by Wendy Smith
“Mum, you look pretty.” Max stands in the doorway, wearing his zombie T-shirt. It’s a little large, and he holds the hem, swaying from side to side as he shows it off.
“You look very pretty too, Max.”
He rolls his eyes. “Muuum,” he groans. “Only girls look pretty.”
I laugh. “Then you must be very handsome.”
He rolls his eyes again and that squeeze on my heart is back.
“You look so much like …” The words escape, but I leave the thought unfinished. There are days when he looks so much like his father, and it’s a punch to the gut knowing he’ll never come back.
“Do I look like my dad?”
I swear my heart stops.
“A little. You have my eyes, though. I see me when I look at you.” It’s not quite the truth, but it’s close enough. “Let’s get you to school.”
One day, I’ll tell him everything. He’ll know that his mother and father loved one another above all else and made plans to spend forever together.
Until his father left.
5
Adam
Twelve years away and the main street hasn’t changed a bit. Sure, some of the stores might be different, but the buildings remain the same. This is still the same town I left behind.
I’ve travelled the world, been in so many different cities and towns, but they don’t compare to this. I spent four years of my life in Copper Creek, and this is home.
School’s just finished, and this is probably the worst time to venture out and explore. There are children all over the place, walking home past the shops, just as I’d done with my brothers. If we were lucky, the owner of the local supermarket, Mr Flannegan, would be standing outside, handing out lollipops. Didn’t matter how big a kid you were, he was always happy to oblige. He’s gone, but the Four Square supermarket he founded is still around. I doubt there are any lollipops now though.
Back when I was at school, Copper Creek was a busier town than it is today. Dad tells me that a lot of the forestry projects that fed business into the place closed down. It’s bounced back a little, but it’s still very much a community that struggles.
A group of boys catch my attention as they run toward me. Their target is obvious—a small dark-haired boy whose leaner and faster than any of them. And yet they keep chasing.
He looks back over his shoulder as he runs, and I step sideways to let him through, but he still slams into me. His lithe frame doesn’t make a dent, and I look down. Big blue eyes look back at me, not quite hidden by the dark mop of hair covering the boy’s head.
“Hi,” I say.
The boy keeps staring at me. At the sound of footsteps, I shift my gaze back over his head to the larger boys closing in on their target. They slow down as they take me in.
“Lucky,” one of them says.
They walk past, giving the boy filthy looks. One even has the nerve to spit at his feet and I give him a dirty look in return, taking in every detail I can.
When they’re gone, I kneel in front of the boy who’s still silent, still staring.
“Max! I thought I’d never catch up. Those damn kids. Please don’t run—let me deal with them.” A female voice comes from the same direction the boy has run from.
The owner of the voice draws close. “Thank you. Thank you so much. They bully him all the time, and he just ran, and I couldn’t stop him.” The words tumble from her mouth, and her tone suggests stress and agitation.
I stand, finding myself looking into the same blue eyes the kid has. My heart stops. These are the same blue eyes I once fell in love with.
“Adam?” Lily’s chest rises sharply as she tries to catch her breath, and it’s distracting. This is too much, but I drink her in.
She’s a lot thinner than she was when we were together. Hell, there wasn’t that much of her to start with. But she’s just as alluring. The dress she’s wearing shows off her significant cleavage, and I know I linger on her breasts a little longer than I should before taking in the rest of her. The girl I wanted to spend forever with. The girl who left me at the altar.
“Lily?” I look back at the boy. That big grin and blue eyes are so much like hers. His hair’s dark instead of blonde, but there’s no doubt they’re related. “This your boy?”
A little part of me dies inside. The part that knows she’s moved on, but doesn’t want to face it.
She frowns, a crease forming between her eyebrows, and her gaze tells me she’s wounded. “Yes. There’s a group that picks on him when they think they can get away with it. I don’t think they realised I was there. Max didn’t help things when he took off.” She bends, turning him toward her. “Baby, Mummy lost you. Please don’t do that again.”
He flings his arms around her, not saying a word. His actions speak louder than anything.
“Okay?” She pushes him away far enough to see his face.
He nods, hugging her again, and she closes her eyes. Whatever fear she had for him hasn’t passed, but his hug heals whatever is going on with her as her face relaxes.
“Does he talk?” I ask. Those big blue eyes shift toward me again.
“Only when he gets to know someone. He has to be really confident you’re his friend.” She smiles a little.
I smile at the boy. “Are we friends now?”
His eyes light up. “Thank you,” he says.
The effect on Lily is immediate; she takes on a radiance that’s hard to look away from. Even after all this time she affects me like no one else ever has, and right now my heart is in my throat over how beautiful she is. I was so sure that even though my thoughts still lingered in the past that this trip would put an end to that. Clearly not.
“I like your shirt.” I point at the zombie on Max’s T-shirt and his grin grows bigger, if that’s possible.
“I got it today. And Mum got her dress.” He points at Lily and the knee-length dress with the distracting neckline.
