The Other Tree
Page 34
“Maybe I’ll come and drag you off on a crazy quest one day.”
“Look me up,” said Chris with a grin.
Luke smiled, and warmth seemed to flood through him.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
With one final look around, he picked up his cardboard box and walked from the oppressive, grey office, on his way to rediscover the world.
* * *
Although it was a Wednesday, Chris was at her father’s house, pulling a tray of sugar-free cranberry muffins from the oven. In the living room, a documentary about unexplained earthquakes in the Middle East was segueing into a story about plagues of giant crows in Naples.
“You should come see this,” called Mr. Arlin. “Crows the size of watermelons.”
“Is this like the watermelons the size of capsicums, and the capsicums the size of strawberries, and the strawberries the size of apples?” asked Chris. “How many muffins did you want?”
“I’ll get that,” called Mr. Arlin.
“Get what?” said Chris.
There was no answer.
“Dad?” called Chris.
There was the sound of the front door scraping open.
Chris had the briefest vision of Marrick standing in the doorway, dripping with seaweed and barnacles, holding the disfigured fruit in one hand.
“Dad!”
Chris rushed into the living room and saw Mr. Arlin walking in from the front hall.
“Bring another plate,” said Mr. Arlin with a broad smile. “You remember Emir?”
Emir followed Mr. Arlin into the living room. He was dressed in jeans and a crisp button-up shirt, a satchel over his shoulder and a small package in his arms.
There was a pause.
“Hi, Chris,” said Emir.
Time seemed to slow down, go backwards, spinning back to a moment long ago when things should have gone down a different path, to a goodbye that had lasted far longer than either had intended.
“Hi,” said Chris.
She saw the leather cord hanging at Emir’s neck, the piece of amber tucked under his shirt. There were things in life she had held onto for too long, and others she had let go of too easily.
“We missed having you around,” said Mr. Arlin. “What have you been up to since uni?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of travelling, but I think I might stay put for a little while,” said Emir. “I brought these back for you.”
Emir handed Mr. Arlin a box of gourmet dried fruit.
“It’s not what we—what I hoped to bring back, but life’s unpredictable like that,” said Emir.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Arlin. “It’s just good to see you again.”
Chris looked from her father, to Emir, to the box of dried fruit.
“I’m just going to get the muffins,” said Chris, excusing herself to the kitchen.
As she emptied the warm, crunchy muffins from their baking tins, she heard Emir enter the kitchen. He walked over to the bench, standing close beside her.
“You turned down SinaCorp,” said Emir.
“So did you,” said Chris.
Emir looked around at the small, tidy kitchen.
“Actually, I’m going back to uni,” said Emir with a wry smile. “I’m going to give archaeology a go. You know, find out how to do it without everything caving in at the end. You going to be around campus?”
“Probably,” said Chris. “Need a study buddy?”
“Maybe.”
Emir paused.
“I brought something back for you, too,” he said.
Emir reached into his satchel and pulled out a gnarled, blackened twig and a handful of dark green leaves. Chris’s breath caught in her throat.
“That’s from the—” began Chris.
“I saw the fruit,” said Emir. “I kind of knew what Marrick would do if I came back with it.”
Emir pressed the fragments from the tree into Chris’s hands.
“I’m really sorry things didn’t work out, but maybe you can do something for your dad with these?” said Emir.
Chris stared at the leaves in her hands—rough and leathery, the colour of the ocean at twelve fathoms. They seemed at once both so ordinary and so otherworldly, like looking at a snapshot of yourself in a place you couldn’t remember ever being.
Life was a succession of choices, thoughts and memories, woven into a story that explained to you why you were standing here. Now. About to do what you were about to do.
Chris looked up into Emir’s eyes.
“I’ll bet these would make a hell of a herbal tea,” said Chris.
* * *
The campus lawn was lazy with afternoon sun, and several students were attempting to fly politically and physically incendiary kites. Flakes of ash drifted through the branches of a tall, green maple, which had been planted to replace the giant fig tree that had mysteriously vanished one night, only to be found later on the front lawn of a prestigious house in the eastern suburbs.
Emir brushed a piece of ash from the textbook he was reading, as he lay on his stomach on the grass.
“Stratigraphy, palaeopathology, and inferential statistics…is that supposed to be one subject?” growled Emir.
Chris glanced up briefly from her laptop.
“Didn’t they make you study forensic astrology last semester?” said Chris.
“Um, turns out I was going to the wrong class… I mean, Room E-Five in the Stenson Woodman building, Lab E-Five in the Stenman Woodson building. Why not just give everything longitudinal co-ordinates?”
“I’m sure it’s for educational reasons. Anyway, the tarot readings were kind of fun,” said Chris, turning back to her partly drafted research paper.
“I think I’m ready to just go and blow things up again.”
“Don’t you at least want a working knowledge of what you’re blowing up?” deadpanned Chris.
Emir grumbled, rolling onto his back and covering his face with the open text book. Chris could just see the edge of a grin. After a moment, he pulled the book from his face, his expression turning contemplative.
“I’m going to see my parents this weekend,” said Emir.
“Good luck,” said Chris. “At least they’ve stopped with the yelling.”
There was a slight pause.
“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”
Chris glanced at Emir. In the background, flaming kites trailed across the sky. She gave him a lopsided smile.
“Sure.”
Life was unpredictable. Life was short. Life was painful. And sometimes, life was deeply unfair. Sometimes, life threw things at you that you had to scrape off before you could move forward. But sometimes—
Chris looked up through the gently waving leaves, like pale green stars against a wide, endless sky. She glanced across at Emir, lying sprawled on the grass beneath the mottled afternoon sunlight.
But some days, it was worth it.
END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to express my deepest thanks to all those who made this book possible. Firstly, I would like to thank my parents for their love and understanding, and for trusting that I would find my own path. To my sisters, Anne and Cecilia: for their invaluable feedback and insight; for always making the time to critique a draft or listen to a rant; and for inspiring me to pursue my dreams. Their endless support, advice, and wisdom made this journey possible.
Thanks also to my editor, Vikki Ciaffone, for her tireless commitment to her authors, for her enthusiasm, and for being an amazingly cool person to work with. To Kate Kaynak, founder of Spencer Hill Press and Spence City, for taking a chance on an unknown writer. To Jennifer Allis Provost, marketing co-ordinator of Spence City, for her marketing mojo, and for championing my novel from the beginning. To copy-editors Owen Dean and Rich Storrs, for their hard work in making the manuscript press-ready. To Lisa Amowitz, cover designer, for her wonderful work and limitless patience, especially whenever I said things like ‘can we try a different blood
spatter pattern?’
Finally, I’d like to thank Terry Dowling and Room 332 for their encouragement and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DK Mok lives in Sydney, Australia, and writes fantasy, science fiction and urban fantasy novels and short stories.
DK grew up in libraries, immersed in lost cities and fantastic worlds, populated by quirky bandits and giant squid. She graduated from UNSW with a degree in Psychology, pursuing her interest in both social justice and scientist humour.
She’s fond of cephalopods, androids, global politics, rugged horizons, science and technology podcasts, and she wishes someone would build a labyrinthine library garden so she can hang out there. Her favourite fossil deposit is the Burgess Shale.
Website: www.dkmok.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/dkmokauthor
Twitter: @dk_mok
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/dkmok
Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/dkmok