Fly In Fly Out

by Evie Snow

  He regarded her with amazement. “And your parents were fine with this? I mean you were what? Eighteen and working offshore. Surely Ken would have had something to say about that.” Ken Blaine was a pretty traditional bloke when it came to women working.

  Jo’s warm expression evaporated. “Yeah. Let’s just say it wasn’t an issue. Anyway, the rest is pretty boring. I finished my degree. Got a job as a mud engineer here in Australia and Asia, then accepted a job in Mauritania when I was twenty-six. So there you have it.”

  The entrees arrived, and after they appreciated the ornate display of tuna sashimi, Jo scowled, picking up her chopsticks. “Change topic. I don’t want to talk about work anymore. And I know that’s not what you want to hear but it’s putting me off my food. Anyway, I just quit, so it’s not my job anymore.”

  Stephen felt a jolt of happiness go down his spine. The only cloud in the picture was that she hadn’t said anything until now. “You quit? When?”

  “Today, actually.” Jo grimaced. “I’m not looking forward to my last shift. My boss is a bastard.”

  “Yeah? When were you going to tell me all this?” Stephen demanded.

  Jo smiled wryly. “Tonight. So you can stop giving me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that makes you look like a constipated duck.”

  “A what?”

  They teased each other for a while, enjoying their meal and finishing almost the entire bottle of wine before Stephen brought the topic back to where he wanted it.

  “So have you thought about what you’re going to do now that you’ve quit your job? I mean, I love my job. Can’t imagine what I’d do if I couldn’t do it.”

  “And you’re good at it,” Jo added.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I mean . . . yeah, I’m good at it.” He shrugged at Jo’s knowing look. “Anyway, you must have something you want to do.”

  Jo played with her chopsticks for a while. “Well . . . you can’t laugh, alright?”

  Stephen felt an intense rush of tenderness. “Come on, sweetheart. Spill the beans.”

  “Well, it’s sort of silly, but it’s something every chemical engineer in university dreams of being at one stage or another.”

  “What?” Stephen asked. “I’m not a chemical engineer. Fill me in.”

  “Well, I’ve thought about starting up a microbrewery,” Jo said, eyes focused on the bowl of rice in front of her. “I’ve got the capital, and I have an old friend from university who is a brewmaster. A good one who would love to be a part of setting something up.” She peeked up at him shyly.

  Stephen had to smile at that. “So why aren’t you doing it?”

  “I’m scared.” Jo shrugged self-consciously. “It’s a daft idea, really. Just something I’ve been playing around with, nothing—”

  Stephen cut her off. “It’s not daft. Hey! You’re talking to a guy whose dad decided to plant a few grapevines one day just to see if they’d make a buck.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have what your dad has.”

  “What would that be?”

  “You,” Jo said simply, meeting his gaze and holding it. “If it weren’t for you, the wine-making side of Evangeline’s Rest would still be tiny. You’ve made the label international, and you’ve promoted it Australia-wide. I bet the winery makes more than the rest of the farm nowadays because of you.”

  It did, a hell of a lot more, but Stephen wasn’t going to say it. “How do you know I’m responsible for all that?”

  She averted her eyes. “I’ve kept up with you over the years.”

  “How?”

  “W-well, it’s common knowledge.” She was blushing. “And I mean, I’m friends with Scott.”

  “You been stalking me, Jo Blaine?” he asked, unable to prevent amusement from dripping over his words.

  “No! I was just curious. You were the boss’s son, right? It’s natural I’d be interested. Anyway, I’d rather we didn’t talk about this. It’s kind of embarrassing.” Jo played with the food on her plate for a bit then took a sip of wine.

  “Don’t stop there,” Stephen said, both intrigued and exasperated. He had a gut feeling all this was related to the photo he’d seen in Jo’s room. The one she’d hidden. But she wouldn’t talk about it, didn’t want him to see it, and he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what she’d looked like back then.

  Jo shook her head. “Let’s just forget it. Tell me about you. What was it like to go to boarding school?”

