by Max Henry
I snap my head in the opposite direction as I sit up straight, surprised to find Jasper positioned on my right side. He looks awkward as hell with his long legs crossed on the floor in front of him, yet his face is nothing but patience.
Where’d the bitch go?
I nod and run the back of my hands under my eyes, hoping that the waterproof mascara Carver convinced me to buy at least stood up to its reputation.
“Come on.” He stands and offers me a hand, which I accept.
Jasper and I find a quiet spot out in the middle of the large lawn that stretches between the curved driveway and road. He places his jacket down on the ground, ever the gentleman, and indicates I should sit under a large oak that spans most of the lawn.
“Makes it real, doesn’t it?” He drops beside me, arms hooked around his knees, and squints up at the bright orange display the late afternoon sun makes over the roof of the parlour.
“Yeah.”
“I wish I had some words for you, Meg, some inspiring quote that’s going to set it all right for you and erase the heartache. But the truth is that loss hurts like a bitch, and it never really goes away. It’s a splinter that you don’t quite get all out: it no longer hurts all the time, but press a little too hard on the sore spot and the pain returns as fresh as the day you got it.”
“Where’d you read that?” I tease, the insightful words sounding odd from someone as usually aloof as him.
He shrugs. “You’re not the only one who’s lost important people in their life.”
“I know,” I whisper, feeling well and truly put in my place as I think of Carver and his mum. “It’s just… well, you aren’t usually so philosophical.”
“I know.”
“Where’s Amelia? I saw her with you.”
He glances past the building to the adjacent car park. “Told her to wait in the Corolla.”
“And she did?” Good little bitch.
“Where’s Brett?” he counters. “Thought he’d be following you around like a rabid pit bull after the other night.”
I bristle at the venom laced through his words. “He wasn’t welcome here.”
Jasper chuckles. “Not surprising.”
The peaceful ambience of the tree is completely lost as my frustration grows. Why does everyone have to be so narrow-minded? Why do people continue to judge others based on face value alone?
“Any particular reason you wanted to talk to me, Jasper?”
He flashes me an annoyed frown, but then schools his features. “I wanted to apologise for the way I said things the other night. I could have used more tact.”
“Already forgotten.” Not really, but hey, more pressing issues with Carver’s probable arrest, right?
“I went about it like a real jackass, but seeing him there….”
“Carver’s got nothing to do with this.”
“What kind of influence do you think he’ll have on your future, Meg? In all seriousness. What good do you really think he can do?”
“What is it to you how I choose to live my life?”
He places both hands on the ground beside him, pushing his palms into the dirt hard. “Did it ever make you wonder how I knew the little things about you?”
“Like what?”
“Like what nights you work, where you go when you need escape, and that no matter how it’s cooked, you always refuse to eat broccoli.”
“You and Den were friends once,” I point out. “I’m sure it’s just stuff you picked up in the times you were at our house.”
His fingers twitch, as does the corner of his mouth. “It’s because I liked you.” He frowns, and then corrects himself. “I still like you.”
“And you’re telling me this now, why?” At my damn brother’s funeral? What the hell does he expect? That he’ll just turf Amelia out of his car and we’ll drive off into the sunset?
“School’s officially over. We probably won’t see each other again, and I kind of feel like this is the last chance I’ll get.”
“To do what?” I cry.
“Convince you that an older guy with a shady history like Brett Carver isn’t what you need.”
Don’t say it. Don’t.
“I am.”
“Urgh!” I shoot to my feet, snatching his stupid jacket as I go, and hurl the damn thing at him as hard as I can, forcing him to raise his hands in defence. “Go away. Just go.”
“Come on, Meg.” He stands, crowding me against the tree trunk. “You’ve always liked me too, I know it. I saw the way you’d check me out when you thought nobody was looking.”
“When I’d never spoken directly to you, yeah!” I push on his shoulders, but he sticks a foot behind himself and stays steady. “You were some fantasy then, some unattainable dream. But now I know what kind of a selfish pig you can be, I kind of miss those naïve days.”
