Losing Faith (Surfers Way)

by Jennifer Ryder

  Glass crunches beneath her sneakers as she crouches at my side, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Who did this?” she cries.

  “I did. All me,” I admit.

  “You did this? What on earth for?”

  “Mr and Mrs Kelly”—sniff—“I was at their house. She said I’ve done nothing but tear her family apart, and that a whore like me should stay away from her son.”

  “She said what?” Mum screeches and then shuts her eyes as she sucks in a deep breath. “The nerve of that woman. If only she knew the truth.”

  Of course Mum knows about the incident with Jamie. She was the only one I had to turn to. With the very real possibility of being pregnant, I’d been a mess. Mum had sworn she wouldn’t tell a soul, although I know she told Dad. At first I was upset, but in the end I was grateful because I couldn’t bear to have that conversation with him myself.

  “Mum, I’m not about to fill her in on what happened. You know that.”

  As much as Mum thought I should report it, she’d respected my decision. I was already in over my head with Faith’s death, and then the panic attacks had started. I didn’t need to be making police reports, and I definitely wasn’t going to press charges against Jamie when I was partially to blame. If I did, the police might not have taken me as seriously when it came to Faith’s investigation.

  “I know, darling.” Mum pulls my arm and brings me to sit on the bed. She holds me close, her sweet perfume having the same settling affect as a sedative.

  “What does Quade think of all this nonsense?”

  “Quade was there when she went off her head. I think he believes her, even though I talked to him about Jamie before then. I’ve tried ringing him, but he won’t return any of my calls.” Tears stream down my cheeks and a loud sob breaks free from my mouth. “My guess is that it’s over.”

  “Oh, sweetie. There’s no point jumping to conclusions. You need to talk to Quade and find out what’s going on. You won’t find any answers sulking and feeling sorry for yourself in here.”

  I slump against her, wetting her shirt with my tears.

  She pats me on the back and then leans back, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Stand up,” she orders in a gruff voice.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” She tugs at my hands. My steps are sluggish as she leads me into the bathroom and positions me square in front of the mirror. “Look at this girl,” she says with a huff.

  A sad girl with mascara-stained cheeks stares back at me. “What a knockout,” I joke.

  “Look past the tears, Lacey. Look inside those eyes and recognise that you, my precious girl, are a fighter. You didn’t give up. Not even when people turned against you or when things got too hard. When it got tough, you studied. You persisted, and this year you finish. Your father and I couldn’t be prouder. Look at that girl and lean on her.”

  “I know, Mum, but—”

  She holds up her hand to me. “Ah! But, nothing,” she growls. “This town needs someone like you. You’re fighting for Faith. Just remember that. It’s why you started, and I know it’s why you’ll finish it. You’ll never forgive yourself for falling to pieces now.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? I’ve got nothing to show for all the time I’ve wasted.”

  “Wasted? What nonsense. Sweetie, I’ll tell you exactly what to do. You keep going. You’ll find something else and then you use it. It might lead you somewhere else. Never stop trying.”

  “And what the hell am I supposed to do about Quade?” I throw my hands in the air. “If he won’t answer the phone how the hell am I supposed to talk to him?”

  “Lacey Louise Marone, clearly you’re having a problem thinking straight. You do whatever it takes. You go to his house, and if he’s not there you keep looking until you find him. You don’t stop until that boy is in front of you.”

  “And then what? What do I say?”

  “When you see him, you’ll figure it out. Don’t be afraid to yell at him and really tell him how you feel. Lord knows I sometimes yell at your father, but at the end of the day we’re strong because we’re open and honest and we love each other with everything we’ve got.”

  If Quade and I didn’t come with so much baggage, maybe this would be easier. I just can’t believe how Mrs Kelly spoke to me.

