Cottage on Oceanview Lane

by Lilly Mirren

  Sarah nodded. "His name is Thad. What do you think of him?"

  Meg's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? On a scale or something?"

  Sarah laughed. "No, his service - has he been doing a good job waiting tables?"

  Vicky shrugged. "I asked him for a jug of lemonade about an hour ago, and I'm still waiting…so…"

  "Really?" Sarah straightened in her seat. "Hmmm… I'm helping Mum deal with some issues here at the cafe, and from what I've seen of Thad so far, I'm not sure he's really helping things."

  "He's a bit slow."

  "And he was rude when we spoke to him," Meg added.

  "He's spending a lot of time at that table of teenaged girls," Vicky mused.

  Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn't a crime to be a bad waiter, but if Mum was struggling to keep the doors open, every little bit of customer service, quality food and cost cutting mattered.

  "So, what are we going to do about your love life?" Vicky asked, a glint in her eyes.

  Sarah huffed. "What love life?"

  "Exactly."

  A picture of Mick McIntosh flashed into her mind the moment Vicky said the words "love life". Sarah's cheeks flushed with warmth. How ridiculous. She'd seen him one time when he came over to look at the cottage. The next day, she'd found his quote pushed under the front mat and decided to hire him to do the renovation since there weren't any other professional renovators in the area. She didn't understand why his face came to mind. He was good looking, and she had to admit she'd thought of him a few times since their brief encounter. But he wasn't her type - something she had reminded herself of more than once in the past few weeks.

  Besides, he was probably married with children by this point in his life - weren't all men who lived in small country towns married in their early twenties? Not that she'd seen a ring on his finger, but that was probably because of his line of work. She'd read somewhere that men with physical jobs didn't wear jewellery for safety reasons.

  Sarah cocked her head to one side. "I have a stray dog, Oscar, who visits every day, isn't that enough for now?"

  Vicky chuckled. "Is he a cute dog?"

  "Not in a classical way," Sarah replied. "He has his own style - dreadlocks, protruding ribs. He'd make quite the splash on a Paris runway."

  They all laughed.

  "I think we're going to get along just fine. Maybe I'll grow old at the cottage and become the crazy dog lady. All the strays will find out from Oscar about the bacon and leftovers."

  "Is it bad that being the crazy dog lady sounds appealing to me right now?" Meg asked, her brows drawn low.

  Vicky put an arm around Meg's shoulders. They all sat in silence a moment. Music pounded the air around them, Crystal's voice rising on a note that punctuated the humid night air. Sarah's heart ached for Meg and for Brad. She should appreciate what she had. It might not be everything she'd imagined for herself, but things could change in a moment.

  She stood with a grunt. "Okay, break's over. I'll get you ladies that lemonade, and then it's back to work for me."

  Chapter 19

  Meg

  Nerves fluttered in Meg's stomach. She shifted her weight onto one foot, then the other, grasping the bunch of flowers more tightly in one hand.

  Were flowers too much?

  She wasn't sure what to bring to meet Brad at the airport. He didn't really eat chocolates or sweets, and she hated to have empty hands while she waited. So, she'd stopped and bought a bunch of flowers at the Foodstore on the way out of the Cove. Now that she looked at them, some of the daises sagged around the edges. The whole thing looked a little sad.

  She inhaled a slow breath.

  Why was she so nervous to see her own husband? It made no sense. It was Brad. She knew him better than she knew anyone else in the world. Or at least she'd thought she did, before the accident had changed him. She assumed it had changed him. If it hadn't…she couldn't bear the thought that perhaps she'd never known him.

  A plane taxied across the tarmac and headed for the gate. Her breath caught in her throat. They were here. Finally. It felt like so long since she'd seen him. It was only two weeks but seemed like an eternity.

  Would he be different? Would he be happy to see her?

  She shifted her weight again, feeling a slight tremble in her knees that made them weaken.

  It didn't take long for passengers to traipse out of the exit, satchels and handbags slung over weary shoulders.