“So what?” he asks, clearly still unsure if this is really no somehow. “You don’t want to give us a go now that you know me? You’d rather run around with a guy who’s only going to leave you on your own when he goes to jail again soon.”
“What the fuck do you know about that?” I ask with a clenched jaw.
“He’s being done for theft again, right? It’s all on camera. They know it was him. I mean, who else would it be when he’s pissed at the place for firing him after that footage from the bonfire leaked?”
“How do you know that’s why they fired him? Have you got something to do with this?” He’s caught off guard when I shove him this time, stumbling back and allowing me to step away.
“Just don’t come running back to the people who tried to help you when he’s gone, Meg. There’s only so much of your tantrums we can take before we’ve had enough.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, “you sound just like my parents.”
“Yeah? Well maybe they know what they’re talking about.”
Enough. I can’t take any more of this shit. I spin on my heel and stalk away, unsure exactly where I’m going, but just that it’s anywhere but here.
TWENTY-ONE
“Didn’t take you as long as I thought,” I say, dropping into the Falcon.
The streetlights flicker on to counteract the dimming early-evening light. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I was supposed to eat at the wake.
“I wasn’t far away.” Carver flashes me a lop-sided smirk from the driver’s seat. “How you holding up?”
“Hungry.”
He leans across the car and flicks the glove box open. A pack of peanuts stares out at me. “Tanya left them in there a month or so ago, but I’m sure they’re fine.”
“I’d scrape the mould off a block of cheese if I had to.” I snatch them out and tear into the bag.
“Didn’t get to the wake then?”
I look back at the parlour, and at the small adjoining hall for the after-service formalities. “Nope. Didn’t feel like facing everyone.”
“Why didn’t you message me earlier then?”
I shrug. Why didn’t I? Maybe because if he’d asked me how things went an hour ago I wouldn’t have been able to string a sentence together without bursting into tears? I pull the sun visor down and check out my eyes in the small mirror on the back. They’re a little puffy, but the dark eyeshadow and liner that I swear could withstand nuclear fusion have done a great job.
“I just needed a moment to work through it before I lumped it all on you again.”
“I’d take whatever you gave, babe.”
“I know,” I say, putting the visor up again. “That’s the problem.”
He grumbles something I don’t quite catch, and pulls out into the street. “How was the service though?”
“As far as the ceremony went? Good. I think Den would have liked it. But as far as family?” I sigh, picking at the peanuts. “Things didn’t exactly go swimmingly.”
He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eye. “To be honest, I didn’t really expect them to.”
“Neither.” I down a handful of peanuts
. “Where we going?”
His fingers drum on the steering wheel, drawing my focus to them and the small tattoos between each knuckle. “I’ve got a plan,” is all he says.
I finish the small bag of nuts and screw the plastic up, shoving it in the pocket of the door panel. Carver flicks the heater on as I reach over the seat to snag one of my hoodies—or should I say, one of Den’s that I managed to hold on to with all my belongings. Dad threw it in one of the bags, presumably because it was in my room, and I bet he never realised that it wasn’t mine. I shake off the too-pretty-for-me cropped cardigan I have on, and tug the black Metallica hoodie on over my head, feeling instantly more at home. Carver chuckles as I change my new shoes for my comfy boots that were also in the back seat.
“Did you put these in here?” I swear I left them at the motel.
“Yeah. Figured you might want something more comfy.”
I scoot across the seat to lean my head on his shoulder, legs tucked up on the vinyl, and take notes on which way we’re headed. The school flashes past, as does the shopping precinct. We pass through the semi-rural residential area before the road opens out into the highway south. All that’s out this way is—
“Are we going to the Scout camp?”
That gut-warming smirk returns. “Clever, aren’t you?”
