Fighting Absolution

by Kate McCarthy

  We keep walking until we find a rowdy outdoor bar with twinkling fairy lights and tables crammed with patrons. The menus are written in chalk on big boards, and you have to order your food at the counter. It’s much more my style, and the way Jamie’s shoulders loosen as we wait at the bar for a table tells me it’s much more hers too.

  There’s lingering tension after last night, so I aim for small talk while we share an extra-large plate of nachos and a pitcher of margaritas. “So … you want kids? You never said.”

  “Kids can be cool. I love their innocence and their honesty.”

  I reach for another corn chip. “How many you want?” I ask, before tossing it in my mouth and crunching down.

  Jamie finishes her drink. She tops up my glass before pouring herself another. “None.”

  I pause my chewing, unable to fathom the desire to be childless. “None? Kids are great, Murphy. You get to do fun stuff with them that you can’t do as an adult, like animated movies, water slides, toy stores. If you’re sitting down, you’ve got someone to play fetch for you. And you get to have macaroni and cheese all the time because that’s all they eat.”

  Her expression is aghast. “Brooks, I fear for the health of your future children.”

  I laugh. “Seriously though. Those chubby little faces. The way their eyes light up when they see you, as if you’re their whole world.” My voice turns wistful. I can’t help it. “Their little arms wrapping around your neck at night while they beg you for another bedtime story. I can’t wait.”

  Jamie hesitates. “I can’t be in the army and have kids, Brooks.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Deployments. Reassignments. That’s no life for a family. For kids. I’m not one of those women who can do it all.”

  “You don’t need to do it all. You’ll have a partner by your side doing it with you.”

  She snorts as if it’s something that will never happen. “Relationships aren’t for me, Brooks. There won’t be any partner.”

  Not if it can’t be Jake. She doesn’t speak the words, but I see them written across her face.

  It doesn’t take a psychologist to understand that the men in her life always leave. She’s trying to protect herself, and I get that, but knowing I’m a contributor to her current state of mind makes me feel like an ass. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do,” she says and picks up her drink, gulping half of it down in one swallow.

  I’m hoping time will change her mind, but Jamie has Jake up on a pedestal, which is worrying. I mean, the man wasn’t entirely perfect. There’s the whole noodle thing. And who knows, maybe he would have run faster than Usain Bolt at the first sign of commitment. Maybe he kicked small puppies when no one was watching. I know he donated to the RSPCA once a year, but it could have been guilt money.

  “Okay, so maybe you wind up a sad old cat lady, but there’s nothing in the rule book that says you have to re-enlist,” I say, trying for diplomacy. I stuff a loaded corn chip in my mouth, chewing and swallowing while she shakes her head at me, her own mouth full. “The army doesn’t have to be your whole life. You don’t have to be a combat medic forever. Do something else.”

  Jamie swirls a chip in the bean cause, her chin jutting out a little. “I don’t want to do anything else.”

  Stubborn little ass. I refrain from reaching across the table and shaking some sense into her head because she’d probably karate-chop me into next week. I settle for changing the subject, delving into deeper, darker waters with my next question. “What about your mum? You don’t talk about her.”

  Jamie picks up her drink and takes a large sip. “That’s because there’s nothing to talk about. She signed away all her parental rights for a wad of cash that she probably blew through in the first year after she left. Last I heard she was somewhere in Europe. She emails occasionally.” Jamie shrugs. “But I don’t read them.”

  I open my mouth to speak, and she cuts in over the top of me. “And don’t go telling me I should. I don’t have unresolved issues when it comes to my mother. I made my peace with her leaving. Some people just aren’t born to be parents, and that’s something I actually understand.”

  I open my mouth again and her brows snap together. “Why are you attacking me with your probing questions, Brooks? Why don’t you tell me about your dad, huh? You never talk about him either.”

  “Well, if you ever let me get a word in, I was about to tell you that I get the whole thing with your mother.”

  “Oh.” A sheepish expression crosses her face as she goes to refill my glass. I put a hand over the top. “I’m driving. Plus I have work tomorrow. You finish it.”