  “He just stood there when she said those things. I thought maybe he’d defend me. I thought you did that when you loved someone.” I sigh out loud and fist the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

  “I know how you feel about him, but sometimes boys are dumb. Deep down they know the truth but it gets overshadowed by everything else—emotions, hurt, and family always complicate things. Love should be simple, but it’s not.”

  “How’d you get to know so much about this stuff?”

  “Because I had to fight for your father.”

  She had to fight? “You what?”

  “I’ve never told you this, but I had a hell of battle with your Nonna.”

  Mum didn’t get along with Nonna? Whenever she visited from overseas, everything always seemed fine between them. I can’t believe it.

  “What happened with Nonna?”

  “I was a simple Aussie girl who wasn’t good enough for her Italian stallion.”

  I shake my head. “Oh God. You did not just call Dad that.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, code for let me finish. “Your Nonna had grand visions of someone older and more Italian for a daughter-in-law. It’s a good thing she still lives in Europe because that woman drove me up the wall before we got married.”

  “I never would have guessed.”

  “That’s good because I never wanted you and your brother to see it. It was our issue, and I didn’t want it to taint any other relationships in the family.”

  “You’re good with Nonna now?”

  “Yes, Lacey. A long time has passed, but I have to tell you it helps having a long-distance relationship.”

  I lean over and hug her. “I hope that I can be a strong as you, Mum.”

  “Oh, believe me, sweet. You already are. One day you’ll have your own family and none of this business will matter. When the sun sets, it’s about the two of you and how you feel for each other. Nothing else is really important. And as for Carol Kelly, don’t worry about her. I’ll be having words, you can bet on that. She’s not the only one with pull in this town.”

  My mum has pull? Huh? “What do you mean by that?”

  “The hospital board is all about maintaining its solid reputation, and its board members are very particular when it comes to persons that the hospital employs and those who represent it in respect of its business affairs. There are people on the board that are already concerned with rumours about her suitability as our legal counsel.”

  “I swear she’s nuts.”

  “She has issues, Lacey. Losing a child will do that to you, but it’s no excuse for her behaviour.”

  Speaking of behaviour, I’ve acted like a crazy person tonight. Who screams the house down and trashes their own place? “Please don’t tell Dad about this, okay? I don’t want him to think I’ve gone off the rails or something.”

  “Honey, he would never think that.”

  I pull her into a hug, letting her soft perfume wrap around me and her warmth sink into my soul. “Thanks for being here, Mum. I know I don’t say it all that often, but you know that I love you and Dad so, so much.”

  Mum squeezes her arms tight around me and dots a few kisses at my temples. “Love you too, darling. Come on. How about I give you a hand cleaning up, and then feed you some dinner so you don’t go searching for that boy on an empty stomach.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You know what your father would say, don’t you?” she chastises.

  “Yeah, yeah. The appetite comes by eating.”

  How can I think about food at a time like this? Maybe he hasn’t contacted me because he needed time to think? I pull my phone from my pocket. My heart sinks with the abse
nce of any attempt of contact by Quade.

  “It might be best if I go see him tomorrow. Besides, it might take a while to clean this up.”

  Mum gives me a soft smile and then bends down and picks up some papers from the ground. “What are we doing with all this then?” she challenges with raised eyebrows. “Are we binning it, or …?” She tilts her head to the side.

  I let out a heavy sigh and try and gather some enthusiasm. I know exactly what I need to do. “We put it back up on the wall and then I’ll start again. The truth will be discovered.”

  “That’s my girl,” she says with a proud smile.

  Over the next half an hour, my mother helps me piece my mess back together, and at the same time puts parts of my heart back in place.

  When I take the sheets off my bed, the corner of a blue Post-It note peeks out from underneath it.

  Flecks of white paint at scene?

  God, I remember writing this down after overhearing Wilson at the station that day. I’d disregarded it, considering it wasn’t the most useful thing given how many white cars are around. I stick the note on the board and take a step back.

  “That’s all I’ve got, Mum.”

