Where There's a Will

by Virginia Hale

  “Thank you,” she mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  Outside, Beth sat on the steps in the shade. The air-conditioning had been a welcome reprieve, but what she needed now was fresh air. Minutes later, the back door opened and Dylan sat down beside her on the step. Beth watched as she ran a hand over her face.

  “How are you?” she whispered.

  “I’m okay.” Her cheeks were getting their colour back, and her eyes seemed to have focused. But she looked exhausted.

  “Your dad is in the right place,” Beth reasoned.

  “I know.”

  They looked out at the sunset falling down over the hill.

  “I just need a minute.” It sounded like she was saying it more to herself than to Beth.

  Beth looked at the planes of Dylan’s face. Her jawline was more prominent than it had been in the winter. Flushed with a light tan, her skin looked as smooth as ever.

  Dylan sighed. “Mum couldn’t find me when he had the heart attack,” she said. “They were at work, but I wasn’t starting until later that night. It was stinking hot. A delivery had arrived and he went out the back of the bistro, and I think he was really stressed because it was New Year’s Eve and they had so many bookings. They’d barely had a break, what with Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day…” She paused. “Mum had to get in the ambulance and just go because she couldn’t reach me. Wendy from reception drove all around town looking for me. My phone had died and I’d left it in the glove box. Wendy finally recognised my car outside the pub and found me in there.”

  She shifted on the wooden steps and nervously massaged the muscle above her knee. “I drove straight down to John Hunter, and by that stage, Dad was already having an angiogram. We really didn’t know how it would turn out,” she whispered. “We were really lucky.”

  Beth didn’t think twice—she reached out and took Dylan’s hand in hers. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her fingers curling gently around Dylan’s. “It must have been awful.”

  Dylan looked down at her hand in Beth’s. Her features softened. “I can’t go through that again,” she said, her voice gravelly, “Because I don’t think Dad could.”

  Beth looked down at their clasped hands balanced on her knee. She remembered seeing her great aunt after heart surgery—the tubes, the monitors, her arm ballooned with swelling.

  “I…” Avoiding Beth’s gaze, Dylan looked out at the end of the driveway. “I have Elma’s notebook.” She watched Dylan chew at her bottom lip. “I know that you know I took it. It was a petty thing to do. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine. You don’t have to. It’s not like it belongs to me.”

  “It does. In my heart, I know it belongs to you—not me.”

  Beth was quiet.

  “Anyway, I need to drive over to the hospital.”

  “I could drive you,” Beth offered. “Please, Dylan, let me drive you.”

  Dylan shook her head. “I want to go by myself.”

  She didn’t want to undo all the progress they had made over the past fortnight by insisting. “Okay,” she said softly. “Promise to call me if you need me?”

  Dylan nodded unconvincingly.

  “Maybe take tomorrow off?” Beth suggested.

  “No,” Dylan said instantly, “I’ll be here. I mean, probably.”

  Beth waved away Dylan’s insistence. “This doesn’t matter. It’s a job. It’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Thank you,” Dylan said.

  Beth released her hand. With a squeeze to Beth’s knee, she stood. “Bye.”

  “Bye,” Beth whispered.

  As she watched her walk away, Beth’s heart ached. All she wanted was to take care of Dylan the way Dylan took care of everybody else. But all she could do was watch as Dylan’s Jeep drove out.

  Beth scanned her eyes over her grocery docket as she headed to her car. The week before, she’d been overcharged twice for a single loaf of bread and three times for a bottle of orange juice. It wasn’t the poor kid behind the register’s fault—there was nothing more impressive than a fresh-faced fifteen-year-old who had gone out and found her first after-school job—but twenty-dollar mistakes were twenty-dollar mistakes.

  When a delicate hand reached out and tapped her on the arm with that small country-town familiarity, Beth’s gaze shot up. Startled, she looked up into the stranger’s eyes. The woman was gorgeous. And young. And completely unfamiliar.

  “Hey,” she said, “you work at the homestead with Dylan.”

