by Lilly Mirren
Cindy huffed, her eyes narrowed. "He said that?"
Athol chuckled. "Yes, he did. It reveals a lot, if you ask me. You were always too good for that man, Cindy. Far too smart, beautiful, sweet… He didn't deserve you. Of course, none of us saw that about him when we were young. He's charming and fun, we all fell for it. But I've struggled to remain friends with him for years now."
"I noticed you weren't coming around as often…" Cindy replied thoughtfully. "I figured it was because you were grieving Cheryl."
"There was some of that," he admitted. "But mostly, it was because after she died, I couldn't stand to ignore the truth anymore - which was that Andrew Flannigan was a selfish, conceited man, and I didn't have much in common with him. I grew up, he didn't. It was hard to maintain a friendship with someone like that. To be honest with you, the only reason I kept coming to dinner was because of you."
Cindy's brow furrowed. "Really?"
Athol smiled and laid a hand on her arm. "Yes, really. When Cheryl died, you were there for me. You've always been so kind - I know Cheryl appreciated your friendship, and so do I."
Her throat closed around a growing lump. She smiled as tears threatened. "Thank you, Athol. I appreciate your friendship as well."
"Of course," he replied. "I'm so sorry for the way Andrew treated you. But I really believe you'll be better off in the long run. You're an amazing woman, and he didn't deserve you."
Cindy sniffled. "Thank you. I really miss seeing you. It's been far too long."
"I'm still around," he replied.
"Well then…" she said, unable to continue. She smiled and linked her hands together. It meant a lot to her to hear that Athol valued their friendship and wanted it to continue, that he supported her and was on her side. One of the advantages of living in a small town was that you were never quite alone. She knew everyone who lived in the Cove, but she only had a few true friends, and Athol was one of them. She'd thought he wouldn't want to see her again after Andrew left and mourned the loss of his friendship in silence, alongside every other feeling that raged. To know that he was still her friend, after everything that'd happened, choked her into silence.
So, instead of saying anything more, she patted his arm with a wobbly smile.
Chapter 9
Sarah
Sarah stood in the doorway and waved goodbye to Vicky as her friend's car pulled out of the drive. The car was soon shielded by bushes and trees, the darkness of night having replaced the usual dappled sunlight that shone through their branches.
With a shiver, Sarah tugged her cardigan more tightly around her shoulders against a frigid breeze that rose from the ocean, up the cliffside and around the cottage. A constant wind was something she'd have to grow accustomed to if she was going to live with an ocean view.
She turned to head inside the cottage when a rustle in the garden caught her ear. She hesitated on the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, sensing movement. She skipped down the stairs, her eyes fixed on the place where she'd seen the flicker of something - tan, brown, dark. Maybe a tail.
"Hello?" she said.
A low growl rose against the hush of waves as they curled to shore at the base of the cliff.
"Come on out, I won't hurt you."
Perhaps it was a possum, though they didn't usually growl and were more likely to be found on a tree branch, fence post or traversing a power line. It sounded more like a dog.
With her hands on her hips, she studied the bushes as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Definitely a dog. And it was hungry, starving in fact.
She hurried inside the cottage and fossicked through the fridge, looking for something that might entice a dog out of hiding. There wasn't much in there other than the packet of bacon and dozen eggs she’d bought for breakfast. Though she realised now it was a bit ambitious to imagine she'd be up for cooking a hot breakfast any time before noon. She wasn't much of a breakfast eater at the best of times, instead preferring a cup of coffee and perhaps a small yoghurt with fruit if she was particularly hungry.
She grabbed the packet of bacon, sliced it open with a knife and dropped the meat into a large, white bowl. Then she carried the bowl outside and set it on the ground next to the bushes where she'd last seen the dog.
It wasn't there.
Her lips pursed in disappointment.
Oh well. There wasn't anything she could do about it. Though she hated to see any creature suffering.