  A hand curls over my shoulder. “Something will come up,” she says in a soft voice.

  I close my eyes and picture Faith’s grave. A yellow rose is perched on top of the stone.

  That’s it. The rose.

  It might be Mrs Kelly, and it might not be. Regardless, I’m determined to find out who’s leaving them at the cemetery and what his or her connection is to Faith. It might amount to nothing, but it could be something. Something could mean everything.

  Starting tomorrow, I’ll stalk the cemetery every day. I’ll have words with Mr Moore too. If anyone knows who’s been leaving the flowers, I’m sure he does.

  If I don’t get answers there, I’ll just have to keep looking. I owe it to Faith not to give up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The next morning, determined to get a positive start to the day I take Charlie for a run on the beach. When we return, I can’t stop the sadness from creeping in as I glare at my car in the driveway. I’d enjoyed our driving lessons. I’d started to think that maybe I could overcome my worst fear. That maybe I could shake off my stupid anxiety over the whole thing and actually grow up.

  Faith wouldn’t want me to give up. Looks like I’ll need to take Mum and Dad up on their offer of lessons after all.

  I lead Charlie out the back and hose him down, then take a shower and pull on a red tank top and denim shorts. Determined to get back to the business of the yellow rose, I decide to go to the cemetery first.

  If I find out the truth, discover who killed Faith, will it fix everything?

  I put my earphones in and hope that listening to Coldplay will push away my dark thoughts with each step towards the hill. My feet have other ideas when I get to the junction of Quade’s street, which weaves further inland. Shit.

  Is the cosmos driving me towards him? Is Faith up there looking down on me, willing me to do what needs to be done first?

  His car isn’t in the driveway. Despite my knocking, there’s no answer, nor can I identify any sounds inside to suggest he’s home.

  The beach is next. No sign of him.

  I walk towards the school, breathing a loud sigh of relief as I spy his truck in the car park.

  When I approach the school grounds, the sounds of a ball hitting the backboard and bouncing on the asphalt fill my ears with hope. My heart soars as I round the corner and find him alone. He’s here. He must’ve been playing in the heat for a while because his white tank top is drenched in sweat.

  Quade looks up. He continues to bounce the ball. He misses the hoop.

  I’m sorry, I go to say, but then close my mouth. I can’t see that I did anything wrong here. Why would I be the one to apologise?

  “I’ve tried to call you,” I blurt out.

  “I know,” he grunts, bouncing the ball repeatedly. Each bounce is a test of my patience, and aggravates the cracks in my heart.

  My hands move to my hips of their own accord. I stare at Quade, willing him to look at me. “Can we talk?” My words are harsher and louder than I’d intended.

  His head snaps in my direction. I guess I had to speak that way to at least get his eye contact.

  “Talk? Been doing a lot of that lately,” he grunts then shoots. This time the ball lands in the hoop. He jogs over and collects it. Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  I let out a tortured breath as the bouncing continues. Clearly he’s wound up tight about everything, but I don’t know why he’s being so cold. “Talk to me,” I say in a calmer, measured tone.

  “Huh. Lemme tell you about the little ‘talk’ I had with my parents yesterday. For the first time in years, my parents finally wanted to talk to me about everything—about Faith, and you know what they had to say?”

  “What?” I ask with a shaky voice.

  “That you turned it into a witch hunt, changing Runaway into a place where everyone suspected each other. Because of you, people ostracised our family for fear of being accused. Is that true?”

  Wow. His parents have put all of that on me? “That’s not the way I see it. If anything at all, I’ve ostracised myself. I used to have friends. Now I can count them on one hand and have fingers left over. I don’t want her death to have been for nothing. Someone had to do something.”

  “Jesus, Lace!” He shakes his head and tosses the ball aside. “Can’t you see what I’m trying to do here? I want my family back.”

  “And I want you back! That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Tears well in my eyes as I stare into his crystal pools which reflect the hurt searing through my veins.

