Another mob of kangaroos bounded into the bush. “So you’re not taking me back to the campsite?”
“We’ll get there; we need to take our time.”
Eliza tensed as Lincoln’s story again flared to life.
Grace playfully slapped at Eliza’s leg. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Tell me, how did you get here?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t know how they got me from the campsite.”
There was a kindness in Grace’s eyes. “You know I don’t mean only the campsite. How did you get here in life?”
“I don’t know, mostly working hard. Taking the opportunities in front of me. Getting ahead.”
“Getting ahead of what?”
The question was one she’d never had the insight to ask, or the courage to consider.
“Whenever I’ve asked people what they’re getting ahead of, few of them know.”
The reason for Eliza’s disillusionment unveiled itself. She had planned everything in her career up until this point but had not once stopped to check what was driving her. Or who.
“There’s something missing, isn’t there?”
Eliza’s cheeks burned in the frosty air. That conversation again. “If you’re talking about having a man in my life—”
“I’m not saying that at all. The thing that’s missing is a sense of something beyond yourself.” Grace nodded at the map bouncing on Eliza’s lap. “I think the map is telling you why. Your decisions seem to start from that reference point, so maybe for the next part of your journey it might be worth asking if that’s the best place to be starting from.”
Eliza sunk into the sheep’s wool. The spongy wool on her seat back tickled Eliza’s ears, as the lesson unfolded in her hands.
She had a decision to make but no idea how to make it.
Grace eased off the accelerator. “It’s okay. You live in a world that only values you if you achieve, even more so if you overachieve. It ranks you by what you do over who you are and trains you that you can only trust yourself. How has that gone for you?”
The truck powered toward the sun that sagged in the afternoon sky. Eliza’s decisions were based around what was best for her, despite how she’d dressed it up as everything but. “I can’t change overnight.”
Grace nodded. “Who can? Cast your mind back. What’s the one decision that haunts you, that makes you wonder about the road not taken?”
Eliza’s mind didn’t have to travel far. The invitation from Virgo Fashion had come later than she’d hoped. Two weeks before their trip to Africa, which was a roadblock to the opportunity of a lifetime. The right thing to do at the time. The disconnection with Lincoln had occurred while he was away, before a world of shared experience through social media confirmed Bree’s concerns.
And the certainty of a good career had outweighed the nebulous nature of a relationship that was moving a little fast for her anyway. But she had been forced into stamping down the green shoots of doubt that sprung up in drier times. She had made the right decision, but doubt had stoked the wondering.
“It was the right thing for my career.”
More corrugation rattled Eliza to the core and Grace’s silence was loud.
“So that’s how you got here. But where is here?”
More dry, dusty, barren land flashed past Eliza’s window.
“That decision started you on a path to this moment in time. I’m not saying that decision is wrong, but you’re certainly in this place because that was the direction you faced when you started out.”
“So you’re saying if I married someone, then I’d be happy?” Eliza clenched her fists in her lap.
“I’m not saying that at all. Do you remember that path back there? That could lead somewhere exciting, but we’ll never know because we’re not even aware of the possibilities it could bring.”
The reason for Eliza’s discomfort in her near future. Possibilities. As she’d arrived at this point in life, her options had narrowed and narrowed as she’d plowed through her career. And the possibilities of her youth—when the world was her oyster—were all but gone.
“Eliza, as you arrive at the crossroads of your life, maybe you need to address a bigger issue. One that speaks to who is the reference point and the size of the choice you’re about to make.”
In Eliza’s hands the map shuddered, and in its center, alongside the thick line of Eliza’s life, three words appeared, one after another.
CEO.
Virgo.
Fashion.
The words shimmered as they solidified.
Grace turned kind eyes toward her and smiled. “You’re about to face the biggest decision of your life, so perhaps the best time to revisit that is now.”
Twenty-Six
Andy took a deep breath as he calculated the odds. The barman folded his arms, a gap-toothed grin creasing his face, and nodded at the pizza on the bar. “How about we start here? I’ll give you one for free. Get it right and you can have a slice of my dinner.”
“Free?”
“What are you waiting for?”
A risk without consequences. The music died away as a hush settled on the crowd.
“All right.”
“No!” Smithy screamed as he emerged from a doorway and thrust his way through a crowd that closed around him, blocking his path. “You don’t need to do this.”
The barman’s whisper slithered over Andy’s shoulder, carried by a hint of mint and cigarette smoke. “What have you got to lose?”
Smithy shouted above the throng, as the crowd jostled him. “To start the next part of your journey, you need to leave this part of your journey behind. Take a stand. This weakness will continue to sabotage you unless you deal with it now.”
“Sabotage?” The whisper caressed his ears. “We’re talking about onions and bacon, cheese and mushrooms.”
Andy’s decision was locked in as the sweet steam rose from the pizza. He gave a slow nod. A tear left a wet, meandering trail down Smithy’s dusty cheek as he stopped fighting against the crowd.
