All the Ways to Here

by Emily O'Beirne

  He stops what he’s doing and gives her the same uneasy look Jack just gave her. “I’m still here.”

  “Then why aren’t you going to Jack’s match?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “I’m hoping I can.” He adjusts the ladder again. “It just depends on flights.”

  “Get a later flight. Get one the day after. It’s not that hard.” She glares at him. “It’s his semi-final, and he wants you to watch him.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Heat spreads through her chest as the anger blooms. “Just be a dad for a minute. Watch him play, and then you’re free to go.”

  Willa sees how he flinches as she says those last words, but she bites down on the guilt. Why should she care? Kelly’s right. She doesn’t owe him anything. She turns on her heel and marches back down the side of the house.

  But before she even makes it to the back door, she’s stopping in her tracks. She’s not done. She knows it.

  She hovers on the doormat welcoming her in, her determination beaten back by the part of her that hates confrontation. That hates asking for things. Do it, Willa, she tells herself. Because she might as well make things worse. She forces herself to turn and walk back to him.

  He’s still standing there, arms at his sides, frowning. She moves closer this time. He has to hear her. Because she’s only ever going to have the courage to say it once in her life.

  A breeze rushes through the vines, making shadows dance around their feet. Her stomach is a clenched fist, like everything is hanging, taut, from this moment. “Listen,” she says. “I don’t care if you don’t like me or don’t like that I’m gay or whatever. I’ve lived this long without you, and I’m fine. I don’t need you. But them?” She jerks her thumb at the house. “They need you.”

  She begs him silently not to meet her gaze. He doesn’t. He puts a hand on a ladder step, as if to hold him in place, and looks at the ground.

  “So you have to come back,” she tells him. “If anything ever happens to Nan and she can’t take care of us anymore, you have to come back for them. Just for the next two years. When I’m eighteen, I’ll look after them.”

  He finally looks up, his brow cleaved in that same way hers does when she’s worried.

  Shocked by the familiarity, she looks away. Her voice comes out smaller. “After that, you don’t even have to think about us.”

  Now she can walk away.

  CHAPTER 59

  Willa

  When Finn and her parents finally arrive to pick them up, Willa’s still feeling the turbulence. Even though it felt like she had no choice in the moment, and that only her fear and her anger were operating her body, she can’t quite believe what she just said to her father.

  Part of her wants to sit down and cry it out alone. Another part is annoyed. Annoyed that these fine threads of guilt are weaving their way through her for talking to him like that. He’s the one who’s supposed to feel guilty.

  As the adults go through the pleasantries at the front door, her chest is a tightness. On the footpath, Riley dances with impatience, her bag on her back. Willa pretends to listen to the polite chitchat and wonders if he’s still standing there at the side of the house, hands at his side like he was when she walked away.

  Finn takes her hand. “You okay?”

  Willa manages a nod.

  It’s not until they’re on the narrow highway that curls itself along the coastline that she finds some calm again. She presses her forehead to the window, Finn’s hand cradled in hers, and watches waves assault the cliffs below. The talk seeps around her, but she doesn’t listen. There’s no room in her mind for it.

  Finn rests her chin on Willa’s shoulder and stares out the window with her. “When I was a kid, I was always scared that we’d go over the cliff. I still am.”

  “We won’t.” Willa squeezes her hand and tunes into the conversation flying back and forth between the front seat.

  “He’s going to spend all his money building a giant wall, my teachers told us,” Riley says between mouthfuls of an apple. “That’s so dumb.”

  “You know an awful lot about him, don’t you? Tell me, kiddo,” Finn’s dad says, looking over his shoulder, “do you know the name of our prime minister. In Australia?”

  “Um…” Riley frowns. “Is it Steve something?”

  “No, it’s not.” He laughs and continues to fire questions at her like he’s inviting her nonsense, getting a total kick out of her.

