Home. My house in Jefferson is a 1920s bungalow built right on the lake. I’ve spent the last two years remodeling it, and it’s just about perfect. I did most of the work myself, much to the annoyance of my mother. And David. Everything I do lately seems to annoy David.
I walk up the narrow path to the small weatherboard cottage that I’ve rented for the next few months. It’s about as far away as you can get from the type of house you’d expect a Preston to live in, and that’s just fine by me. The pale green paint is peeling in places and the garden is overgrown. It’s like no house I’ve ever lived in but strangely, it already feels like home. I knew the second I saw it that it was where I wanted to start my new life. I open the front door and step inside, immediately stripping off my wet jacket, sweatshirt and pants. I pull a long cardigan off the coat hook and wrap it around me, lifting my hair quickly into a messy bun. I look down at my feet and sigh. Not only are my feet completely numb, but now my Ugg boots are ruined. I kick them off and pad over the wooden floor and down the hall. The house is warm and there are noises coming from the kitchen, and that can only mean one thing.
“Oh my God! You’re saturated!” screams Eleanor from behind the kitchen island. She’s cooking something that smells like warmth and comfort.
“Yeah I know,” I say, sitting down on one of the stools. “It’s raining outside.”
“Ha ha ha,” she says as she chops a carrot into miniature cubes. “You could get sick.”
I roll my eyes at her, and she laughs. We both know that a cold is a virus contracted through contact, not bad weather.
“So where were you anyway?” she says. “I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in.”
I shake my head and gratefully accept the cup of hot tea that she passes me.
“I was at The Sea Shack. I wanted an ice cream. A bit of a ‘cheer up’ kind of thing.”
“Oh,” she says, suddenly serious. “You’ll be ok here Hart. You’ll love this town once you settle in.”
I look at the top of her blonde head as she looks down and continues to chop the vegetables. She’s such a sweet, beautiful person. But she really has no idea what I’m going through. Eleanor and I have been inseparable since we met at a gifted children’s summer camp when we were six. We shared a house all through university, chaperoned by an ever-present woman named Barbara who was paid very well by my parents for the inconvenience. And although we still talk every day, we’ve led very different lives since we graduated at 16. For Eleanor, university was all about acquiring knowledge and challenging her brain. For me, it was just a stepping stone to a bigger life. After college, I went straight into the lab at my dad’s company while Eleanor backpacked around Europe for a year with her sister. Now she’s a second-grade teacher, and she says she couldn’t be happier.
“This needs an hour on low,” she says as she scoops the last of the vegetables into the pot. “I’ll see you later.”
“You’re going?” I say, standing up. “You don’t have to; we could watch a movie or something.”
She looks at me and smiles. “You’ll be fine Hart. You’re just not used to having any time to yourself. That big brain of yours deserves a holiday. This will be really good for you.”
She gathers her things and waves goodbye. I spend the next few hours pacing through my house, going from room to room and back again as I try to figure out what I’m going to do about the water samples from Bridal Falls. I walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator. A small plastic container sits on the bottom shelf, carefully hidden behind two enormous jars of pickles. I pull it out with a sigh and open the lid. Two small sample tubes with Preston Ind. stickers stuck to the side are sitting there innocently. To anyone else they wouldn’t look like anything much, but I know that those few ounces of water have the power to tear my family apart. I spend the rest of the night lying on my back, staring at the ceiling as my mind searches for a way for me to fix this mess without hurting anyone. Sometime around 5 am I fall into a fitful sleep, having finally come to the realization that it can’t be done.
Chapter Four
Crew
Jake opens the passenger door of my Jeep and climbs into the seat next to me.
“Ready to go?” he asks as he pulls the seatbelt across his body and clicks it into the lock. I don’t answer him for a second and I guess he notices that something is wrong because he stops fiddling with the radio and looks at me. He’s expecting me to say something, but I’m so damn tired and the last thing I feel like doing is talking about it. I just want to get this over and done with.
“Hey man, are you ok?” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If this is too hard for you, we can go another time. It’s cool.”