  “Like you wanted Jamie Fairfield the night Faith died? Like you had a thing for him all along?”

  Ouch! If there was any more bite to his tone, he would have drawn blood.

  My jaw sags. Does he seriously believe that I had feelings for Jamie when I was about to give myself to him? “I don’t know where your mother heard such rubbish, but it’s not true. There’s never been anyone but you.”

  “He always liked you. I was obviously too blind to see you had feelings for him.”

  “That’s not true. Nothing happened between us the night of the bonfire. I’m not going to keep protesting my innocence, because you should believe me, Quade.”

  “I just don’t understand why my own mother would lie about something like that?”

  Because she’s demented? “To keep you away from the girl that’s done nothing but ruin your family?” I take a step closer to him and tilt my head back to meet his conflicted gaze.

  He has nothing to say? Is he going to tell me I’m being ridiculous, and that of course I didn’t ruin it? My heart sinks heavier in my chest as his silence speaks volumes.

  “You know what hurts the most, Lace?” he finally says. “You slept with him the day we buried her.”

  He knew I’d been with him, but he didn’t know when. I couldn’t be more ashamed of myself if I tried. “And it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

  I take a few steps back, resigning myself to the fact that whatever we were, and whatever great thing we were going to become, it’s over. He needs to believe in me. That’s what this all comes down to.

  “I’ll leave you to get back to your family then, ’cause it’s pretty clear you can’t have both. They’ve made up their mind about me, and by the looks of it, you have too.”

  He lowers his head and his shoulders drop as he exhales with force. That’s the only cue I need to turn around and walk away.

  “Lace,” he calls out from behind me, telling me from the distance that his feet probably haven’t moved from where they were planted.

  Tears flow down my face, but I don’t turn back.

  Guard your heart, Peppi, my father had warned.

  It’s a shame I didn’t take his advice.

  ---

  A fucking yellow rose is perched on top of her stone
. I close my eyes and grit my teeth as I will myself not to scream at the top of my lungs. I’m about ready to lose my mind. I’ve missed him or her again. Travis drove past the cemetery yesterday. Could it have been him? As if he’d think to do something nice like this. I’m really grasping at straws, now.

  I open my eyes, breathe in slowly, and then pick up the flower. The petals are slightly wilted. Is that from the heat, or was it picked a day or two ago?

  I scan over the surrounding graves for any other similar flowers. Each headstone that doesn’t have one has me walking on to the next, and then the next. I need to know if this is the only one here. If there’s more, I might be able to find some connection. If not, I’ll know that the person who left it has a link to Faith … somehow.

  I scout the whole cemetery, scaling up and down every row.

  There’s only one.

  On my way back to Faith, I pass Mr Moore, who’s carrying a backpack. He must be done for the day.

  “Miss Marone,” he says, with a nod.

  “Mr Moore. How are you?”

  He chuckles softly. “I’m alive.”

  “Do you have a second?” I ask. Is he going to think I’m crazy?

  “Of course, dear,” he says, and scans my face expectantly. “Depends what it is, but I’ll do my best. I’m not as sharp as I used to be.”

  With a shaky hand, I hold the rose out towards him. “You see this?”

  He looks at it and blinks several times, then looks back up at me. “Yes.”

  “Do you have to clean up these often? This time of year someone leaves yellow roses on Faith’s grave. I need to know who puts them there.” I have to talk to them.

  He presses his thin lips together and gives me a stern look. “Now, now. It’s not my place to talk about those who come to grieve.”

  Why not suspect the last person I’ve seen here? Because I’m certifiably crazy. It’s not the first time over the years I’ve seen him here. I should look up where he lives.

  Yup. I’ve lost the plot.

  “What about Mr Whittaker? Does he come here often?”

  Mr Moore pats me on the shoulder. “Dear, perhaps you should just look at it as a kind gesture. Someone is thinking of her and the angel she has become.”