  She tops her glass, emptying the pitcher. “So, your dad?”

  “He lives in the Northern Territory. He’s remarried. Has young kids.”

  “So you actually do have brothers and sisters?”

  “Yeah, two brothers. I’ve never met them. Dad left the first time Mum got cancer. I guess he didn’t envision his future being endless hospital visits, trips to chemo, and a house smelling of antiseptic because we always had to be careful of germs. Mum banning every type of unhealthy food from the kitchen was the last straw. They fought. He yelled something about feeling imprisoned. Then he left.”

  Jamie reaches across, taking my hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  Dad leaving is old news. Just like her, I’ve made my peace. “We’re better off without people like that in our lives.”

  “Agreed.”

  With dinner finished, we pay at the counter and walk back to my bike. Jamie climbs on the back after it settles beneath my heavy weight. Her arms slide around my middle as the engine roars to life, her hands linking at my waist. I place a hand on both of hers and turn my head, giving her a sideways glance. All I catch with my eyes is her profile, but there’s a smile on her lips. One of anticipation.

  “You good?” I ask loudly.

  She grins. “Giddyup, cowboy.”

  I laugh, feeling carefree and happy for the first time in weeks, and with it comes an overwhelming sense of guilt. Guilt that I’m still alive and Jake isn’t. That I’m here with Jamie when it should be him instead. But spending time with her has made the loss easier to bear. She makes me realise how important her friendship is to me now that I have it back. It’s something I’ll never let go of again.

  I take the scenic route back to the apartment, navigating the beach streets, giving Jamie time to appreciate the ride.

  “I don’t want this to end,” she says at the next red light, her voice fighting to be heard and husky from the chilled night air.

  “Me either.”

  But the light turns green, and minutes later I’m pulling up out the front of Erin’s building. I tug my helmet free and glance up to the ninth floor. The lights are on, the blinds open. I switch off the engine. “Wood and Erin stayed in tonight, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she says, climbing off, handing me the spare helmet. “Wood has smarts. He’s helping Erin with her business plan for the retreat she wants to buy. The one I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Business plan.” I waggle my brows. “That’s what the kids are calling it these days?”

  “Brooks!” She jabs me in the shoulder. “You can take the smallest thing and turn it into an innuendo.”

  I grin. “That’s my superpower.”

  “Not everything’s about sex.”

  “It should be.”

  She rolls her eyes, but I can see the amusement in the pull of her lips. “They’re just friends.”

  “That’s not how it looked last night.”

  “How would you know how it looked last night? You were with them all of five minutes.”

  “Five minutes was long enough to see the way they communicated with each other without even talking. Their body language was positive, Murphy. Erin might have been in a pissed-off mood, but the vibes between them were so bright even I could see the sparks, and I can be pretty obtuse to
that kind of thing sometimes.”

  “You’re seeing things.”

  Me thinks she doth protest too much, but it won’t be me getting the fright of my life to wake and find Wood playing hide-the-sausage with Erin.

  My phone pings from the bedside table. I lean up on my elbow and peek over the edge of my paperback, checking the screen. It’s lit up in the dark, a bright neon light that makes me squint.

  Little Warrior: You awake?

  It’s almost midnight, which means I’ve been reading for an hour. A Shane “Scarecrow” Schofield book by Matthew Reilly. It’s intense. Scarecrow is a legendary Marine whose exploits make our jobs seem like a walk in the park. It’s farfetched fiction, but I can’t seem to put it down.

  Bear: No. I’m sleeping. Go away.

  It’s been a few days since our dinner, and tomorrow is the weekend. Well, it’s now, I guess, considering it’s Friday evening. My day was long—work and training. I’ve been in bed for an hour reading, doing my best to ignore the protest in my muscles every time I shift. My prone position has made them seize like rusty old bolts in an ancient, worn-out engine. It’s a shitty reminder that age is slowly creeping up on me.

  Bear: Unless you’re trained in the delightful art of massage. Then come on over.