  Stephen fought the urge to be stubborn and began talking, telling Jo about what it had been like to leave his dad and Angie for the first time, how much he’d enjoyed his schooling in the city, and how it had helped him decide he wanted to help out the winery in a white-collar capacity rather than physically working on the farm like Clayton. As they ate their meal, Jo hung off his every word, asking questions and impressing him repeatedly with how much she knew about him and his industry already. It only served to show how little he knew about her and left him feeling like he’d failed her somehow.

  Impulsively, he reached out and stroked Jo’s cheek.

  “You do have me,” he said before he could stop himself and then felt a little silly at the sentimentality implicit in those words.

  Her eyes, huge with surprise, met his. “What?”

  “You do have me. If you want to set up a business, a brewery, I’ll help you out,” he said, smoothly covering up his gaffe before taking another sip of wine.

  She gave him a searching look before her face split into a brilliant smile that left him feeling like he’d climbed a mountain.

  “Thanks. That means a lot,” she said, voice catching. Then she cleared her throat nervously and changed the topic to what they’d have for dessert.

  * * *

  Jo’s dad burst through the apartment door, rifle in hand, clothes splattered with blood, Shirley’s blood. He screamed, not words, but a high-pitched hysterical wail, before raising the gun and firing. The bullet ripped through Stephen’s chest, blood spraying out as it exited his back before continuing its trajectory into Amy, hitting her in the forehead, shattering her skull, spattering blood all over Jo’s face and outstretched hands as she stood helpless, staring in horror.

  She opened her mouth to scream, tried to run towards her dad to stop him, but couldn’t move, couldn’t make a noise.

  Tears streaming down her face, she waited for her father to turn the gun on her, but instead, he just stood there, holding the rifle at his side, staring at her with blank, lifeless eyes.

  “This is your fault,” an accusing voice said from behind her. She spun around to see a fourteen-year-old Scott looking like he had the day he’d helped Amy and Jo leave home, finger pointing at Amy’s and Stephen’s lifeless bodies, expression full of hate.

  “Jo! Jo! Jesus Christ, we can’t do this every night. Jo.”

  Jo’s entire body jerked as she fought the paralysis stopping her from running.

  “JO!”

  She flailed her arms, connecting solidly with something soft. Stephen’s grunt of pain snapped her out of the nightmare.

  “Dammit! Watch that knee!” he yelped as she focused frantic eyes on his face.

  “Stephen?” She sat up suddenly, her breathing shallow and frantic.

  “Last time I looked,” he muttered, watching her warily. “Another nightmare?”

  Jo stared at him blankly before running shaking hands over her face, feeling a wetness that meant she’d been crying. “Yeah. Yeah. God! That was so real. So real,” she said faintly before noticing his hand clutching his stomach. Her breath caught in her lungs. It had been a dream. Surely it had been a dream. “Are you alright?”

  “As right as someone who’s just been sucker-punched in the gut and almost neutered can be. Remind me never to really piss you off,” he grouched, but his expression was worried. “Want to talk about it?”

  Jo was already shaking her head. “No, let’s just go back to sleep.”

>   “Ah. Sleep.” Stephen sighed. “Slight problem there, isn’t there? C’mon, Jo, tell me what’s going on. The first night was okay. Everyone gets nightmares now and then. The second night was pushing it, but fair enough. Five nights running is ridiculous. Look at you.” He swung his legs off the side of the bed and waved in her general direction. “You look like a ghost. I’m lying awake at night worrying about you. I’m not sleeping. You’re not sleeping. It’s crazy. This last week’s been tough.”

  “I’ve got to get a drink. I’ll be better after that. Maybe a cup of tea.”

  “Screw the tea!” Stephen snarled, shooting to his feet and stalking out of the room. She heard him clattering in the kitchen cupboards, doing what he had always done and making her a cup of tea like she asked—except this time he wasn’t gently asking her what was wrong.