I snort a laugh and roll my eyes, still smiling though. “It’s not exactly rocket science. There’s not much else out here, and I doubt you’d want to drive two hours until we reach the next town.
“Don’t know,” he teases. “I might do it yet.”
Why does that sound like heaven? “What are we doing there? At the camp?”
“Patience, Meg. We’re almost there.” He reaches down and puts his hand in my lap, palm up.
I place my hand on top of his. The simple gesture is comforting, reassuring me that it’s okay to want to feel this: happy. His grip relaxes the further we drive, and by the time we pull onto the gravel access road that leads into the back of the camp, his fingers are firmly entwined with mine.
“You any good at climbing?” he asks, craning his neck forward to stare out the windscreen at the tall fence.
“I’ve been known to scale the odd tree in my younger years.”
He snorts a laugh and releases his hand from under mine. I tug the sleeve of Den’s sweatshirt down to trap the warmth in my palm and keep that little bit of him with me for as long as possible. Yeah, I know you’re watching from up there, big brother. If Den were still here there’d be no way in hell he would have let me leave the house with Carver, let alone risk getting busted breaking in to the Scout camp. He was the delinquent of the family, and he was intent on keeping it that way. “You’ve got a shot at this thing called life, sis,” he’d say. “Don’t screw it up for a few years of fame. Keep your head down and just do you.”
Well here I am, Den, just doing me. Fuck the rest; let’s be the best.
“Coming?” Carver stands at my now open door, hand outstretched.
I give him a smile and whole-heartedly embrace this new beginning I’ve been gifted, stepping out into the chilly night air ready to kick life in the guts and just live without worrying about the what-ifs.
“You want me to show you how it’s done?” I tease, looking up at the eight-foot chain-link fence before us. The loops are large enough for me to slip a toe of my slim-sole boots in, but Carver’s probably going to have trouble in those thick military-style ones of his.
“Ladies first,” he says with a wink. “Unless you packed bolt cutters in those pockets of yours, this is it.”
My heart picks up pace at the thrill of it. We’re not doing anything that bad considering we won’t damage any property or put anyone at risk. It’s not as though we’re racing cars down the highway. Yet still, there’s that element of knowing that what we’re doing is illegal that brings every recess of my body to life.
Left foot first, I get a good purchase in the links and place both hands over my head. The steel rattles as I hoist my bodyweight up and start the climb. Carver watches on from beneath me—to catch me, or to cop a good look at my arse? I’m not sure. Either one leaves me feeling warm though, so I’ll take it.
I reach the top and snag my palm on the sharp ends that protrude from the top of the fence. Didn’t think about this part, did you? Yep, definitely not feeling so clever now.
“You okay?” Carver calls from the ground.
“Uh.” I take a quick look left and right, but given it’s dark as hell with only a crescent moon tonight, I can’t see anything but more fence. “I didn’t plan out how exactly I was going to get over the top.” Screw this one up and it’s another trip to the ER.
“Hang there.” The fence wobbles beneath me, and I grip the links a little tighter. Mere seconds later Carver appears to my left. A grin spreads from ear to ear after he takes one look at me hanging on, stunned like a possum in the spotlight. “Still confident there, Meg?”
“Shut up and show me how the hell to get over the other side, would you?”
He chuckles. “Watch my hands and mirror what I do.”
I keep my gaze firmly fixed on his fluid movements as he leans one arm over the fence to grab the far side, and then hoists his body up further until he has his whole upper half hanging over the top, both hands gripping the opposite side. With effortless ease he flops his legs over the top and to his left, twisting around in the process to end right way up before he lets go and drops the final four or so feet to the ground.
“Your turn,” he calls out before huffing on his hands to warm them up.
I glance between him and where my hands grip the fence with such force that I swear I’m about to fuse flesh to metal irrevocably. “You can do this,” I whisper. Nothing to it. Piece of cake. Show him how it’s done, Meg.
“Uh, Carver?”