She left the bowl where it was and returned to the house, her thoughts already turning to what was left to do. She still hadn't finished unpacking, there were a few pieces of furniture she hadn't managed to slide into place yet, and she wanted to check to see if she could access the internet, though she didn't like her chances given the provider had mentioned a vague and infuriating time frame of two to four weeks.
She sighed and padded into the kitchen, sat at the bench and booted up her laptop.
It wasn't long before she realised she wouldn't be logging into her company's network anytime soon. She sighed, closed the laptop then tiptoed to the front window. Pushing aside the musty-scented, retro print curtains, she peered outside. The dog stood over the bowl, front knees bent as it devoured the bacon in several large gulps. She could see it more clearly now; it was a medium-sized dog with a dark brown coat. Its ribs showed through the patches of hair that clung to its thin sides, and its tail was firmly wedged between its back legs.
Sarah smiled, watched for a few moments then tiptoed back to the front door. She stepped outside. The dog raised its head and studied her.
"Hey there," she said. "What's your name? Huh?"
The dog didn't move.
Sarah walked a little closer, slowly, her eyes fixed on the dog. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The dog spun in place then sprinted for the tree line.
She sighed, pressed her hands to her hips. She'd hoped she might find a collar, perhaps with a tag on it and a phone number to call. Though from where she was standing, the dog didn't appear to be wearing one. Most likely it was a stray, looked like it had been for a while. And it certainly wasn't comfortable around people.
The wind tugged at her blue cardigan, pushing in gusts that shook the bushy branches of the squat trees surrounding the cottage with an almost constant rustle.
She headed inside and locked the front door behind her. Her life had certainly changed since she'd left her high-rise unit in the city. The noise of traffic and people had been replaced by the whistle of a cool sea breeze and the sighing of trees, and her social life, once filled with the vibrant, artistic and upwardly mobile people of inner Sydney, had been replaced by a stray dog who had no desire for her company.
She shook her head and flicked off the main light. With a shiver, she wrapped her arms around her body and hurried to the bedroom. The warm blankets she'd found in one of the many boxes that lined her wooden floors were calling her name.
Chapter 10
Meg
Meg studied the small cartons of eggnog clutched in her hands. This wasn't exactly how she'd planned to spend her first Christmas as Brad's wife - drinking eggnog from cartons bought at the hospital cafeteria. Then again, none of this had been part of the plan.
Her heart ached for a moment; she allowed herself that much before she walked back into the room to face what was inside. Past the nurse's station, there was the door. Only slightly ajar, waiting for her return. A light flickered against the doorframe - the television was on, it was always on, though the sound would be on mute and no one would be watching it.
Even the glimpse of the doorframe accelerated her heart rate. It was no use; she wasn't good at this kind of thing. She’d never liked conflict, and that was what her life had become now. Conflict. Arguments. Shouting. Things crashing against walls or onto floors. Tears. Hidden moments in the small adjoining bathroom as she rocked silently, her mouth pressed to a wadded-up jacket or shirt or whatever she could find to stifle the sounds of her grief. This was her
life.
For now, she reminded herself. It wouldn't always be this way. This wasn't how her marriage would be. It couldn't be.
Tears threatened, and she pushed them down with a determined breath, straightened her shoulders and walked into the room with a cheerful smile.
"Christmas is saved, I found eggnog!"
Brad continued to stare at the wall furthest from the window. His mother, Sharon, smiled at her, arms crossed. His father, Des, lowered the newspaper to peer over it in her direction. He was the only man she knew who still liked to sit and peruse a real newspaper, rather than scrolling through pages on his phone.
"That's wonderful," Sharon said.
"Thanks, sweetheart," Des added with a wink.
She nodded and set the cartons on the small table that hung over Brad's bed on a set of squeaky wheels. She pushed it a little closer to Brad, the wheels emitting a creak.
"Brad…look, eggnog. You love eggnog."