  He returned a few moments later, tea sloshing over the rim of the mug as he thrust it at her. “Start talking.” His expression said that he wasn’t going to take any more bullshit.

  Jo took a sip of her tea then wrinkled her nose when she found it too hot. She leaned over and set it down on the bedside table before looking Stephen directly in the eyes. “It was just a nightmare, alright?”

  “Yep. That’s fine. So why are you having one every night? It’s like a goddamn war zone in this bed. Last night, I got woken up with a hook to my jaw. Tonight, I got thumped in the gut. You’re not doing any lasting damage, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’ve got a hell of a lot of questions and you keep avoiding the answers. I’m over it.”

  Jo looked down at his taut stomach. There didn’t appear to be any sign of bruising, but she felt sick at the thought of hurting him.

  “Come on, babe, talk to me,” Stephen said more calmly. “Maybe telling me whatever your nightmares are about will stop them from turning up again. You know, the whole better-out-than-in thing.”

  There was no way she could simply blurt out the whole repugnant tale about her childhood. Never mind the immediate risk of her dad’s retaliation if Stephen got her father fired, there was how Stephen would react to her. Would he be disgusted? Repulsed? Psycho-furious she’d lied to him? They hadn’t been together long enough for her to dump this kind of thing into the mix.

  As if reading her mind, Stephen sat down on the bed and put a large, warm hand on her shoulder, stilling the shivers running up and down her spine. “We’ve got something good here, Jo, but it’s not going to work if you don’t let me in. Hell, I don’t care about losing sleep. What’s killing me is that you’re keeping so much to yourself when I could be there for you.”

  She reached for him, and he pulled her instantly into a warm hug, bare skin on bare skin, so comforting—and so easy to pretend things were fine.

  “Come on, babe. Please.” It was the please that did it.

  Jo gripped him tightly against her before pushing away. His face was shadowed with worry, concern, and the ever-present frustration she knew was just waiting to break through.

  Seeing that, she made a decision. She couldn’t tell him everything, but maybe she could share a little of the reason behind her fears. Maybe that would be enough for now.

  “Stay here,” she said abruptly, letting go of him and sliding off the bed.

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to. I’m trying here, okay?” Her voice carried some of the fear she was feeling. God. She hoped she wasn’t making a major mistake.

  Stephen got the message and nodded. “Alright,” he said warily. “How long are you going to be? You’re not leaving or anything, are you?”

  “No . . . just wait here.” Feeling naked for the first time that night, Jo reached down and picked up one of Stephen’s discarded T-shirts, pulling it over her head in a swift movement.

  Stephen’s expression softened with relief. “Okay, as long as you need, babe.”

  “Thanks,” Jo said, because it felt like the right thing to say. She waited until he settled back on the bed and then made her way to her bedroom, her heart pounding a hole through her ribs the entire way.

  Jo slid the framed photograph from under her bed and hung it back on the wall. It had been too much to hope for that Stephen wouldn’t notice she’d hidden it away. He’d asked about it a few times during the last week, and now, a day before she was due to fly out to Mauritania for the last time, she’d finally come to the conclusion that her past was well and truly a part of her present, no matter how much she wanted to pretend that wasn’t the case.

  “Stephen, can you come in here?” she called. The way her voice cracked with nervousness made her wince.

  “Yeah. Sure.” In seconds, he was standing behind her, arms around her waist, pulling her back against his bare chest. After a while, she let herself relax, body molding into his, her head falling back until she felt the stubble on his cheek softly scratching her ear.

  “Want to tell me about it?” he asked after a while

  “No.”

  “You’re going to though, aren’t you?” he prompted.

  “Yeah. A bit of it.” Jo pulled away from him a little and turned until her eyes met his. “I don’t want to—can’t—tell you all of it right now.” She heard his sharply indrawn breath. “No, don’t argue, please. I just need you to understand that I will. Soon.”

  “When?” Stephen went still behind her.

  “Next time I’m home. I promise.” She tensed against him, waiting for a rejection.