I rest my head back and close my eyes. The words I want to say are right on the tip of my tongue. I can feel them dancing there, daring me to say them. But instead I sigh and say, “I want to go. I’m just tired. Long flight.” I open an eye and see him nod in understanding.
“Seriously dude, we don’t have to do this every time you come into town, if you’re not up to it then we can just..”
I can’t take it anymore. Why does he have to be so understanding all the time? Isn’t he angry? Because I can’t seem to help being pissed off. I slam my fist against the steering wheel and turn to him.
“I said I wanted to go. So can we just stop talking about it and drive over there already?”
I feel bad even before the last word leaves my mouth.
“Whatever man,” he says and looks out the window. He’s acting pissed, which is what he does to cover up when he’s feeling hurt.
“Jake,” I say, “I’m sorry, man. Shit. I’m really tired, and a bit hung-over. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He looks at me and nods once, and I know that me acting like an asshole has already been forgotten. That’s the thing about Jake O’Reilly; once he calls you his friend he’ll forgive you anything. I turn the key and the Jeep roars to life.
“Man, isn’t it time you upgraded or something? You’ve had this thing since high school, and it was a piece of crap even then.”
I look over at him and grin. There’s no way I’m getting rid of my Jeep, and he knows it. The rain is really coming down now, so I flick on my wipers and slowly make my way out of the car park.
“Your dad meeting us there?” I ask as we pull out onto the road. There’s a girl up ahead running through the puddles in a huge blue raincoat. I wonder if it’s the girl from The Sea Shack, but she has the hood up so I can’t see her face.
“He’s not coming this time bro,” Jake says. I look over at him and raise my eyebrows. Jake’s dad always comes with us.
“He’s visiting Mom in the hospital. She’s starting a new treatment tonight.”
“I’m sorry man,” I say, feeling like shit, because I’ve been sitting in the car for ten minutes now, and I haven’t asked about his mom once. He shrugs and starts fiddling with the radio again. We drive the rest of the way in silence and when we get there, it’s still raining too hard to get out. I park the car in the same space I always use and kill the engine.
“It’s too wet,” Jake says, scratching his knee through his jeans. “At least we came. That’s what counts, I guess.”
I look out through the windscreen and the driving rain to the trees on the other side of the clearing.
“Fuck it.”
I swing open my door and climb out, not even bothering to run through it. I’m going to end up wet anyway. It’s only a short walk. Jake chose this spot because it has a view of the ocean, and when she was alive there was no other place she’d rather be.
“Hey,” Jake says as he comes up next to me. He bends down and wipes an old leaf off the gravestone with his hand. “Crazy to think she would have been 26 next month.”
“She loved her birthday,” I whisper, but I’m not sure he hears me because the rain is coming down like bullets.
“She hated sharing it, though,” he laughs. “When we were kids she always made Mo
m bake two birthday cakes. She said that just because she had a stinky twin brother it didn’t mean she shouldn’t have her own cake with pink frosting.”
I smile sadly and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
“Eight years is a long time man,” he says, looking at me. I know what he’s trying to say, but I don’t want to hear it. I turn around and start walking back to the Jeep.
“Crew!” Jake shouts through the rain. “Crew! Aren’t you going to visit him too?”
I pretend I don’t hear him and pick up my pace until I’m back at the Jeep, fumbling in my pocket for the keys. When I get inside my whole body starts to shake. My teeth are rattling in my head, and my fingers are trembling too hard for me to get the key in the ignition. I sit on my hands and tell myself it’s just the cold. Jake opens the car door a second later and jumps into his seat. We sit in silence for a few moments, me because I don’t want to talk about her and him because he’s giving me a chance to calm down before we drive. When my heart slows to normal and the feeling returns to my fingers, I slide the key into the ignition and start up the engine. Jake waits until we’re out of the car park before saying, “She would want you to move on you know.”
There’s really nothing I can say to that because as much as I hate it, deep down I know he’s right.
