Echo Point

by Virginia Hale

  “Oh, shit,” Bron cursed. “I bumped it and got distracted,” she said, refraining from elaborating any further.

  They both reached down, picking out the largest pieces first.

  “Careful,” Ally mumbled, motioning with a flick of her wrist for Bron to move away. “Let me. Go get a dustpan before Tammy decides to come traipsing over here.”

  “Not all of it’s glass. Some of it’s ice,” Bron said.

  “I can see that.” Ally picked out a dust-coated, melting ice block and skimmed it across the lawn.

  As she moved toward the house under Ally’s instruction, Bron looked back. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d broken a glass and somebody else had offered to clean up the mess.

  Chapter Seven

  Annie’s psychologist, Diana Thompsett, had a brilliant office. The walls were a messy wonderland of children’s artwork and empowering posters with funky fonts. But the office was also brilliant in the sense that it inspired Bron in a way that Annie’s decorated classroom hadn’t managed to at the parent/teacher interviews the month before. As a children’s illustrator, Bron knew just how profoundly images and carefully selected colours could impact children—especially troubled children. Diana’s office was free of rules and completely unpretentious, just a warm and welcoming safe space.

  This was their first session—alone—to discuss Annie’s progress, and Bron was anxious. Although Diana had to be at least fifteen years younger than Bron and a novice in the profession, she made up for her inexperience with a kind of confidence that, in her forty years, Bron had only ever seen in a few people. When they had first met, Bron had been surprised to find that, for a child psychologist, Diana’s manner was unequivocally abrupt. Bron doubted Annie would open up to the fiery redhead, but she’d been pleasantly surprised after watching the two of them interact before a session started or when Annie returned to the waiting room after the hour concluded. Annie seemed more comfortable and relaxed with Diana than Bron was herself.

  Left alone in Diana’s office while she finished up outside with a previous consult, Bron’s gaze wandered across the bookshelf. Although the bottom two rows were shielded by an oversized green beanbag, the majority of the picture books on the higher shelves were related to anxiety and bullying. There were a few other subjects that stood out in the titles. Family. Loss. At least five book spines had some variation of grandma and gone in the title. She couldn’t fight the narcissistic urge to scan the titles for one of her own picture books. Evidently her most celebrated mass-market picture book series about a privileged little Manhattan rich girl wasn’t perceived by Diana to have much of an impact on a grieving child’s life. It was ironic. Even if Bron’s picture books couldn’t comfort another anguished child, the royalties she earned from that particular series paid for Annie’s sessions with Diana. The cycle of life, Bron mused.

  The door clicked open and Diana smiled warmly down at Bron, her expression etched in surprised.

  “Is something wrong?” Bron asked.

  “No, no,” Diana assured her, closing the door behind her and taking a seat across from Bron. “Annie mentioned you’re heading home to the US in the near future, so I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t know you would be the one attending the consult.”

  So we’re getting right to it. She forced a smile. “I’m not quite sure she understands the concept of another country, but—”

  “I think she understands the concept.” Diana tilted her head, appraising Bron. She looked down at the notes in front of her, peeling back pages, which Bron assumed to be about Annie. “I don’t want to jeopardise the progress Annie has made with me—these past few weeks, especially—so I’d like to keep whatever is discussed between us today confidential. This is very important so that Annie and I can continue to make strides each week.”

  Strides. Suddenly realising Diana was waiting for her response, Bron quickly replied, “Oh, of course.”

  Diana sat back in her chair. “Annie’s quite distraught that you’re leaving.”

  Bron raised an eyebrow and smiled in disbelief. “Distraught?”

  “Is that surprising?”

  “Yeah, it is. To be honest, we haven’t really brought it up much in front of her. When I do go back to Boston, it’ll only be for a short time, a month or so. I was on a flight out as soon as I heard about the accident and there are things I need to take care of with work.”

  Diana looked relieved. “So you’ve decided to move back to Australia?”

