Only We Know

by Victoria Purman

  ‘You never know what’s around the corner. You never know who you might run into. Who might be the one,’ Rose said with a smile.

  In her recent experience, running into a man did not automatically make him a good choice. Calla looked down at Flynn’s sleeping eyes and full lips. Would there be a baby in her future? Did holding him awaken something maternal in her? She wasn’t sure. Rose had said when she and David were trying to get pregnant that it was like a craving. Calla knew all about cravings, but she had them for chocolate rather than children. There was no doubt that Flynn made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, and she felt tears well in her eyes every time she held him, but all that was in an auntie kind of way.

  Perhaps if she were in a relationship, she might feel differently. Then she corrected herself. A committed, loving relationship, not the train wrecks she’d had. She knew what a loving, committed relationship looked like. She hadn’t grown up with one, but she could see it in Rose and David’s marriage. They were lucky. They loved each other and, from the outside, at least, it was simple and easy.

  Simple and easy, that’s what she wanted.

  And until that came along, she had plenty of things to fill her days with, now that she’d simplified her life. Teaching, painting, being an auntie. Staying away from men for a while.

  ‘So, now that we’re alone, and I have emerged from some of my baby-fog brain, tell me again about your trip to the island. And by that I mean, tell me all about the fireman.’ Rose lifted her feet to the sofa and stretched her legs out in front of her. With a contented smile, she watched Calla cuddle her son.

  ‘What else is there to tell? You know about the boat and the supermarket and the car accident and the flight back to Adelaide.’

  ‘Come on,’ Rose huffed. ‘You’ve bored me with those facts already. Humour me. I’m a breastfeeding new mum — and one who loves her husband like mad — but who fears she may never want to have sex again in case it leads to having more babies. I want all the gory details. What really happened to you on that island, Calla?’

  Calla looked up to the ceiling to avoid her sister’s scrutinising look. What had happened? She still wasn’t certain. Sure, there had been kissing and sex. Spectacular sex. Laughs. Yes, there had been laughs. Shared secrets. Time spent together. It was easy to look back on it now that it was over.

  ‘He’s really handsome.’

  ‘Tall?’

  ‘Way taller than me; and that’s what counts, right?

  ‘Of course. Shoulders?’

  ‘Two of them.’

  ‘And what does he wear?’

  ‘Clothes.’

  ‘No, I mean is he a checked shirt, rugged kind of country guy, or is he a metrosexual with fine-knit jumpers and R.M. Williams boots?’

  Calla laughed. ‘Jeans. He looks good in jeans. Big, warm jumpers.’ Tight T-shirts. Lots of lovely naked skin. Calla shook those thoughts away.

  Rose sighed. ‘Hair colour?’

  ‘Dark hair, kind of wavy. Quite short around the back and sides. But you know what I found out? He’s much more than all these pieces. He does this thing with his super dark eyes. He looks at you and kind of latches on and doesn’t look away. I don’t think he blinks when he looks at you, like it’s some kind of superpower or something. And you feel like your eyes are going to burn inside your head unless you look away first. And when he talks to you … it starts off loud but then gets softer, so you have to lean in to hear him and it gets quieter and deeper, and you feel like it’s a crowded room but there’s no one else around but the two of you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Rose sighed. ‘That. I remember that.’

  ‘And he’s good with his hands.’

  ‘Really?’ Rose’s eyebrows quirked.

  ‘Uh huh. And he played with my hair all the time, tangled his fingers up in it. But it wasn’t just that stuff. He … he wouldn’t let me go to see Jem alone.’

  ‘Sounds like he was a rock. When you called me that afternoon, you were pretty upset. It must have been awful. I wish I’d been able to go with you.’

  ‘It was good to have him there.’ Calla remembered what he’d said when she was freaking out. I’ll be there. And you’ll be safe with me.

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘And we’ve made it right with Jem, Rose. That’s all we could do. Though I’ve been checking the account and he hasn’t cashed the cheque yet.’

  ‘Think he ever will?’