A huge cheer filled the pub as Andy made his way to the game of two-up. The man in the wide brown hat stepped forward and handed a wooden paddle to Andy. His fingers wrapped around the cold wood of the handle as the itch buried deep within him flared to life.
The man placed a thick hand on Andy’s shoulder. “All you need to do is call—two heads, two tails, or a head and a tail. Then flip. How easy can it be?”
Andy’s gambling instinct calculated the best odds. “One head and one tail.”
“Come in spinner!” the man roared to the crowd.
Andy flung the pennies into the air and they spun, catching the setting sunlight. The first coin landed with a crack on the wooden floor and rolled to a stop.
“It’s a tail.”
The second coin seemed to slow before it hit the floor with a sharp crack. It spun, and spun, and came to rest.
“And a head.”
Andy exhaled in sheer relief at the victory as he made his way back to the barman. He gave a sneering thumbs-up to Smithy, who simply shook his head, his eyes downcast.
The barman pushed the pizza pan closer to Andy. “There you go, mate, you’ve earned it.”
With trembling fingers Andy lifted out a slice. Long strings of delicious cheese stretched as he raised the slice to his mouth, his senses in overload. As his lips clamped down on the first bite, tangy tomato stung his lips and satisfaction coursed through him. This was possibly the best slice of pie he’d ever had.
“One little gamble and look at this.” Andy lifted the half-eaten pizza slice to Smithy in triumph.
The whisper at his shoulder was back as a meaty hand landed on his back. “Would you like to go for the whole thing?”
The crowd sucked in its collective breath, their entire focus on Andy as they edged forward. Hard, sweating faces pasted with fresh sneers that crinkled noses and narrowed eyes.
Andy flicked his gaze between the pizza and the co
ins, the coins and the pizza. He shoved the last of the crust into his mouth and crunched down on it. But it left him only partly satisfied.
Smithy wriggled through the crowd and placed a hand on Andy’s arm. “This is an important crossroad for you. In order to continue on life’s journey, you need to say no. Put old choices behind you.”
Andy’s stomach growled again and drowned out Smithy. “I’ll be fine.” He headed back to the man in the hat, and the barman roared, along with an outback pub full of revelers. “Come in spinner!”
A surge of adrenaline jolted through Andy as the gambler within him stayed with the best odds. “One head, one tail.” The coins spun and spun through the air. The first coin plummeted to earth and hit the floorboards with a slam.
“It’s a head.”
The second coin arced back to the floorboards, hit them with a clunk, and rolled on one edge. Rolling, rolling, in an ever-tightening circle in front of Andy. It came to rest. The man in the wide brown hat leaned over it, and Andy was overcome with a heady mix of alcohol and smoky ashes. “Another head.”
Andy turned back to the barman and threw a disheartened look at the pizza. Oh well. At least he’d had something. He froze at the barman’s manic stare—his eyes unblinking, a sneer pasted on a face now bereft of a smile, broken or otherwise.
Andy forced a smile to combat this searching, unfriendly shift. “I guess I’d better go and wash some dishes for you. Point me to the kitchen.”
An angry, rumbling silence descended on the pub. Every face now scowled at him.
The barman folded his arms. “I’m not sure you realize how this works. You now owe more than that.”
* * *
Bree screamed as the snake landed short of her. She kicked out as she scrambled back to the safety of the mouth of the cave. The blood that had pounded through her ears dropped to her feet as if looking for somewhere to hide.
What was she doing wrong?
She looked again at the sign: Follow my example. She did! It didn’t work. The figure on the cave wall chased away the snake, its arms wide. She closed her eyes to summon back the memory. Eddie crouching low on the path, his arms wide, his voice flat. Her eyes snapped open as one minor detail filled in, completing the puzzle.
Eddie had been tapping his foot in a steady rhythm like tapping sticks.
With one eye on the snake, Bree stepped closer to the painting. The hunter chasing the snake had his arms wide, but one foot was higher than the other. Bree breathed in courage and as she steeled herself, calmness settled on her. For as long as she could remember, fear had bullied her into accepting herself as a failure. But fear had been conquered on the ravine wall, and she was armed with the secret of someone who had been a success.
Now fueled by the confidence of following a path taken, she put her arms out wide, the quiver now gone. She crouched and slowly made her way toward the snake. “Careful now. Careful.”
The snake tasted the air.
Bree tried to tap her foot. At first her toes barely touched the ground, but they found it and developed a rhythm, a beat for her escape.
The snake lifted its head at the vibration, swaying left and right in time with the up and down of her foot. The vertical slashes lost their glare and seemed to gloss over. Mesmerized. Bree took another shuffling step forward, her tapping foot settling into its rhythm. “Careful now. Careful.”
She stepped to the side as the snake leaned away from her as if checking the mouth of the cave. And it started a slow slither toward it.
Bree’s confidence rose higher as she fought to keep time with her toes. She fought the urge to rush to the crack in the rock as the path to the exit cleared.
The snake slithered down the floor’s incline and wrapped itself around the ceramic bowl. Bree’s breath came in ragged gasps as she surveyed the gap in the rock. The heat from beyond her rock prison pulsed through to her—it had to be the way out. She could make her way through sideways.