  Knowing full well she won’t be borrowing Erin’s car to come over and massage my wonderfully muscled body, I toss my phone on the bed and go back to my book. I’m re-reading the same paragraph twice when my phone pings again.

  Little Warrior: What should I bring tomorrow?

  Bear: These are the questions that keep you up at night?

  Little Warrior: Actually, yes. They are.

  Erin waved an olive branch during the week, broaching the idea of a gathering (safety in numbers, I think). I met her halfway and organised a barbeque at the beach for tomorrow afternoon. She’s feeling remorse for her attack earlier in the week, and the idea is her attempt to make amends. To be honest, I don’t blame her for what she said. The timing might have been a bit shitty, but I appreciate her standing up for Jamie. Everyone can use a friend like that.

  Bear: Just bring whatever. Food. Booze.

  Little Warrior: I need specifics.

  Bear: Then I’m not your guy. Ask Wood. Or Erin.

  Little Warrior: What are you bringing?

  Bear: Food. Booze.

  Little Warrior: I hate you.

  Bear: You wound me.

  Little Warrior: Nothing wounds you. It’s like you’re made of Kevlar.

  Bear: If you’re referring to my abs, then yes, they’re hard and mighty. I’ll let you touch them tomorrow if you like.

  Little Warrior: All I did was ask a simple question …

  I take pity on her. I can be exasperating sometimes but it’s fun to tease, and Jamie makes it so easy. Ryan can complain about my shitty wisecracks until he’s blue in the face, but it keeps me from spiralling into a deep dark pit of despair and anger. Jake should be here. It’s so fucking unfair that he’s not. If I can just keep pretending to be the man I was before he died, then maybe one day it won’t hurt so much, and maybe the anger will fade.

  Bear: I’m bringing sausages, bread, and beer, so maybe you could bring some green stuff.

  Little Warrior: You mean a salad.

  Bear: That’s what I said. Maybe bring snacks too.

  There’ll be a few of us there, including the guys from my team—Monty, Tex, and Galloway. Ryan bailed out, and I know it’s because Finlay will be there.

  Little Warrior: Should I bring togs?

  Little Warrior: Never mind. It’s a beach. I’ll bring togs.

  Jamie hasn’t met Fin before, and she’s nervous. It won’t be easy for her. I know because it’s not easy for me. Jake and Fin are incredibly similar in appearance. It’s hard to look at her and not see Jake too. It makes the loss even harder. It’s a conscious effort to breathe around it.

  Our team shoulders the heavy weight of blame for losing Jake, but Ryan is suffering worst of all. The thought of looking Fin in the eye, of apologising for letting her down, is almost intolerable. I know, because it made me physically sick for days.

  But Fin is just like her brother—kind, compassionate, and wise. There’s no blame. Just an incredible pain and a desperate need to talk. To share stories that bring an ache to my chest. To keep his memory alive.

  Bear: You’ll be fine. It’ll be fun, ok? And if it’s not, I’ll just toss you in the ocean and that will at least ensure one of us is having a good time.

  Little Warrior: You’re such an ass.

  Bear: You’re right. You need to choose better friends.

  Little Warrior: I would, but you’re like a barnacle. I can’t seem to pry you loose.

  Bear: You can’t see it, but I’m actually crying right now.

  Little Warrior: Goodnight.

  Bear: You’re welcome for the help btw.

  Bear: Hello?

  22

  JAMIE

  Kyle walks over when we pull into the parking lot, taking the space next to his bike. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of board shorts and flip flops, and I can’t help but notice the hair on his chest. It glints blond in the sun.

  He rubs his fingers through it when he reaches us, catching the direction of my gaze. “Wanna touch it?” he teases. “It feels better than it looks.”

  “It looks like you got a piece of carpet and glued it to your chest,” I retort as I step out of the car, holding my container of green bean and avocado salad. It doesn’t. The hair isn’t thick. It looks manly and … nice. Not that I’d ever admit it. Kyle’s head is big enough. “So I’ll pass.”

  “You’re so mean,” he complains as I bump the car door closed with my butt.