  Two children tumbled after their parents, shouting and squealing, no doubt grateful to be released from restrictive seat belts.

  A knot formed in Meg's gut. She swallowed hard.

  There they were. They'd stopped on the causeway. Brad was in a wheelchair, his parents behind him. A flight attendant pushed the chair and leaned down to pick something off the floor. They moved slowly, making their way towards her. Most of the passengers waited patiently behind them; a few strode past.

  When they reached the exit, Meg stepped forward, a wide smile pressed to her face.

  "Welcome home!" She leaned down to kiss Brad's cheek.

  He didn't respond, only met her gaze briefly then looked away without a word.

  Her throat tightened.

  She turned to greet his parents, embracing them with genuine happiness. They looked older, more shrivelled somehow since when she'd left. Des had more grey in his hair, Sharon a few new lines around her eyes.

  "I'm so glad to see you," Meg said, feeling her own eyes watering. "I missed you."

  Sharon grinned. "It's good to be back. We can't wait to get home. We're heartily sick of hotel and hospital food, let me tell you."

  "And that bed…" Des added with a grimace as he pushed one fist into the small of his back.

  "It's really good to see you too, honey," Sharon added with a pat on Meg's arm.

  "I hope the trip was okay?" Meg glanced at Brad who stared off into the distance, his shoulders hunched.

  Sharon's lips pursed. She shook her head at Meg, a look of sorrow on her face. The lump in Meg's throat grew.

  "It was fine," Des replied. "I've got indigestion though. I'd kill for a salad."

  "First time I've ever heard that come from your lips," Sharon replied with a chuckle.

  Meg swallowed around the lump. "Well, let's go and find your luggage so we can get out of here."

  The garage was dark, and shadows lingered in corners and crevices. Meg had never liked it much down there, all concrete and echoes, but today it gave her the shivers.

  She set the last piece of luggage on the pavement and slammed the boot of the minivan shut. She'd had to trade her brand-new hatchback for a second-hand minivan with wheelchair access and a ramp. The previous owners had modified it to suit their son's needs, much to Meg's delight. Now, the sight of it made her stomach clench.

  This was their life now. Her life and his.

  It was still hard to swallow, though she was used to overcoming. She'd had to do enough of it in her childhood. She tilted her head up, pushed out her chin and grabbed the handles of two bags to wheel them after her.

  Des picked up the remaining luggage, and Sharon pushed Brad in the chair as they made their way out of the garage and up the curving footpath to the front of the building.

  Getting Brad's chair over the lip of the entrance was hard enough, but at least they didn't have to manoeuvre him up the staircase.

  "I managed to get Gus to let us move our things to this unit on the ground floor," she said, leading the way. "I think it's going to work out well. I've added a shower rail and a ramp… I've moved everything I thought you might need into the lower cupboards. But if something's an issue, let me know and I'll fix it." She met Brad's gaze and saw anger lingering in his eyes. The same eyes that had looked at her with adoration only weeks earlier now simmered with hatred.

  Meg pressed her lips together as she stopped at the front door to unlock it. So, he wasn't going to speak to her. She hadn't expected a kiss, but he could at least smile. Tears threatened, bu
t she blinked them away.

  "That all sounds wonderful," Sharon piped up.

  "You've done a lot, Meggy," Des added.

  Brad didn't say a thing.

  "Hasn't she, Brad?" Des prodded. "She's done it all on her own, in only two weeks. That's pretty good."

  Brad grunted. "Great."

  Meg rolled her eyes at the closed door, then pushed it open, spinning to face the others with a smile. "Home sweet home!"

  She put Brad's things away in their bedroom, while his parents got the kettle boiling. Meg joined them in the kitchen. She threw together a tossed salad with tuna and sourdough bread she'd bought the day before, and set it all on the table with glasses of mineral water.

  "This looks amazing," Des said, his eyes gleaming.

  "Perfect, just what we needed. I'm starving," Sharon added. "Aren't you hungry, love?" Sharon studied her son, who sat in the living room staring at the dark screen of the small television set in the corner.