She sucked in more breaths for courage and edged her way into the gap, the claustrophobia pressing in as the roughness of the rock brushed the back of her head. Her hot breath bounced back at her from inches away. She faced the warm breeze and edged her way through the gap as the walls narrowed.
The gap veered around a bend, and Bree navigated a jutting finger of rock that scraped her hips. She could see outside—the ruled line between blue sky and red sand.
Her adrenaline raced along with her breathing as the rock narrowed and pinched at her. Ten steps, maybe twelve. The rock narrowed further. This time it didn’t pinch—it grabbed at her hips in an unmoving pincer grip, and she became a still life of desperation, pinned mere feet from freedom.
Fear oozed back.
She was stuck.
Twenty-Seven
With a single nod Lincoln unlocked a world of hurt he had kept under lock and key for more than half his life.
Tears rolled down Alinta’s cheeks as she stepped up to the desk and rested her hand in the wooden groove below the handle. With a short, sharp breath she tugged at the drawer and it responded to her touch.
Alinta’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” She reached in and withdrew the tiny black box, its white ribbon still tied tight. “She didn’t reject you in the moment. She rejected you for the future as well.”
Her insight landed on him hard, and what rose in him wasn’t the usual defiance or fury. Lincoln stared at the box in her hands—a box he’d sworn would never again see the light of day—and in anger’s place was a sad vulnerability.
Alinta’s finger flicked at the ribbon. “I can see why you wanted so desperately to lock it away.”
Lincoln simply nodded as words failed him.
“You can entrust it to me.”
The vulnerability that had numbed his limbs ebbed away.
Alinta placed the box on the edge of the desk and frowned into the drawer. “There is something else in here.”
Lincoln rushed around to the drawer, uncertain of what to expect.
Alinta pulled out a circle of twine, red-and-black string woven into a bracelet.
Lincoln’s mouth dropped open and stayed there. He’d last seen the gift from the children of the African orphanage the day after Eliza’s polite refusal of his invitation for coffee, when every memory of his time on the dark continent had been shoved into a box for disposal.
“You were locking away more than rejection.”
“What, an old bracelet made by kids?”
“No, a symbol of your care for others, from a time when the happiness of others meant as much to you as your own.”
Alinta slipped it over his wrist with a simple nod. The light touch on his skin brought back memories of the first time he’d worn it—fresh from the biting disappointment in Eliza not coming with him, swirling with the pride in seeing the gratitude of beaming schoolchildren sitting in the new classroom he’d helped build. It felt like another Lincoln altogether.
He accepted Alinta’s offered hand, her smooth skin soft and warm. Beyond the door, a gentle wind whipped across the platform.
“Lincoln, it’s been my pleasure.”
“Where are you going?”
“My job here is done. I’m needed elsewhere.”
The gentle howl picked up as the wind grew and blew dust through the open door.
“Where? Nothing’s out there.”
“There’s a whole world out there. Maybe you should think about letting it in. You’ll be far better off if you do. Far less unlucky.” She slipped her silken hand out of his grasp and turned to the door. Behind her, dust whipped along the platform as the sunset illuminated her from behind, the golden flecks in her raven hair glowing as they were tousled by the growing wind.
Lincoln took a step forward, his hand still warm from her touch. “But what about my ex-wife’s letter wanting a divorce?”
“I’ve given you the tools you need, Lincoln. Perhaps viewing your ‘stuff’ as objects and not the reason you are attractive would be a good
start.”
“But how am I going to get back to the campsite?”
Alinta smiled. “Trust me, you’ll make it.” She stepped through the door into the sandstorm.
Lincoln stood fingering the African bracelet as Alinta’s life lessons took root. On the desk sat the tiny gift box, wrapped in its white ribbon. Alinta had forgotten it. He snatched it up and raced for the door.
“Alinta!” He shielded his eyes against the flying dust and howling wind and then, as if someone had flicked a switch, the wind was gone.
* * *
The words in the center of the map stared back at Eliza. Grace was right. Maybe subconsciously this was why she had balked at the CEO decision, even from the moment the chairman had suggested it. She wasn’t fulfilled, and each decision was pushing her away from ever finding it.
Grace geared down as two emus flashed across the dirt road and disappeared into the fading light. “It’s hard being at the wheel of your own life when you’re driven every day. I won’t go as far as accusing you of pride because it often generates a defense that pride is somehow a virtue. But who will be your reference point, Eliza?”
Eliza shifted to analysis—a safe default mode populated with facts to stave off emotion and vulnerability. And she landed on the default position she always found. “I can’t trust anyone else.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Eliza didn’t have an answer, just the overwhelming sense of responsibility, tinged with something bitter. Something that had been part of her for a long time. “I’ve always had to rely on myself.”
“This is about pride and feeling that your perspective is the only one that can be trusted. But if that perspective is what led you here and you’re unfulfilled, something has to change.”
Grace eased off the speed. “Being at the center of your life will almost certainly leave you unfulfilled.”
Where the Road Bends Page 17