  “I can’t help it,” I reply as he takes the salad container from my hands. “You bring out the immaturity in me.”

  “I make you feel young,” he corrects and peers through the clear Tupperware lid. “Wow, Jamie. This looks really good.”

  His compliment eases some of my nervous tension. I was going to make a Greek salad and changed my mind. Olives and red onion aren’t for everyone. But we had no avocadoes, so I sent Wood out to buy some early this morning, trying three different stores before he found ones that were ripe enough. “You think?”

  “You’d be surprised at how much I think. I do it almost every day.”

  I’m laughing at his jest when I open the back-passenger door and reach in for the canvas bag that holds all of Erin’s picnic paraphernalia: paper napkins, plates, plastic wine glasses, seasonings, and sauces. It also contains a nice bottle of sauvignon blanc that took me fifteen minutes to choose. I lug the bag over my shoulder while Kyle greets Wood and Erin. He does it with no reservations towards my old school friend. The man can’t seem to hold a grudge. It’s impressive. Kyle is a good person. A really good one. And I’m feeling lucky to have him back in my life.

  I slide a baseball cap down on my head and link my arm with his as we walk down to the picnic area by the beach, Wood and Erin following behind us. Both the sky and water are crystal blue, the sand white, and the grass thick and green. “It’s a perfect day.” And just like that, Jake’s grinning face swims in my mind, reminding me that he doesn’t get to do this anymore—swim at the beach, hang out with friends, and grill meat on a barbeque—and my heart aches. “An almost perfect day.”

  Kyle unlinks his arm and slides it around my shoulders, jostling me as we walk towards the grill he and his friends managed to nab on a busy Saturday afternoon. “Jake lived for days like this.” His voice is gruff. “He’d be glad we’re here doing this. Enjoying the beauty in the world. But yeah, there won’t be any more perfect days, Little Warrior. Just days like this one that remind us to be grateful we’re alive.”

  I slide my arm around his lower back and squeeze tightly, grateful for the comfort he offers and wanting to offer my own. It’s all I can do. I don’t know what else to say.

  “Is she here?” I ask, my eyes skimming over the group as we get cl
oser.

  Kyle nods his head towards the back of the grill, where the grass meets the sand.

  Finlay is sitting on the ground, arms curled around her knees as she stares out at the water. Her frame is slender, her hair fine and pale. She turns her head in our direction, and I falter. If it wasn’t for Kyle’s arm, I’d have tripped over my own feet and tumbled face-first into the grass.

  “She looks just like him,” I breathe, trying not to stare. But I do anyway, and my heart thumps hard in my chest. “Oh, Kyle.” I turn my head away, blinking for just a moment, glad my eyes are hidden behind my sunglasses.

  He sets my salad down and takes the bag from my shoulder, placing it beside it, while I take a moment to pull myself together. When I’m good, I turn back and force a smile, greeting Jake’s old team, introducing them to Erin because they already know Wood. Two of them are married, and we’re introduced to their wives. One has a baby. A little girl called Olivia who looks about twelve months old, maybe less. She’s dressed in a pair of pink bathers with a cute ruffled skirt. Kyle snatches her up. “There’s my precious little princess,” he croons and blows a raspberry into her neck.

  Olivia giggles and looks at Kyle as if he hung the moon. One of her chubby hands slaps his cheek when he makes kissy faces at her. “You’re my favourite girl, Ollie.”

  “You better not let Monty hear you call her Ollie,” warns Monty’s wife, Wynn. “He hates it.”

  Kyle grins. “Now you’re just giving me ammunition. Hey, Monty!” he calls out across the group. Monty is chatting with Wood and Erin, my friends already taking their seats in the portable chairs we brought, beers in hand like two peas in a cosy little pod. For a brief second I wonder. Then I push the thought away, giving Kyle a dirty look he doesn’t even notice. He’s the one who put the thought in my head with all his talk of vibes and sparks.

  Monty stops talking and looks over.

  “I’m taking Ollie for a swim,” Kyle hollers his way.

  His brows snap together. “Mate, call her Ollie one more time …”