  Willa surreptitiously watches him, turned around from the front seat, bantering with her little sister. She only ever saw him from a distance at camp. He and Finn look so similar, with their blond hair, brown eyes, and wide-open smiles. There’s Finn’s warmth and curiosity too. Willa knows she’s going to like him. She already does. And Riley’s so smitten with him she doesn’t even care when he laughs at her. And Riley hates to be laughed at.

  It’s dark when they finally arrive, but as soon as they squeeze out of the car, Willa can smell and hear the closeness of the ocean. The waves sound thunderous and close, as if bruising the sand as they crash. She can’t wait to see it for herself in the light.

  They pile into the tumbledown wooden house. Bags are stacked into the corner, and the kettle is switched on in seconds. Willa smiles when the first things pulled out of shopping bags are coffee and teabags. She’s never met a family of such rabid caffeine consumers.

  Riley hovers close to Willa by the door, gone shy all of a sudden. Willa wraps an arm around her shoulder, feeling a little the same.

  At the kitchen bench, Anita pulls a pile of folders from her bag and dumps them on the wooden surface. “Reports,” she says to Willa with a sighing smile. “No escaping them.”

  Willa stands in the corner, enjoying watching this small family dynamic. They laugh a lot, Finn and her parents, and talk nonstop as they set up everything, like they’ve done it a thousand times before. Martin puts groceries into the fridge while Anita digs out towels, and Finn runs bags upstairs, looking purely happy. Willa knows it’s because she has both her parents here.

  Martin slides the glass doors open, letting the wind rush in. He sniffs the air in deep. “I missed this smell.”

  “Haven’t you been living by the ocean for the last few months?” Anita reminds him as she goes over to stand beside him.

  “Yeah, but the air’s different here.”

  Willa notes the way he automatically places a hand on the small of Anita’s back as she leans out, saying something to him about a tree outside. They don’t seem like a couple on a break. They seem cosy and blended together in a way she wasn’t expecting after everything Finn has told her.

  Things get louder when Angela and Matteo come over with their little girl, Bella. Soon the house rings with conversation and the clink of wine glasses. The smell of garlic takes over from coffee and fire smoke as Finn’s father makes pasta with an elaborate sauce with the fresh herbs that Nan sent along. Bella and Riley, completely over her shyness now there’s someone her age, stand at his elbows, playing kitchen hands.

  “She’s definitely not that enthusiastic about helping at home,” Willa says as they set the table for dinner.

  “I think she might have a crush on my dad,” Finn says with a grin. They settle at the bench, watching the cooking show in action.

  “So you don’t like green stuff in your sauce? That’s okay,” Martin tells Riley, holding up a spoon and a bunch of herbs. “You can have it with just cheese and oil like this one.” He points his spoon at Finn. “She’s a fussy eater too. Won’t eat any of my sauces if they’ve got olives or capers or anything even mildly exotic. And never, ever, dare put in anchovies.” He shudders.

  Willa turns to Finn. “Really?”

  “I just like things simple,” Finn says.

  “Boring, you mean.”

  Finn just shrugs and grins, like she’s happy to own it.

  “You didn’t know that?” Martin asks Willa. “Until she was eight, she basically only ate bread, apples,
and cheese. I couldn’t even convince her to try a banana.” He calls out to Matteo. “Remember when Finn was about four, and you tried to make her eat an avocado?”

  Matteo laughs. “I wore it.”

  Willa turns to Finn, an eyebrow raised. How can someone so curious and brave be so unadventurous? About food?

  “I have no comment,” Finn says with a grin.

  “My sister makes yummy sauce,” Riley tells Martin as she hacks through a tomato. “Better than Nan’s, even.”

  Finn’s mouth drops open in mock shock. “Did Riley just…compliment you?”

  “It’s been known to occur. Maybe once a year. Don’t tell Nan what you just said,” Willa warns Riley.

  Riley just grins and keeps talking as she chops. “My nan makes her own bread too.”

  “I know. We’re going to be eating it for breakfast tomorrow morning,” Martin says. “I can’t wait.”

  “Please don’t use the kale,” Riley begs. “Just put it in the bin. No one has to know.”