  He stood completely still for an excruciatingly painful couple of seconds before heaving a sigh. “Tell me the story behind this photo and why you didn’t want me to see it.”

  Jo paused looking up at the picture. This was going to be harder than she thought.

  Stephen pointed at the boy in the photo. “Jo, this is me, right? It’s not like I didn’t know what you looked like then. Who you were then. Well, who everyone thought you were then. I know all about the “rabies” thing. I know you were poor. I know you looked different. I’m so sorry for being a part of that, but I can’t undo it as much as I want to. But at least you know I know a bit about what you went through, yeah?” He squeezed her reassuringly as he said the words, but that didn’t stop her from flinching. Didn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Stephen murmured. “I’m here for you.”

  A soft sob wrenched up from her chest, and she bowed her head.

  “Let it out, babe,” Stephen prompted again.

  “Look at the photo, Stephen. I mean look at it. I was a fat, revolting, ugly loser.”

  “If you thought you were so bad, why hang that”—Stephen gestured to the picture on the wall—“where you can see it every day?”

  “Because as pathetic as is sounds, that summer was the happiest in my entire childhood. Amy and I were out camping, and we met Scott that day. It was the first time I’d made a real friend, someone other than Amy who liked me, who accepted me.” Her voice caught and she took a moment to calm herself. “Ever since . . . ever since you stuck up for me to Jeff on the bus a few weeks before, I’d had this crush on you, and watching you that day . . . watching you with your family . . . I wished I could be a part of that. A part of you. You had it all. I know you lost your mum when you were a kid, but you had Angie. You had your dad and your uncle and your brothers and Rachael. A family.” She paused, gasping in a watery breath.

  “Hey. You had Amy and your parents,” Stephen said gruffly.

  Jo repressed a shudder. “Yeah, I had Amy and, later, Scott too. My parents? That’s complicated.”

  “What do you mean? I noticed you and your dad don’t get on.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Jo did shudder now.

  “I’m so sorry about that.”

  Jo felt her heart clench at the regret in Stephen’s tone. She knew he was blaming himself for causing some kind of rift, but she couldn’t put him straight. Not yet.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know. What happened that night after t
he party? What happened after you girls moved to Perth? You’ve never talked about that aunt you stayed with or said anything about that time other than how you went to uni and got your job. What happened?” Stephen asked quietly.

  Panic ballooned in Jo’s chest until her lungs felt like they didn’t have any room. “This is way too heavy for me right now. I can’t do this. Let me go. This is so messed up. Stephen, I can’t do this. It’s not going to work.” She tried to pull away from him again, but he didn’t let her.

  “What are you trying to say, Jo?” His arms were steel bands around her waist.

  “What am I trying to say?” Jo asked herself, tears falling freely down her face now. “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say, to ask, is what is going on? Why are we here right now? How is it that Stephen Hardy ends up with Jo Blaine? No, Rabies Blaine, the fat kid, the poor girl in secondhand clothes everyone makes fun of. How does that happen? Everything works for you. You have everything. All I have is this messed-up past and half a family.”

  “Hey. Not true and you know it, you’re just too exhausted right now to see it. We’re not the kids in the picture. That was years ago. Eighteen years, for Christ’s sake. People can change. Situations can change. You can change. I can change. Is it so hard to believe that I might want to know everything about you now? That I might care?”

  Jo made a noise of denial, but Stephen continued.

  “I was an immature little prick back then, Jo. When I think of the way I treated you that time when you came to our Christmas party with Scott and what happened after . . . I feel so ashamed. And you know the stupid thing? All I could think of that night was how Scott got someone so hot when I was still a virgin. You know I followed Scott when he met you at the dam his first night on the farm that year?”

  Stunned, Jo shook her head.

  “Well, I did, and all I saw was my cousin with a nearly naked hot chick. I was so jealous, I could have killed him. It made it even worse when I realized it was you, and you’d been under my nose for years,” he said, his voice incredulous.