  ‘Even if he doesn’t want it for himself, I hope he thinks of little Ella.’

  Rose sniffed. ‘I don’t know if it’s because I’ve just had Flynn, but it kills me to think that Ella will never know her cousin and this whole side of the family.’

  The doorbell rang and Calla glanced down the hallway. There was a shadow behind the stained glass of her front door. A tall shadow.

  Rose stretched and yawned. ‘You expecting someone?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’ Calla rearranged the baby in her arms. He smelt so beautiful, of baby powder and lotion, and he was pressing his tiny lips together in satisfaction over his full belly. She didn’t want to hand him back to his mother just yet, so she stood, walked carefully down the hallway with the precious cargo in her arms and juggled him a little to open the door.

  She swung it wide open and then lost her breath. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Hello.’

  It was Sam, dressed not in the familiar jeans and hoodie, but in his uniform. Calla’s heart betrayed her, thudding behind her breastbone. The simple dark-navy short-sleeved shirt, the word Fire emblazoned on the left pocket, revealed tanned and strong forearms. Calla decided she was glad to be holding the baby. It gave her something to do while she decided if she should hug him or smack him. It had been a week since she’d seen him, since he’d walked out of her house with a look of thunder and a voice to match. When he acted as if she’d overstepped some boundary she wasn’t aware of in talking to him about Charlie and Roo’s Rest. He hadn’t called since and she hadn’t bothered to either. It had seemed to be over before it had really begun. Their accidental island fling had well and truly flung.

  ‘Hey.’ Sam ran a hand through his hair, looked into her eyes for a moment, and then dropped his gaze to take in the bundle in her arms. ‘Is that your nephew?’

  ‘Yes. Rose and I are having some quality sister time. Flynn, meet Sam. Sam, meet Flynn.’

  Sam could barely manage a smile, leaving Calla to wonder if maybe he was one of those people who believed themselves to be allergic to children. When he lifted his eyes back to hers, she could see the change in him. This wasn’t the sexy, smiling Sam she’d met on the island. This man was stricken. Haunted. She could see the muscles twitching in his clenched jaw and there was defeat in his hunched shoulders.

  ‘Sorry to come over without calling,’ he said quietly, cautiously. ‘I can see this is a bad time. I’ll go.’

  ‘No, please.’ She stepped outside on to the veranda. ‘Sam, what is it? What’s happened?’

  He took a deep breath, turned back to the road.

  She juggled Flynn into the crook of one arm and shot out a hand to his arm. ‘Tell me.’

  When Sam turned back to her, tears filling his eyes, she knew. ‘It’s Charlie. He’s dead.’

  CHAPTER

  44

  ‘Rose, this is Sam.’

  He walked over to the sofa where Rose was sitting and shook her hand. ‘Nice to meet you. Handsome boy you’ve got there.’

  ‘Thank you. We think so,’ Rose said. ‘So, you’re Sam.’

  Calla knew where her sister was going, judging by her tone and her wide smile. Rose shot a teasing glance at Calla but she reacted quickly to Calla’s stony face. Her expression changed from knowing smile to an instant awareness that something was wrong. She stood and took the baby.

  ‘I think it’s time for this one to have a sleep.’ Rose smiled politely at Sam. ‘It was very nice to meet you too.’

  A moment later, the bedroom door closed and Calla was alone with Sam. She wondered if he wanted to s
it, or if he wanted a coffee or something stronger. Probably not if he was still on his shift. She watched him, looking for her cue. His eyes darted around the room. He pocketed his hands, then withdrew them, tangled one in his hair. He turned to her, looked as if he might be about to speak, then quickly looked away.

  All the pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth didn’t work. It had never worked. Not only could she see Sam’s pain, she could feel it in her own heart too. The tears welled in her eyes. For Sam. For Charlie. ‘Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry.’

  He looked at his feet.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee? A glass of water?’

  ‘I can’t stay long.’

