the face as soon as he shows up. I think I’d feel a whole lot better if I did that.”

  Ally groaned, shaking her head. “For God’s sake.”

  “Hey, you asked,” he shrugged. “But on the other hand, I also think it’d be damn interesting to hear what the hell he has to say for himself, find out how he justifies this.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “So basically you’re no help whatsoever.”

  “Sorry, kiddo.”

  She sighed, absentmindedly stretching from side to side.

  “Your back hurt?” He frowned.

  “Just a little, nothing major.”

  “Would a massage help?”

  “No, it’s okay. But thanks.”

  She reached up to scrape her hair back from her face with a bone-weary sigh, holding it there for a moment behind her head before letting it tumble down around her shoulders again.

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” she said. “I don’t really think there’s any point now. I don’t know if we have anything to say to each other after all this time. I mean, his actions spoke for themselves, didn’t they?”

  Callum nodded slowly, waiting as she talked it through.

  “But, on the other hand, I think I need to hear him say it, anyway – whatever the excuse is, whatever he’s told himself was the reason.” He had no idea who she thought she was convincing. “I guess I just want him to know that I’m alright, that I didn’t need him – that I don’t need him.”

  She had to know that was a lie, just like he did, but he didn’t call her on it. If that’s what she was hanging on to, he didn’t want to be the one to take it away from her.

  “Whatever you want to do, I’ve got your back – we all have.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  He picked up his coffee mug and took a long sip. He’d thought he knew Jack inside out – they had been inseparable since they were eleven years old. He knew how guilty Jack felt after the accident – hell, he was there – but you didn’t let it get to you like that. You pushed it down, you did what you could to help. You didn’t let it tear your life apart, that was just plain selfish. Jack had let it rip him away from his home, his family, his life, everyone he knew and loved. Why did he have to leave like that, without a word to anyone? Didn’t he know that they needed him back here?

  “I dreamt about him last night – Tom,” Ally said, interrupting his thoughts. “I miss him.”

  Callum reached across the table for her hand. “We’ll get through this.”

  “He should be here. With Jack coming home, I always thought he would be here.”

  “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

  She pulled her hand out of his grasp and wiped her eyes. She was putting on a brave face, but he could see right through the illusion. She had already lost her own father, and now she had lost her surrogate father, too. She was right, it would have been easier if Tom had been here for Jack’s return. Somehow, he had a way of making sure everybody kept their heads.

  Pulling up in front of his childhood home, the memories rushed in on Jack. The house looked the same as when he left. He wondered how that could be – how could this symbol of family remain intact when the family within had been torn asunder? He climbed out of the car, singling out the one key he had retained from all those years ago. He stared at it for a moment in the palm of his hand, swallowing hard. Memories pounded at his brain and he had to firmly push them away. He needed to keep them at bay as long as possible. He needed to get through this first.

  He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed up the path towards the house. The wooden stairs creaked ominously beneath his feet as he climbed, and he felt like the whole neighbourhood was watching. He unlocked the front door and stepped into the hall.

  Home.

  Everything looked the same – it even smelt the same. A deep ache settled in the pit of his stomach as he pushed the front door closed and placed his bag on the floor beside it. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he took a few steps, stopping in the living room doorway.

  A heart attack, Callum had said, in the living room. His father had died in this room. It was so quiet, he felt like an intruder. There was no noise, save the slow, rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. It was the room that time forgot. Nothing had changed and everything had changed.

  He looked over at the kitchen doorway, half expecting his father to come through it any minute now. A shuddering breath rumbled through him and he sank down into the nearest armchair.

  What if he wasn’t strong enough? What if he messed things up even more, just by b
eing here? What if he couldn’t bring himself to see her? What if she didn’t want to talk to him?

  What if I can’t do this, Dad?

  Over the past couple of days, he had tried to imagine how this would go – he tried to see the funeral and the conversations with Ally and Callum in his head. Every time it ended badly – anything other than that had to be a fantasy, surely? After all, the mere fact that he was here was too little, too late.

  His father had done his best to try and make him face up to his actions, but he couldn’t do it then. Now he was going to be the man his father had always hoped he would be – he would make him proud this time. Yet thinking of the path ahead had his guts churning so much he thought he might throw up.

  He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

  Maggie put away the last of the dishes and leant against the counter, surveying the tidy kitchen with a critical eye. There were a lot of things she would have no control over in the next few days, but she had control over this. She was all too happy for the distraction.

  She started aimlessly wiping down the surface for the hundredth time. Tom’s funeral was tomorrow – Jack could turn up at any time, and unless Ally sent her away, she was going to stick to her like glue. Ally hadn’t even argued with her when she had told her that. After the past four years, she would not just stand by and watch as Jack blew back into town and turned everything upside down again. Once had been enough.

  Dropping the dishcloth finally, she headed towards the bedroom to check on Ally. Peering around the corner of her bedroom door, she saw her sitting on the bed, crutches propped up beside her, a small wooden box on her lap. She held the box as if it were made of glass.

  She walked in and sat on the bed next to her friend. “What’s that?”

  Ally stared at her vacantly, then her gaze fell to the box, as if she had forgotten it was even there. She reached in and pulled out a photograph, staring at it for a moment before handing it over.

  Maggie took it from her, recognising it immediately. It was a photograph of them – Ally, Jack, Callum and herself – taken at a party a couple of years before the accident. They had their arms around each other, grinning at the camera. They looked so innocent – so much younger, blind to what the universe had in store for them in just a few short years. It was like staring into the faces of strangers.