  He faced her, one eyebrow quirked. "I could eat."

  They all sat at the small, round kitchen table and ate. Des and Sharon told Meg all about the last two weeks, what they did to celebrate the new year and the flight back to Brisbane. The chatter continued while she set out sliced mango and peaches for dessert, then they all cleaned up. All except Brad, who ate in silence, then wheeled himself back into the living room to switch on a game of cricket.

  Sharon watched him, a worried look on her face until she noticed Meg's concern. She smiled and patted Meg's hand. "Don't worry, love. He'll come around. He's still in shock, that's what the doctor said. Grieving the loss of his legs." Sharon's voice choked on the words. She shook her head. "We're all still grieving, really."

  Meg stared at the floor. "I don't think he wants to be here."

  "Don't be silly, love. He's your husband, this is his home now."

  "I know…but…he won't look at me or talk to me. I thought maybe things would be different after he'd had a couple of weeks to process…but it's worse. I don't know what to do."

  Sharon's smile faded. "I know, we're all playing it by ear. But we have to stay positive. If I think too much about what he's lost…" She hesitated, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't do it. I can't think about what my baby has to give up, what he'll never do… It's too much for me. And for you, I'm sure. So, the two of us have to stick together. Okay?"

  Meg nodded, unable to speak. She threw her arms around Sharon's neck and sobbed silently against her. She didn't want Brad to hear, hated the thought that he'd see her grief. It was the last thing he needed. She had to be strong for him, not the other way around.

  She pulled away, dabbed quietly at her eyes with a tissue. "But you're going back to Brisbane," she whispered.

  Sharon offered her a warm smile. "Yes, so the two of you can have some space. You'll need time alone to work this all out. We’ve found a physio close by, a doctor too. It’s all set up, appointments, taxi for when you’re at work, everything. But we're only a phone call away. Anything you need, you let us know. Okay?"

  Meg wondered what it must've been like for Brad to grow up with so much love in his life. She couldn't imagine it, having a mother who doted, cared.

  "I wish I'd had a mother like you," she sniffled.

  Sharon's eyes glistened. "I always wished I'd had a daughter like you, and now I do." She kissed Meg's cheek. "You can do this, love. You're strong, and you love him. Those are two things I'm sure of, and if you've got that, you'll be able to do anything."

  When Des and Sharon pulled away from the curb in front of their unit in a taxi, Meg turned to face the building with a ball of dread curled in her gut.

  She knew Sharon was right. If they had some time alone together in their new home, maybe things would turn around. He'd have to talk to her; there was no one else.

  Inside, Brad pulled the drapes shut over the living room windows. It was dark and smelled of tuna and the flowers she'd bought for Brad, that'd since found their way into a clear vase on the kitchen bench. Sharon's work, no doubt. She slid into an armchair, watching the cricket game for a few minutes.

  "I thought we might go out later," she said.

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond otherwise.

  "We could head through town, look around. I'm sure people will want to say hello."

  He faced her with a scowl. "To look at the cripple in a wheelchair, you mean."

  She gasped. "What? Brad! Don't say that. Everyone's been so worried about you. They ask about you all the time. I told them you were coming home…"

  He huffed. "What do I care?"

  "Okay, well, we don't have to do that. We could go to the beach…"

  He faced her again, his scowl deepening. "I'm in a wheelchair, Meg. Get a grip on reality. I can't go in the sand, I can't go to the beach, I can't surf… I can't do any of the things I love, ever again!" As he spoke, his voice rose to a shout, and spittle flew from his lips.

  Meg's heart leapt into her throat, and she found herself pushing away. A vision of her father shouting at her flitted across her mind's eye; in her memory his arm flew out, catching her young face and sending her across the room, crashing into the wall. She'd walked away from that life the first chance she got and never looked back. Now here she was, newly married, and her husband was yelling at her in the same way.

  A shudder ran up her spine. "Please don't yell at me."

  He rolled his eyes. "Why, Meg? Is it too much for your delicate nerves? Do you have any idea what it's like for me?"