  Beth blinked. “Yes.”

  Grinning, the woman bit her lip and looked Beth up and down. “Tell her Holly hasn’t forgotten about her promise.”

  Stunned, she watched Holly disappear into the store. She could see her at the service counter, her elbows planted on the edge of the desk as she chatted with the young girl behind the register. Her legs were long, tanned, her baggy t-shirt tucked loosely into the denim waistband. For god’s sake, wasn’t she cold? A fresh easterly had picked up, and the temperature had plummeted. It definitely wasn’t shorts weather. You sound like somebody’s grandmother… Beth cringed as she took in Holly’s bare feet. Her soles must be putrid. What was it with traipsing all over town barefoot? Beth could barely stand walking through her own house without shoes.

  Beth squinted across the car park. Tell her Holly hasn’t forgotten about her promise.

  If Dylan was attracted to Beth—or at least had been—could she be attracted to somebody like Holly? This woman buying cigarettes at the service counter? Don’t be ridiculous, how could she not be? It was so easy to imagine them together, Dylan’s hands on this woman who was so much younger, so much prettier. In comparison, Beth was a Plain Jane.

  It was jealousy that drove Beth from that car park and ten kilometres over to Cessnock, straight through the McDonald’s drive-through. Seething, she sat in the car park working on her Big Mac, her Oreo McFlurry melting in its cup next to her handbrake as the golden arches cast a glow over the windshield. Tell her Holly hasn’t forgotten about her promise. What was this promise? Who had made the promise? Dylan? Or Holly? They’d slept together—right? Of course they had. When? Were they still sleeping together?

  Suddenly, her phone beeped. Beth fumbled in her bag for her phone and scanned the preview screen.

  Dad’s totally fine. I’ll be at work tomorrow.

  She opened the message. That was all Dylan had written. Beth hesitated. What could she write back that would express her relief without coming on too strong?

  The ellipsis appeared again—Dylan was writing.

  Thanks for being so good to me this afternoon.

  She reached for her large Coke and drew a mouthful. Glad to hear that, she typed back. I’m here if you need me. Take care.

  Now leave her be, Beth told herself. Leave her be.

  It was after nine when Beth tried to stop herself from knocking and found her self-control slipping.

  Rose opened the door. “Beth…”

  “Hey,” Beth breathed. It came out a broken exhale.

  Rose’s expression slipped in concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I…can we talk? I just…I need to talk to somebody.”

  “Of course, Beth.” She stepped aside and gestured for Beth to come in. “Would you like a cup of tea? I’m sorry, I can only offer it black—I’ve been away for a few days and I haven’t had a chance to pass the shops.”

  Beth cringed. “I’m sorry. Are you sure this is an okay time? I know you just got home. I saw Shannon’s headlights. I can come back if—”

  “No, no. Stay.” Despite her protest and the hint of curiosity in her expression, Rose fiddled with adjusting her glasses, her stare flitting about uncomfortably. As Beth followed her into the kitchen, she wondered if Rose had many female friends.

  “How’s it going over at the homestead?” Rose asked as she stepped around the counter and flicked on the kettle. “I spoke to Maggie the other day in town and she said that Dylan’s back there w
ith you. That must be…awkward.”

  “It is.” She paused. “I’m in love with her.”

  Rose’s eyes focused on her. She blinked. “Oh.”

  Oh wasn’t the response she had been looking for. Her heartbeat sped up. Did Rose not think they were compatible? Well who the hell was she to judge? From what Dylan had implied, Rose had always made her feel like she wasn’t enough. Rose didn’t know Dylan, and she certainly didn’t deserve her love. “You look shocked,” Beth said bluntly.

  “No. I mean, yes, but…” She frowned.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Beth sighed. “She’s all I can think about. It’s been weeks and she’s still so angry at me after the settlement.”

  Rose leaned back against the counter. “Well, she can be…spirited.”

  Jealousy jolted low in Beth’s stomach at the implication. She held Rose’s gaze. “So which one of us is going to acknowledge the elephant in the room?” she asked.