“Yeah?” He steps closer so he’s flush with the fence beneath my position.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this shit. Plus, I have a bloody skirt on.”
A deep, resonating belly laugh bounces off the trees behind him. “Oh, Meg. All talk and no walk, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Like some help?”
“If it’s not too much of an inconvenience,” I snap. “Preferably before my hands go numb.”
Still chuckling, he places both hands on the chain and hoists himself up until he’s close enough for his breath to warm my face.
“Right hand over here.” He points to the fence at his chest height.
I shuffle my position until I can reach far enough down his side to grip where he pointed.
“Now, we’re going to do this a little different, otherwise you’ll probably freak out and fall on your head or some shit.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I deadpan.
He huffs out a short laugh. “Babe, you’re doing a fine job of ruining your badass image all on your own.” He pats my right leg through the fence. “Shuffle this over the top. I’ll make sure you don’t lose your balance.”
I nod and walk my right foot up the chain until it touches the top. He watches with an amused smirk as I do a little hop/shuffle to get my left foot high enough that I can shift my body onto the top of the fence. Carver’s firm grip captures my calf as I get my right leg over to his side, skirt hiked up my thighs so far it’s almost a damn belt by now. True to his word, he guides my weight by moving his hand up to my hip.
“Still okay there?” he asks.
I press my lips together and take a long, slow breath. “Yep. Let’s get this finished. No getting distracted by my arse hanging out, okay?”
He chuckles, slipping his hand quickly down to give my arse a squeeze. “Covered or not, it’s distracting, babe.” He returns his grip to my hip, and his expression returns to serious concentration. “Now, shift the rest of your body over so you can get your left foot down here by your right.”
“Easy as, huh?”
“Just try it.”
“I’m scared I’m g
oing to fall.”
“I won’t let you.”
“I bet that’s what every hero said before the heroine fell to her death.”
He sighs. “Maybe you should have just said you didn’t want to do this if it’s so damn difficult.” His tone is curt and I can’t pick if it’s from frustration or anger. Maybe both?
“Look,” I grate out as I shuffle my body over to his side, ignoring the tingles breaking out in patches where his hand helps me. “I thought I could, okay? I’m not trying to prove anything. I honestly thought I could do this on my own. It doesn’t look so bad from down there.” Carver’s arm wraps around my waist, strong and sure, as we move in unison until I’m close enough to the ground to let go and drop to my feet. “Clearly I was wrong,” I finish. “Maybe I’m not as good at anything as I seem. Maybe I’m just an eternal fucking optimist.” Hot tears break over my cheeks, and I turn away, ashamed of my weak girly constitution.
I can’t even say what exactly it is that upsets me so much about making a fool of myself on a fence. It’s just a damn barrier I couldn’t climb. At least I tried, right? Isn’t that the whole fucking point of an obstacle, that you try to get past it?
“What’s the real issue?”
I soften as Carver’s arm wraps around my shoulders, same as he did when I fell apart at the bonfire. Only this time he doesn’t complete the circle and pull me close, yet that’s exactly what I wish for.
“I don’t know. I think….” My words dissipate into the night as I ponder what exactly it is that I think. Why my parents seem to be taking out their frustrations on aspects of my personality that previously didn’t bother them? Why the hell I’m about to enter the world feeling more alone than I ever have in my whole life? Or perhaps, just maybe, it’s the big one? Why the fuck my brother was killed by a goddamn bus and I now have this cold shadow called grief in my life, following me around, waiting for the most random of moments to rear its ugly head?
“This way.” Carver slips his hand off my shoulder, probably aware he’s not going to get a coherent answer anytime soon, and runs it down my arm to my hand, linking his fingers through mine.
We walk through a short stand of trees, our shoes crunching the dead leaves left behind from winter’s fall. The moon is non-existent under the cover of the tree canopy, and visibility is next to nothing. I grip Carver’s hand tight, following in his wake as we weave through skinny trunks and over uneven ground toward the field behind.