  "I know it's been hard for you." Her teeth ground together. "I understand that. But I really don't like it when you yell. You know how my father was, and it brings up all those bad memories."

  He shook his head. "What do you expect? You force me to come back here, shove me in this ridiculous excuse for a home, right across from the beach…"

  "What are you saying, Brad? I thought you wanted to live here. We picked the building together. We were so excited about living here. Looked forward to it for months…"

  He issued a hollow laugh. "That was back when it meant something…when I could be a husband to you, when I could walk with you, hold your hand, when I could surf…" His voice trailed away, his head dropped and he pressed fingers to his eyes.

  She hurried to his side, dropped to kneel by his chair and reached for his hand to press it between hers. "Brad, is that what you're so angry about? Because I don't care about any of that. I'm glad you're alive. Do you know how hard it was for me that day, not knowing whether you were dead or alive?"

  He met her gaze, his eyes boring into hers. "I wish I'd died."

  Her tears couldn't be held back then. They blurred her vision. "No, don't say that. You don't mean it. I couldn't cope with that…"

  He looked away. "Face it, Meg. I'm not the man you married. You'd be better off without me, and I certainly don't want to be here." He tugged his hand from her grasp.

  "But where would you go?"

  "To Mum and Dad's. They have a bigger house, a swimming pool where I can do therapy. And it's not by the beach. They don't want me to, say I have to try to make things work here, with you. But I can't…I can't do this. I can't be married to you, can't be your husband. It's too much to cope with. I want to go home, be by myself. I don't want to be here. In fact, I'd rather be anywhere else in the world than right here." The words hissed from his mouth and felt like a stab to her heart.

  Meg leapt to her feet. She backed away from Brad, her eyes wide. Then she turned and fled through the front door, down the steps in the direction of the beach. She ran across the sand, her lungs heaving as tears wet her cheeks. He didn't want to be married to her. Didn't love her after all. Why was she surprised? No one in her life ever had.

  Chapter 20

  Meg

  Hair lined the floor of the salon. Meg grabbed the long-handled broom and dustpan and swept it all away with a few brisk strokes. She set the dustpan against the wall, then spun to face Sarah with a smile.

  "So, what are
we going to do with your hair today?"

  Sarah's nose wrinkled. "I don't think there is much you can do with it. It's long, straight and pretty hopeless, really."

  "What? Don't say that, I love your hair. I'd kill for this straight, silky look."

  "But I wish I had your curls!" Sarah objected.

  Meg laughed. "Ah, the grass is always greener. Huh?"

  "So, in answer to your question, let's do a trim, maybe a few layers."

  "Perfect." Meg brushed the snarls from Sarah's hair while they talked.

  It was funny for her to think of it now, but she'd been so intimidated by Sarah when she was younger. Sarah was the cool, older teen when she'd been a kid. Meg had looked up to her, admired her from afar - she was beautiful, sporty, talented and smart. She always seemed to know the right thing to say whenever someone was being teased, or acting unkind. Her retorts left the perpetrator speechless every time. Meg had always wished she could cut people down to size the way Sarah Flannigan had in high school.

  Now, here they were, chatting like old friends. And it felt that way, most of the time. As if they'd always been friends. They'd certainly known each other a long time. She wondered why she'd ever been afraid of Sarah. Hanging out with Vicky and Sarah were the only times she laughed these days.

  "So, when are you going to start renovations on the cottage?" Meg asked.

  Sarah's lips pursed. "I want to start right away, but Mick McIntosh is my renovator, and apparently he's booked solid."

  "Oh, Mick McIntosh, yeah, he's the best carpenter around here. He has a background in architecture, so everyone wants him on their job. They say he does beautiful work." One of the many reasons people hired him. Meg grinned to herself.

  "So it seems. I can't wait to get started though. The cottage is quaint, but I'm sick of the leaking roof, the mouldy walls, the rotten porch… It'll be so much better to have everything fixed so I can relax and enjoy it."

  "Definitely." Meg's scissors snipped the ends of Sarah's hair.