  “I’m not so much of a fan either, kiddo, but we don’t waste food. I’ll bury it so deep in a dish you’ll never find it, I swear.”

  “I’ll find it,” Riley says.

  He laughs. “Game on.”

  As she watches her little sister hold her own in the crowd, Willa’s consumed with this feeling. It’s pride, or something like it. And happiness. Because she knows that Riley will always hold her own. That she’ll always be okay. Willa knows it the way she knows only the certain things in life, like sunrises and grass growing. And with that knowing comes the certainty that all is left for Willa to do is to enjoy the ride of being Riley’s sister and to be there to help her in the handful of moments when she’s needed. And she loves knowing this.

  ~ ~ ~

  That night, Willa can’t sleep, even with the familiar sound of Riley’s snuffles in the bed next to hers, even with the soothing of the waves and quiet warmth of the house that should bring calm but doesn’t.

  Her mind keeps flinging itself back to this afternoon and what she said to her dad. Every time she tries to make an escape from these thoughts, they inevitably slink back. And each time she remembers Jack’s wary expression, or her Dad staring at the ground, she gets this sharp, unnameable feeling.

  Part of it is because Willa has no idea what he’s going to do with what she said to him. Which means, when it comes down to it, she’s no better off than before she opened her stupid mouth and let fly.

  She rolls over, staring at the shadowed ceiling. Why didn’t she wait for him to answer her? If she did, she’d have something to go on. But maybe he wouldn’t have said anything anyway. Maybe there’d just be that familiar, bruising silence.

  She shuts her eyes, but they just float open again before she realises it’s happening. She’s too nervous to put the lamp on and read, though. What if she wakes Riley or if Finn’s parents see she’s up? She’s finally starting to drift when she hears the sound of footsteps padding to the upstairs bathroom. It must be Finn. Pangs of longing assault her. If only she could go crawl into bed in the next room and be wrapped up in the comfort of Finn. Then she could sleep. She knows it.

  The toilet flushes, a tap turns on and off, and the footsteps pad back across the landing. Willa blinks into the darkness, not moving. She can’t break Finn’s parents’ rules. No way. Not when they’ve been so lovely and let them come here.

  As the house settles into silence again, she squeezes her eyes shut and wills sleep to come. Because the sooner she sleeps, the sooner it’s tomorrow. And tomorrow she gets the morning light, the sea, and Finn.

  CHAPTER 60

  Finn

  Finn opens her eyes to grey light and the unfamiliarity of floral sheets. When she remembers where she is, she snuggles deeper into the covers, instantly overtaken with the delicious feeling that comes with waking at the beach house. Especially this time. Her parents are downstairs, acting like nothing ever happened between them—a fantasy Finn’s totally willing to indulge in. Willa’s in the room next door with Riley. There’s the beach and coffee and walks to be had, and she’s going to find a moment to paint today. Today is going to be a great day.

  She tries to hunt down sleep again, but she’s pulled by an awareness she can’t quite place. When she opens her eyes, they instantly land on Willa. She’s perched at the end of Finn’s bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, as she stares out the window. Patter sits by her side, upright and alert as if he can see something he wants out there.

  Finn reaches behind her, patting the covers, waiting for her hand to land on Banjo. It doesn’t.

  Outside, the sun is barely up, the grey sky only just tinged with the early blush of sunrise. Willa’s so locked in her reverie she doesn’t seem to notice that Finn’s awake. There’s a small almost-smile on her face. It makes Finn smile too.

  Last night, after Riley went to bed, Willa told Finn about the words she’d fired at her father before leaving their house. It turned out Finn was right, she said. She did have to tell him what she was afraid of. Unfortunately, she did it in the worst way possible, in the choke of a rage she couldn’t control if she wanted to. Willa cried as she told Finn how she basically accused him of being a terrible dad and how he just stood there. But how she had to say those other things, to tell him he had to be there even if he didn’t want to.

  As Willa talked, Finn just held her close and let her shed quiet tears. It’s so unfair, she thinks, the way Willa’s life seems to hangs on ifs and maybes. No matter how hard she works to keep it steady and afloat.