“Well, you both look very nice.” I meet Lily’s eyes, and whatever emotion she had in them is gone as she blanks her face.
“Come on, Max. Let’s get these groceries and get home.” She stands, giving me a small smile. “Thanks again.”
I cast my gaze over her and note the thin gold band on her left ring finger. My stomach clenches at the sight and the realisation that she’s someone else’s. Why on earth do I still feel this way?
“Sure. No problem. I really didn’t do much.”
“You stopped him in his tracks. That’s enough.”
She takes Max by the hand, leading him toward the Four Square. As they walk away, Lily looks back over her shoulder, shooting me that shy expression that got me into trouble sixteen years ago. I bet she still doesn’t know she’s doing it. She never did. All of a sudden, I am that fourteen-year-old, sullen and already counting the days until I could leave home—until I laid eyes on her.
How old is the boy? He looks maybe nine or ten. The thought of her moving on after I left bothers me way too much. But of course she did. Over the years the anger has faded, but I still have unanswered questions about why she jilted me, why she changed her mind. Will I ever get answers?
Lily and Max disappear into the distance, and I wake up to the fact that I’m still standing there, staring after them.
Damn it.
Despite my mother not seeming to want me here, I’m not going anywhere. I came home wanting to check on her, but there’s so much more now. Seeing Lily with Max has aroused my curiosity further. Mum never told me Lily had a child.
Across the road and down a bit is the sign that says Copper Creek Bakery, unchanged from years before when we’d arrived here. James told me Owen bought the bakery a few years ago, having completed his apprenticeship working there.
My head is filled with a million thoughts including Lily and my upcoming reunion with another brother as I cross the road. I’m nervous, but excited.
From outside the bakery, nothing’s changed, but as I push open the door, the bell tinkling a
bove me, everything inside looks bright and sparkly. New.
Owen stands behind the counter, serving an elderly woman with a blue rinse. Slowly, she points at the different things she wants. He has to have the patience of a saint. I’d be hopeless at this. As he gathers the pastries, his gaze locks with mine and recognition flashes on Owen’s face.
I grin. He blanks.
I wait for him to finish serving and step closer.
“How much for the gingerbread man?” I ask.
“Eight dollars fifty.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “That’s one expensive gingerbread man.”
“Includes the asshole tax.” He doesn’t even hesitate to roll out that line.
“I missed you too.”
Owen says nothing, just narrows his eyes.
“Owen …?”
“Do you want the gingerbread man or not?”
He’s not budging. I guess he’s pissed that I haven’t been in touch for all these years. But I can’t pursue it further, not now the door has just tinkled again, indicating someone new has joined us.
I pause, not sure what to say next, but he’s already moved on. “What can I do for you, Mrs Jenkins?”
For a moment I stand there, watching Owen serve her before I turn and leave. What’s the point in staying where I’m clearly not wanted?
I have some big bridges to mend.
“Where’s James?” I ask over dinner. Mum serves the meal in silence, having refused all help to prepare it. My plate is piled high with mashed potato, peas, carrots, and a slab of unrecognisable meat.
“He went to Ashley’s for dinner.” Mum says as she sits.
“Who’s Ashley?” When I left, James was six. His life has changed a bit.
“His best friend. She went through school with him.”
“Just his friend?” I put on the biggest grin I can muster.
She glares at me. “Apparently so. Leave your brother alone.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s hard to have a conversation with you sometimes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I just catch Dad nod.
“I’m not in the mood for laughing, Adam. There’s no reason for you to be hanging around here; I’m fine. You have your career and girlfriend to get back to. Weren’t you going to propose to her? What’s happening with that?”
I swirl the food around the plate with my fork until the carrots and peas are mushed up with the potato. It’s hard to look her in the eye when she’s in that kind of mood. “Actually, we broke up instead.”
When I meet her gaze, she twists her mouth, but says nothing. She takes a bite of food, her eyes never leaving mine. This is what makes it so hard. We used to joke about that scary look—now all I see is a bitter woman who’s not getting what she wants. Why’s she so keen to get rid of me?
“I’m sorry to hear that, Son,” Dad speaks. He’s been under the thumb for as many years as I can remember. Mum was always the one in charge.
Mum’s gaze breaks from me as she turns her attention to Dad, who shrugs and takes a bite of food. Good on you, Dad.
“It’s a shame,” Mum says. “She sounded so pleasant when we talked on the phone.”
“She’s not the right one.”
At that, she drops her fork on the plate, the sound echoing through the dining room. “Weren’t you happy?”
“I thought I was. Then I realised that she wasn’t who I wanted to spend my life with. She’s great—pretty, smart, and I really care about her. But not enough to make a family with her.”
Until I’d arrived in town, I’d thought Lily to be the impossible dream. The first call I made when I’d received phone privileges during basic training was to my mother, who had told me Lily had taken up with Eric Murphy as soon as I left. The thought that Lily had found it that easy to move on haunted me for so long afterward, I don’t know if I truly got over it.