  ‘Oh. You’re at work. Right.’ Calla wondered how much he wanted to tell her. Decided she needed to know anyway. ‘When did he …?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘What happened?’ Calla hugged herself, held back from comforting him. She wasn’t sure what he wanted from her.

  ‘Since I’ve been back, I’ve been ringing him every day. In the morning and just before the ABC News at seven p.m. Like clockwork. Just to check he’s all right. Give him someone to talk to. But yesterday morning, I didn’t get an answer. I called Auntie Ruth and Uncle Clive, asked them if they could drive out to Roo’s Rest.’

  Sam’s voice, while still matter of fact and procedural, was quiet. Calla took a step towards him to make sure she didn’t miss a word.

  ‘They found Charlie on the front veranda. In his chair. At first they thought he was having a snooze. But no. Seems he’d had a stroke.’

  Calla’s hand flew to her mouth. The tears drizzled down her cheeks and she removed her glasses to wipe them away. When she slid them back on, Sam’s face told the real story of what was going on inside the brave firefighter. He looked pale against the navy of his uniform. His hair was a mess. His eyes were lifeless.

  He looked like a man who’d lost everything.

  Every instinct Calla had was telling her to hold him, to reach for him and draw him into her arms. But when she moved again, took another step closer, Sam stepped back from her. She felt it like a slap to the face. Maybe it was the uniform, but he seemed remote and distant. Official and formal.

  ‘Poor Charlie,’ Calla said. She could see him, clear as day. Charlie in his chair, with his dogs by his side, looking out to the farm and the view of the island and the ocean he’d always loved. ‘When is the funeral?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I’ve been arranging it all today. And while I was sorting everything out, I realised … Charlie would want you to be there.’

  ‘Me?’

  Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘You were all he could talk about after you left. I think he fell a little bit in love with you.’

  It wasn’t hard to like Charlie, even to love him a little bit too. Of course she would go to his funeral.

  ‘So, will you come?’ And then, Sam met her eyes. His own were shiny with tears and Calla felt his pain all over again.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, her voice catching in her throat as she tried to suppress the sob that was so close to the surface. ‘When are you going?’

  Sam let out a huge sigh of what looked to Calla like relief. ‘Tomorrow morning. Can I come by and pick you up at six-thirty? We’re on the nine a.m. boat. I hope that’s not too early for you.’

  ‘I’ll be ready.’ Sam didn’t know her at all if he thought she’d get any sleep that night.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ he said.

  Calla nodded and tried to find a smile. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Pack an overnight bag. We’ll be coming back the day after tomorrow, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Sam gave her a quick nod, turned and walked off, his heavy boots thudding on the floorboards on the way to the front door. She followed him, taking extra steps to keep up with his long-legged stride.

  At the front door, he turned. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came.

  Calla didn’t wait for permission this time. She went to Sam, buried her face in his chest, threw her arms around his waist and clung to him. She cried into his shirt, openly, unapologetically, let the sobs shake her shoulders. Sam’s strength wavered. She could feel him uncoiling, first a pat on her back, then a stroke on her shoulder. Finally, his arms were around her too, one hand on her hair, holding her tight to him. He rested his chin on her head and, as his shoulders moved and fell, she could feel the breath leave his body, as if he were letting go of a lifetime’s worth of hurt and loss.

  He held her until she stopped crying.

  After he’d slowly, reluctantly released her, his soft, dark eyes met hers. For a moment, neither of them said a word. An understanding was being created between them in that moment, one that Calla recognised in her heart, if not her head. We are two people connected in some mysterious way. We have seen each other’s pain. We have shared our secrets. We can’t control what is drawing us together. Calla felt it as strongly as she’d ever felt anything. And by the look on his face, he was feeling it too.

  She reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘I’ll be there. I promise.’

  Calla closed the front door and leant back against it, her glasses in one hand, wiping her tears with the other. She let out a deep breath, trying to stop the shaking she felt all over her body. No matter how much she wanted this thing with Sam to be done, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Her heart had betrayed her head and she felt so close to him it ached that he’d just walked out the door.