  The kettle clicked.

  Rose hesitated. “What I had with her wasn’t serious, Beth.” She turned to pour their tea. “She’s incredibly attractive and it sort of worked for a while, but that was all it was. We just didn’t fit. Sometimes that’s just the way it is. Nobody’s fault.”

  Beth bit her lip and nodded.

  Rose gestured for her to take a seat at the counter. She stood on the other side and slid Beth’s steaming mug across the bench.

  “I’ve never felt this way about anybody,” Beth said as she took the cup. “Not like this.”

  “Perhaps the draw is that you’re so very different,” Rose said as she dunked her tea bag. “She’s younger, somewhat directionless—in a charming way.”

  “I think we appear to be different, but we’re not,” Beth whispered. “Not really.”

  Rose arched an eyebrow. “Do you think you really know what she’s like?” she asked. “How…intense she can get?”

  Beth watched as Rose spooned a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. The question was clear: Have you been intimate with her? Had Beth never known Dylan intimately, the question would have gone over her head. But she had known Dylan and god, how she knew. She knew exactly what Rose was asking. Dylan was concentrated in everything she did, a potent force, but the extent of that intensity wasn’t conceivable until you were in her hands, under her mouth.

  “We slept together before I left,” Beth confessed. “And we didn’t really talk about it.”

  “Right.” Rose seemed to think that over as she heaped sugar onto a teaspoon and looked to Beth. “One or two sugars?”

  Beth smiled stiffly. “I’ve cut down to one.”

  Rose slipped the spoon into Beth’s tea and gently placed the lid on the jar. “Let her come to you,” she said. “She will. You just have to give it time.”

  “I’m trying to, but I don’t know if I can,” she said softly. “She’s been back at the homestead three weeks. It’s so difficult to be around her every day and not be with her. I can’t stand it. I was in the car park earlier and this girl, this Holly, tapped me on the arm and asked me if I worked with Dylan and when I said ‘yes’ she looked me up and down and told me to tell Dylan she hadn’t forgotten about her promise. The thought of Dylan being with anybody else just sets me on fire.”

  Rose took a sip of her tea. “Holly? Holly with the legs and the short shorts and the exposed midriff?”

  Beth nodded. God, I have to contend with an exposed midriff too?

  Rose scoffed. “I don’t think you have to worry about other women.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. But in saying that, I do think you need to be careful, Beth, especially considering that you’re working together again. Perhaps it’s just the tension of seeing each other again. And you know, not being able to do anything about that tension…”

  Beth felt herself blush.

  “What?” Rose asked.

  “We did something about it,” she said. “When she first started back…”

  “Oh. Well.” Rose paused. “She’s a very emotional and sensitive person. Eventually, she’ll forgive you for wanting to sell.” Her face fell as she seemed to register her faux pas. “I don’t mean to imply that…your choice to sell is none of my business.”

  Beth took a sip of her tea and felt it burn the tip of her tongue. “What would you have done?” she asked.

  Rose leaned forward across the counter. “I would have sold,” she said bluntly. “I read what you both made. You would have been mad not to.”

  She didn’t know if that made her feel any better.

  “And Dylan…she needed to move on,” Rose said gently. “She’s been there ever since Kyle died.”

  She looked up from her tea. “Kyle?”

  “Yeah.” Rose took a sip of tea. “Her brother,” she said simply.

  Dylan had a brother? The little boy in the photo? “Wait.” Confusion took hold of her. “Her brother died?”

  Rose stiffened. “Oh, Beth.” Her expression fell. “I thought you must have known by now. It was like something out of a Stephen King novel.” She traced a hand over her face. “I really thought you must’ve known.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Beth?”

  Dylan’s call met silence. She looked up the back stairs to the second landing. Not a peep. The loft sounded silent. She frowned. She has to be in here somewhere…Beth’s car was out front—she’d probably been at the house for well over an hour now.

  She called Beth again.