“Oh, Adam.” There it is, the disappointed tone. “She sounded like a lovely girl. Nothing in life is perfect. Sometimes you just have to settle.” She looks down her nose at me in that oh-so-condescending way she does. I haven’t missed that.
“Is that what you did, Mum? Did you settle?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Mum grimaces and I glance at Dad, expecting to see him irritated. Instead, he snickers, shaking his head and going back to his meal. He knows better than to get in the middle of our sniping. He always did.
“I thought you might have regained some of your accent while you were away. Not sound so … Kiwi,” she says. Changing subjects abruptly has always been her speciality.
“Actually, I think the opposite happened. I was pretty unique. Surrounded by Americans who sound American, I made my own little place among them. Besides, Mum, after all these years, you sound really Kiwi yourself.”
She lets out an eye roll. I win.
Mum’s the only one in the family left with a hint of an accent, as far as I know. Even before I went overseas, we boys had all dropped it given that we’d spent most of our lives in New Zealand. Having a New Zealand father had been a huge influence. Over time, enough of the accent had rubbed off on her, slowly eroding the way she spoke, the words she used, no doubt without her even thinking.
She lifts her fork to take the next bite.
“I saw Lily in town today.”
The fork goes back down and the glare returns. I always did know how to push her buttons.
“How is she?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “I didn’t see her for long. She was with her boy. He was being chased by some kids. Little shits.”
We return to eating, but in my peripheral vision I see Dad pause and stare. I can’t make out his expression, and I don’t want to turn my head and get Mum’s attention. Is it sympathy?
“Where do kids get off bullying someone that way?” I put my own fork down. “They were all bigger than him.”
No reaction. Mum continues to eat, not bothering to look up. Dad’s focus has switched to his food. Funny how the conversation dies now.
You’re so frustrating.
I take a deep breath. “I might track her down and visit. He looks like he’s a lot of work. Maybe she just needs some help.”
“There’s something wrong with that boy,” Mum says without looking up.
“Surely that means it’s more likely that Lily needs help.”
Mum sighs. “She has plenty of help. She’s had Eric Murphy running around after her for years.”
Did that mean …?
“Running around after her?”
“Just leave it, Adam. She has her life—you have yours. The past is the past.”
What if I don’t want it to be the past? I open my mouth to continue, but Mum’s lips are clamped together. Dad has his head down, completely focused on his dinner. Shit. No point in even arguing this.
Wait. She hasn’t exactly said Lily and Eric are together. Just that Eric runs around after her.
I lean back in my chair, scooping a fork piled high with potato, relishing each bite as a tiny glimmer of hope grows.
Maybe there’s a chance.
6
Lily
The one thing I inherited of any value was my mother’s car. Although describing it as having value is scraping the barrel. It’s a 1984 Toyota Corolla, and I needed to replace it a long time ago. Needing to do something and actually being able to do it are two very different things in my world.
One of the few reasons I’m glad I live in a small town is that I don’t have to travel far for anything, and there’s nowhere to go, so this pile of crap only has to go short distances. I don’t think it’d survive anything beyond that.
I park outside the school and wait for the bell. I’m as close as I can get to the gate to avoid a repeat of yesterday when Max went flying past me and I had to run to catch him, only for him to bump into Adam, if only until I could think of a logical escape plan. We didn’t really need any groceries, but I’d spent five dollars on bread and milk to was
te some time.
Seeing him again had scared me. I think of him sometimes, but I never expected to see him in the flesh. Not after all this time. My body had reacted like the teenage girl I was when I last saw him. Sweaty palms, erratic heartbeat, the lot. I’d just had to get away from him to gather my thoughts, although they’ve always been muddled as far as he’s concerned.
The bell rings, and I get out of the car and walk into the school grounds. Heading for Max’s classroom, I spot my son throwing his bag over his shoulder and striding toward me. It’s funny—there are days when he’s so reticent and shy, and then there are days when his confidence shines. Today’s a good day for Max.
“Mum,” he calls, and I smile as he approaches me. He won’t hug me in public except on his own terms, but he will hook his pinkie with mine as we walk back toward the gate.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“I got one hundred per cent in my maths test.”
I stop and grin at my proud boy. “Really?”
“Yep. I beat Karl.”
Karl was one of the older, bigger kids who picked on Max from time to time. I swallow down my concern over that for the moment as my son basks in his success. Max scoring big on the test is brilliant. He’s come a long way the last couple of months. Even a year ago this wouldn’t have happened—he’d be somewhere in the middle, scraping through. It speaks volumes for the amount of determination he has.
He doesn’t even care if he’s the top of the class—he just wants to do better than the boys who treat him like he’s second best.
“I’m kicking arse, Mum.”
Despite him using a word I don’t like him saying, all I can do is smile. His teacher, Ginny Robinson, is brilliant. It’s always been a struggle to find people who understand Max, but she’s so good with him. He’s thrived the last two years he’s been in her class.
“Want to grab an ice cream before we get home?” I ask. “I think we need to celebrate.”