She opened one of the cartons with both fingers pressed to the cardboard until it popped. Then she shifted the table closer to Brad's nearest arm, it lay pressed to his side in the bed. Her gaze traveled over the covers to where his legs stretched, straight and still beneath the cream covers.
Meg glanced at his mother, who nodded her encouragement. "We'll make this Christmas special in our own way. I might see if I can find somewhere that'll serve a better Christmas turkey than the cafeteria." Sharon reached into her purse where it was hung on the back of the door and pulled out her mobile. "There has to be somewhere nearby we could buy something decent to bring back to the room."
Anger emanated in waves from Brad like heat from summer scorched tarmac. Meg watched him, her brow furrowed. She couldn't get through to him and didn't know what to do. He'd always been so open with her, so affectionate, full of smiles and laughter. Never like this. Never sullen or silent.
"That sounds good," she responded to Sharon while continuing to watch Brad for some indication he was listening to their conversation. He remained unmoving, his eyes fixed on some invisible spot on the wall.
She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. The past two weeks since he was admitted to the hospital had been the hardest of her life. At first, she'd been desperate, praying for Brad to make it through the emergency surgery.
Then, there were two more surgeries in the days that followed, days in which they'd almost lost him more times than she cared to remember. His doctors had worn harried expressions, barely slept. Nurses had rushed here and there, and she'd sat alone in the waiting room, chewing her nails to the quick, tapping her heels against the floor and answering the phone. So many phone calls, eventually she'd turned it off. She couldn't concentrate on conversations, not while Brad was lying on an operating table somewhere in the hospital, possibly dying.
His parents had arrived on the third day. Had rushed into the waiting room. His mother's hair flew out behind her, wispy and blonde; his father's eyes were red-rimmed.
"Where is he? What's the update?" Sharon had questioned the moment she saw her and enveloped Meg in a crushing embrace.
They'd been amazing since then, helping her stay positive, getting her food, coffee. They'd checked her out of the beachside cottage where she and Brad had honeymooned and got her a room at their hotel near the hospital, bringing her clean clothes back with them. Eventually they'd even convinced her to go back to the hotel to get some sleep, once Brad was stable and the surgeries complete.
She'd collapsed into the bed with dry eyes and slept without moving, waking twelve hours later with pins and needles in one ear and sheet marks creasing the side of her face.
Two weeks later and it was Christmas Eve. Thinking about it had her throat aching. She'd planned for them to wake up in their unit by the beach at home in Emerald Cove on Christmas morning, to open their gifts over a cup of coffee and then drive to Brisbane to spend the day with his family. Something so suburban, so simple, had filled her with delightful anticipation.
It was everything she'd never had as a child, everything she longed for. Growing up with parents who fought, separated, got back together only to start all over again, and a mother who barely spoke to the extended family, she'd longed for a normal Christmas, filled with family, laughter and lazy conversation. Instead, they were stuck in a hospital, and her husband hated her. Or, if he didn't, he was giving a good impression of it.
The door to the room swung wider, and Brad's doctor stepped inside, a clipboard in his hands. He studied the page a moment, then regarded the room with a smile.
"Good morning, Brad, good morning, Meg, Sharon, Des… How are we all on this Christmas Eve?"
For the first time in an hour, Brad's eyes shifted from the nonexistent spot on the wall and moved to study the doctor's face.
"We're doing well today, thanks, Dr Benson," Meg replied. "Brad ate some breakfast, and I found eggnog in the cafeteria."
"That's good news."
Brad's eyes seemed to darken; his lips shrank into one thin line. He wanted to say something, make an angry retort but was holding back in front of the doctor, Meg could tell. He'd spent the past week, at least whenever he was conscious, either in complete silence or spitting angry words at her and his parents. She linked her hands together, her fingers twisting.
Dr Benson moved close to the bed and began fixing a blood pressure sleeve around Brad's arm. He studied Brad as he worked.
"How are you feeling today, Brad?"
Brad huffed. "Same."
"No changes?"
Brad shook his head.