  “Dylan? I’m on the stairs…”

  She wandered down the hallway. Beneath the window on the grand staircase, Beth sat against the wall, her hair like gold against the cherry-red wallpaper. She had a hand pressed to her neck and her eyes were unusually glassy. But most noticeably, she was very still.

  “I was trying to open the window,” she whispered, “And I’ve pulled my neck out really badly.”

  “Ahh, shit. How long have you been here?”

  “Since seven.”

  Slowly, Dylan climbed the steps. She kneeled a few steps below. “You’ve been sitting here for an hour?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought it was weird that the gift shop was still locked up when I got here.”

  As their gazes locked, Beth’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I feel really sick,” she murmured.

  The March heat and a pulled ligament did not a good combination make. It was only just past eight and the house was already warming up. Obviously, Beth hadn’t had a chance to turn the aircon on before she’d hurt her neck.

  Dylan tilted her head. “Jesus, we’re going to have to take out better insurance with you around. If you’re not going headfirst into the dropped ceiling, you’re trying the next best thing with the window.”

  Beth didn’t laugh. Completely concentrated on holding her neck, she looked feverish.

  “I can help if you want. If you can stand to be touched.”

  Beth’s eyelids slipped shut. “Yes please.” She wet her lips. “But can you get me a bucket first?”

  Dylan cringed. “Sure, sure.”

  When she returned with the bucket, Beth wedged it between her legs.

  “If you need to be sick, be sick,” Dylan said. “It’s just me.”

  “I know.”

  “You saw me spew the other day.”

  “Barely.”

  Slowly, Beth shuffled away from the wall and inched along the step so that Dylan could sit behind her. She brushed her fingers across the back of Beth’s hand, urging her to release her grasp.

  “Be gentle,” Beth whispered.

  “Of course.”

  When Beth released her death grip from the junction of her neck and shoulder, the skin was bright red. Dylan winced. Tenderly, Dylan circled her fingers over the muscle. She applied slight pressure. “There?”

  “Lower.”

  Dylan pressed between her shoulder blade and spine, soft, then firm.

  “Yeah,” Beth croaked.

  They didn’t do this anymore�
��the touching. Dylan knew she was more guarded than she had been in the winter, and she knew Beth noticed it. Sure, they were relearning their little ways, but the casual touching hadn’t returned. No longer did slender hands reach out to shift her aside in the kitchen, and no longer did fingers tap at her elbow as they shared the small space behind the counter in the gift shop. Now, it was nice to feel Beth’s skin beneath her hands, to feel the heat of her skin, the delicacy of her frame beneath her touch.

  Three days had passed since Dylan’s father had had a scare. The more Beth continued to be supportive about her father, the more it proved difficult to ignore the attraction to Beth. Beth was obviously trying hard to prove she was trustworthy.

  Dylan’s willpower was tenuous. The most difficult part of resisting Beth was reminding herself why she felt there was still a barrier between them. Beth had never intended to hurt her—she knew that. And had Dylan really thought that she could live in that tiny loft forever? She had learned to grasp change by the shoulders and shake it right back. So what if she was upset every now and then? What did it matter if she broke down every so often in the shower? She had learned that she could pick herself up and carry on. Change could be welcomed with open arms if she let it.

  Beth was silent as Dylan worked the kink out for her. Eventually, Beth set the bucket aside.

  “You okay?” Dylan asked.

  “Mmm.”

  As her fingers kneaded gently, she watched the pulse jump in Beth’s neck. “I need to be honest with you about something that Rose told me the other night,” Beth murmured. “Something I’d only heard about briefly when I was here all those years ago, and forgotten about.”

  Dylan’s breath caught in her throat. “What’s that?”

  “I know about your brother.”

  Her fingers stilled. “How much do you know?”

  “I know that he died.” She went quiet for a moment. “That there was an accident, inside Mascot Farm Amusement Park. That Rose was a social worker assigned to your family but she really only ever spoke with your mother. That you were in your final year of high school…” She trailed off. “You don’t need to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I know. I don’t want to keep secrets from you,” she added in a whisper.