Chapter Five
Hartley
After breakfast the following morning I’m looking around my small kitchen to the picture window and the piles of shopping bags and boxes on the floor. I didn’t have time to pack anything before I left so I’ve been shopping like crazy since I arrived. The problem is, I’ve been avoiding unpacking any of it, so now it looks like I’m holding a yard sale in my kitchen. I resolve to deal with it, right after a bath.
I haven’t told Eleanor, but the bath is the main reason I chose this house. It’s an old claw foot number painted flamingo pink, and I absolutely love it. This is the kind of bath I’d love to put in my house in Jefferson; only I know exactly what David’s face would look like if I suggested it. Even Eleanor doesn’t understand why I’d want to live in a run down sea cottage like this one. She’s always saying that if she had my money she’d want a house with marble floors and solid gold tap ware. I don't tell her, but that's just the type of thing someone without money would say.
I run a deep bubble bath and step in, sighing in pleasure at feeling warm all the way through for the first time in days. I’m content for maybe, four or five seconds before my mind starts ticking again. I’m thinking about the data I haven’t finished analyzing at the lab and the hair appointment I forgot to cancel, and the fact that I didn’t even call my mother to tell her I was leaving. Then I think about my sister Marta and all of the wedding related appointments I’ve missed and then I can see my dad’s face in my mind, the way he looked in the boardroom the last time I saw him. Suddenly the bath is too hot, and I feel like I’m suffocating. I sit up too quickly, my heart racing in my chest and my head swimming. I can’t do this. I’m going crazy sitting here. I decide to go for a walk.
The rain has stopped and the wind blowing the hair off my face is no more than a gentle reminder of the storm that hit the coast the day before. There’s even a little bit of sunlight pushing through the clouds. I’ve changed into a pair of jeans and a vintage navy and white striped t-shirt that I stole from my mom’s closet. I turn left at my gate, toward the ocean, and try to keep my mind calm and empty as I walk down the road. I reach the sand in minutes and decide to kick off my shoes. I leave them on a fence post, hesitating for a second because, well, they’re Chanel. I shrug and put them down anyway. I climb over the dunes and look down the beach. There are a couple of surfers braving the massive waves that climb over my head before crashing on the shore, but other than them, I’m alone. I wonder briefly if Crew is one of the guys out in the water and then quickly dismiss the thought. I’m not going to allow myself to think about that guy. Hopefully, he gets back on whatever plane he arrived on and leaves before I have to see him again.
I start down the beach, picking up shells along the way to line up along my bathroom windowsills. The sea is so loud and immediate; it drowns out any thoughts my brain tries to conjure up and I’m thankful. For the first time since I left Jefferson, I have some peace. I’m enjoying the smell of the ocean and the feel of the sand on my feet when I look up and scan my eyes down the beach. A couple of guys are running next to each other toward me. They look serious about it. They’re running hard. Neither one is talking or joking around. When they see me, the taller one slows a little and says something to the other guy. I can’t make out any detail in their faces because I forgot to put my glasses on, but I can see that they’re not wearing any shirts and that they’re both sweaty and packed with muscle. The shorter one looks lean and fit, but the taller guy is huge. His shoulders and arms pump back and forth as he runs in strong, powerful strides. I blush a little and look out toward the sea to cool my face. I may be short sighted, but I never said I was blind.
When I look back, the lean looking guy has turned around and is jogging back up the beach. The tall one has slowed to a walk and is coming right toward me. I look behind me to see if there’s someone else he might be walking to, but there’s no one there. Then he reaches a big hand up and pushes the dark hair off his face, and I realize, far too late, that I know him. And there’s absolutely nowhere for me to hide.
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About the Author
Rebecca Addison has been writing stories for as long as she can remember. She always considered herself to be a children’s fiction writer until one day when she found herself writing a novel by mistake. A chapter shared with friends for a bit of fun gradually turned into Still Waters, her debut novel, and a best selling contemporary romance. Rebecca lives with her husband, two children and two cats on the edge of the forest in New South Wales, Australia. She is currently working on the second book in the ‘Ohana series, set in Austin, Texas.
The 'Ohana Tree Page 28