  She might have sworn off complicated, and he might not be easy, but that didn’t stop her heart beating faster when she was in his arms. It didn’t stop her taking on his pain over Charlie’s death, feeling it as strongly as if she’d known his father her whole life. It didn’t stop her wanting to be by his side during the funeral, to hold him, to be there for him.

  And after that?

  The bedroom door opened and Rose poked her head into the hallway. ‘I heard the front door close. Is he gone?’

  She nodded. Rose went to her, put a consoling hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘What’s wrong, Calla? What did he say?’ Her voice was a whisper in the quiet house.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ Calla said, shaking her head. ‘It’s his father. Charlie died.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Rose’s bottom lip trembled. ‘Poor guy.’

  ‘And he … he’s asked me to go over to the island with him for the funeral. He said Charlie fell a little bit in love with me.’

  Rose looked into her sister’s eyes. ‘I don’t think he’s the only one, do you?’

  Calla felt fresh tears. ‘Oh, Rose.’

  ‘You love him, don’t you?’

  Calla hugged herself. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know if I trust myself when it comes to men. Look what happened the last time.’

  ‘I know I just met the guy but something tells me he is everything Josh wasn’t.’

  Calla smiled. She knew her sister was right.

  Rose slipped her arm through Calla’s and they walked slowly back to the living room. ‘Put it this way. You’re going to get it right sooner or later. And he looks like a pretty good candidate for Mr Right, to me.’

  ‘He just needs a friend tomorrow, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, in that case, he’s very lucky to have you.’ Rose threw her arms around her sister and held on tight. ‘And so am I.’

  It was past midnight. Sam was still awake, his mind racing in the darkness of his bedroom. It was raining, the pounding on the iron roof reminding him of Roo’s Rest. Everything was organised for Charlie’s funeral, thanks in large part to Ben, Uncle Clive and Auntie Ruth. Sam had done as much as he could by phone, but they’d taken care of all the last-minute details. Knowing it was done, he’d gone to bed early: he’d have to be up at the crack of dawn to pick up Calla and then drive the two hours to Cape Jervis where they’d catch the ferry.

  He needed sleep but it wouldn’t come. His sleep-anywhere-anytime habit was betraying him tonight.

/>   His head was a spinning mess. And at the centre of the cyclone was Calla.

  She was the first person he’d wanted to talk to when Ben had called him with the terrible news. He’d felt a sudden, desperate need to be with her, to hold her, to share his pain with her. She would understand, he knew, what he’d been through with Charlie, and how far he’d come since taking her advice.

  Because of her, his last conversation with his old man hadn’t been a fight. He’d spent hours listening; there’d been an honesty in their conversation he and Charlie had never shared. They were the two Hunter men. There was something they shared that no one else had. A bond had been forged that night because of Calla.

  She was one of a kind.

  She’d brought a ray of light to Charlie’s last days too, had helped the old man believe that his only surviving son might be happy again, might make a new life for himself with a woman. After all the worrying he’d done about Sam’s accident and his life, it must have been a comfort to Charlie.

  He’d needed to tell Calla because she would understand the pain of him losing his last parent. How it felt to realise that, suddenly, he was an orphan. How, even as an adult, that realisation cut through him and made him think about his own mortality. It wasn’t that Sam hadn’t faced that before. Every damn day on the job, if he was honest. He’d come so close the day of the accident all those years before. Charlie’s death had reawakened feelings he’d buried deep. Some people faced their own deaths with a renewed sense of their lives. They created bucket lists. Quit their jobs. Turned to religion. Sam had turned inwards, become more cautious. He’d found some bravado for the job, but in every other part of his life he’d become the glass-half-empty person he’d accused Calla of being.

  That was his secret. He’d hidden his heart away from the world after his accident. It hadn’t killed him, but it had broken his spirit and created a Berlin Wall around his heart, around his life. His parents had seen it and smothered him with love. Christina had run from it at a million miles an hour. What had Calla said? I’ll be there. I promise you that.

  He remembered Charlie’s words to him on the last day they’d spent together.