  “It’s good you said something,” she told her. “Even if it was hard. At least you know he knows.”

  “I guess,” Willa said. But she just looked sad and scared, and it made Finn’s heart hurt. Because you shouldn’t have to tell your dad something like that. He should just know. And you should just know that he’ll be there when needed. Even when her own dad is in Tasmania, Finn knows he would come running the minute she needed him.

  Finn watches her a little longer, enjoying the chance to drink in her quiet contentment. If she were going to paint Willa, she’d be a bright, bold outline filled with smudgy, warm pastels and greys underneath, like a gentle light penetrating thick, bright cloth. That’s Willa.

  Finally, Finn can’t resist. She reaches a foot out and pokes Willa in the hip. “What are you doing on the end of my bed while I sleep, you creep?”

  Willa turns slowly and smiles. “You can see the water better from here.”

  “Right. So it’s the beach that you’re stalking, not me.” Finn smiles her way into a yawn. “What time is it?”

  “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “Probably not. So why are you up?”

  “I’m excited.”

  “About what?”

  Willa holds her hand out in the direction of the sea and pulls a face as if to say “duh”.

  “You’re cute.” Finn holds out a hand. “Come here.”

  Willa shakes her head. “I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  Again, Willa points at the window.

  Finn just blinks at her for a moment before she can muster words. “To the beach? Now?”

  “Now.” Willa smiles and stands, her hand held out.

  And there goes Finn’s dream of snuggles and slow waking and coffee on the couch before dressing. Gone. All because she cannot resist this entreaty to make Willa happy. Couldn’t if she tried. She scrapes the doona back and stands there, yawning and getting used to upright. “It’s going to be freezing, you know.”

  “I like the cold.”

  “Of course you do.” Finn shuffles to the bathroom. “Two minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  When they’re tucked into thick jackets and jeans and heading for the stairs, a voice calls out from the other upstairs bedroom.

  “Will?” It’s Riley, rubbing her eyes at their bedroom door. Banjo darts out from between her feet.

  “So that’s where you’ve been,
traitor.” Finn crouches down to pick him up. “Want to come to the beach?” she asks Riley, pressing her face into Banjo’s ruff. “We can take the dogs.”

  “Mm,” she mumbles from a yawn. “Okay.”

  “Then get dressed. We’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  Outside the house, the world is a flurry of wind and waves and cold. They dash across the empty road towards the wet sand, the ocean coming at them hard.

  Finn grins into the bracing wind, holding both her and Willa’s hands deep in her pocket. The dogs and Riley tear towards the water and those crashing waves.

  “I haven’t been to the beach in so long.” Finn practically has to shout to get her words to Willa before they’re snatched up by the wind.

  They stroll the stretch of sand, Willa leading her over to the rocks at one end of the cove. They tramp over a jigsaw of boulders and rock pools until they’re standing on the edge, just shy of the spray. Willa looks like happiness itself as she gazes at the waves rolling towards them.

  When she’s done staring, they explore, peering into crevices and jumping over clumps of seaweed and water trapped between rocks. They watch the waves rush in and out of small channels, doing the work of carving stone and marking time. Crouching beside a rock pool, Willa’s fingers plunge into the water. She pulls out a spongey red something, maybe seaweed or flesh. Her nose wrinkles as she inspects it. It falls back with a small splash, making her laugh.

  Staring at that nose-crinkled smile, Finn is suddenly awash with this bright, amber feeling. All she can think is, she is mine, I am hers. The knowledge comes with a rush of pleasure and angst and inevitability. And suddenly Finn knows what she probably already knew: that there will be the summer soon and Willa’s smile and everything beyond that. And that in that time, they’ll know each other in all the ways they don’t yet. She also knows that one day Willa will look up in a moment like this—probably one more spontaneous and sweet than staged and deliberate—and tell Finn she loves her. And it will make Finn’s heart squeeze down even harder than it is doing right now.