The doctor ran through a series of tests. When he pulled back the covers to press a small instrument to the soles of Brad's bare feet, Meg held her breath. She watched, eyes wide, waiting to see some reaction, a movement, anything to show the swelling in his back had gone down.
When the tests were complete, the doctor slid Brad's covers back over his legs and sat on the end of the bed with a smile.
"You're looking good, Brad. Your stats have improved, the infection we were fighting is gone, and you're getting stronger every day. We'll be able to let you go home before too much longer."
Sharon's hand flew to cover her mouth.
"Really, doc?" Des asked, standing all of a sudden.
"There's some physiotherapy still to do, but yes. I'm happy with your progress. But there's something we need to talk about today, Brad. I'd like to do it in private, if that's okay with you."
Brad shook his head. "No, they can stay. I've got nothing to hide from them."
The doctor nodded. "Fine, if that's what you'd like."
"It is."
"As you've no doubt realised, the swelling along your spine is going down. You're on the way to recovery. However, you still haven't gotten any feeling back in your legs and feet. From the hips down, you continue to experience paralysis. I'm afraid, from what I'm seeing, the impact of your injuries may be permanent."
Silence followed his statement.
Sharon looked at her husband. He moved to her and slipped an arm around her waist.
Meg's thoughts froze. She couldn't process what Dr Benson was saying. Permanent? That couldn't be right. He'd been telling them for over a week the swelling was impacting on his nerves, his muscles' responses. She'd been concerned but not worried - it would resolve in time. That was what they'd all said. It would resolve. There was a risk, of course, she'd heard the words, but she hadn't listened, had clung instead to the idea of them getting through this, going home to restart their lives together with the horror of the accident behind them. This couldn't be happening. There must be a mistake.
Her gaze flicked to Brad's face. He stared at his feet, two lumps beneath the covers, unmoving.
Dr Benson was talking again, but Meg couldn't seem to focus on the words enough to understand what he was saying.
Brad's gaze met hers for an instant, then clouded with anger. His lips curled into a sneer. He reached out a hand and slapped the cartons of eggnog. The one she'd opened flew across the room, splatte
ring the beverage across the floor and up the wall. The other cartons landed with several thunks.
Sharon gasped, hid her head in Des's shoulder. Des's eyes glimmered, his lower lip trembled. He swallowed as his gaze landed on his son's reddened face.
Dr Benson stopped talking, stood and wiped his hands down the length of his white coat.
Meg felt tears rising, her throat tightening. She couldn't cry in front of Brad; it only made him worse, angrier somehow. He hated to see her cry. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, holding her emotions at bay, then ran from the room.
Outside she leaned against the wall, heaving to catch her breath. It wasn't fair, wasn't right. He was young, fit, strong. He was a professional surfer; it was what he loved, what he spent most of his time doing.
Tears welled and coursed down her cheeks. She had to be strong for him, but outside of the room, she'd allow herself this moment to be weak, to be afraid. She buried her face in her hands.
A few moments later, someone walked from the room. They hesitated beside her, and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Dr Benson standing there, a look of compassion warming his face.
"It's not the end of the world, Meg. I know it seems that way now. You're young, these things can feel, in the moment, like they're everything. But they're not. Brad is otherwise a healthy, young man. He'll have to learn how to navigate the world again, but the two of you can still have a full and happy life together."
She rubbed her hands over her face, the tears drying beneath her palms. "We had so many dreams…travel, adventure, children…"
"In all likelihood, there'll still be children…if you want them. And the other things too.”
She studied the doctor's face, warm brown eyes, long, pointed nose, thin lips with the slightest tilt of a smile lighting up one corner.
"Really?"
He nodded and patted her shoulder gently. "Yes, it's all a possibility, it might be more difficult, but it's not impossible. I know it's a lot to take in right now, and you feel as though your world has come crashing down around you, but you both have a decision to make - will you face this with courage and get on with your lives, or will you let it knock you down and keep you there?"