  “Oh, I’m coming back here. But I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying upon my return.” Bron hesitated. “I’ve actually been offered a teaching position at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and it’s too good to decline. So, I have two options. I stay here permanently, or I move Annie to Boston with me.”

  “You’re considering uprooting her life here to take her to the US?”

  Bron nodded, gathering from Diana’s sour expression that she clearly did not approve of Option Number Two.

  Diana clicked her tongue. “I’d like to ask about Ally.”

  Bron reminded herself to keep all traces of judgment from her voice. “Ally was my sister’s best friend. She’s just been released on parole and she’s staying with us.”

  Diana smiled. “Annie adores her.”

  She nodded, her gaze dropping to the fluffy rainbow rug by Diana’s desk. “They’re very close.”

  Diana drew a deep breath. “I’m simply concerned that if you return to the States, even for a short while, and Ally’s presence fails to remain consistent, Annie will withdraw. It seems that you and Ally are huge influences on her development—her happiness too.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Way to pile on the guilt, Di.

  “You have sole custody of Annie?” Diana asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So what happens when you return to the States?”

  Diana’s condescending head tilt was beginning to irritate her. Bron hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “I think it’s best for Annie to stay here with her grandmother and my brother. And Ally.” She continued over the dryness in her mouth. “Like I said, I need to assess my options. I’ll take stock of the schools for Annie and decide if my apartment is big enough for the both of us.”

  Diana hummed her acknowledgment and the room fell quiet while she skimmed her notes. “So, I opened a dialogue with Annie about the accident. For the most part she seems to be developing a healthy response to the trauma, the memories…”

  Bron crossed her legs, her trembling hand sliding between her thighs. “Has she spoken about Libby?”

  Diana nodded. “I broached the subject last month.”

  “I’m sorry, you said last month?”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I am.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “There was an incident the other day.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Annie was swimming—”

  “She told me about the carnival.”

  “After the carnival. We have a kiddie pool for her to muck around in. I was watching her, standing right there by the pool. I mentioned Libby and she just—”

  “Clammed up?”

  Bron swallowed. “No. She ducked under the water and held herself there for too long. I panicked and reefed her out. She said she was trying to beat her own record, but I wasn’t having any of that.”

  Diana sat forward. “How long was she under?”

  Bron pinched the bridge of her nose. “Long enough.”

  “Long enough for what?”

  Why were psychologists always so afraid of putting words in people’s mouths? She resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes. “Long enough to drown out any thoughts of her mother. Long enough for it to register as more than just a way to get me to shut up about Libby.”

  Diana was quiet for a long moment. “Annie has never struck me as high-dependency.”

  Bron sighed. “Me neither. But I can’t stop thinking about it. And
now every little thing she does…I’m watching like a hawk.”

  Diana clasped her hands together and leaned her elbows on her knees. “Look, Bron, the thing with the pool…These kinds of things aren’t always what they seem. Any kid who has experienced what Annie has is going to have moments which seem to us, as adults, more dangerous than they actually are. You’re implying she intended to hurt herself, but Annie knew you were right there, watching her, that you would reach for her. I know you can’t look at this the way an outsider can, but what this incident tells me is that Annie trusts you very much. If anything of the sort happens again, then we’ll look at it more closely. But what I think happened is that you inadvertently triggered her with the topic of her deepest loss, her most profound trauma, on a day that had been kind to her. My opinion is that Annie was rejecting the dialogue you were proposing rather than attempting to harm herself. She’d won ribbons in a race, she’d been commended for doing good, and she’d exhausted herself swimming all day long. The last thing she probably wanted was to talk about Libby. She just wanted to have a day for herself.”

  Bron looked out the second-story window. “And I took that from her.”

  “No,” Diana stated firmly. “She’s already moved on from what happened that day. It’s forgotten. I’m not worried, so you should stop fretting. But I’m going to be blunt with you, Bron. What I am worried about is what happens next year. It’s going to be a huge detriment to Annie if you move her to the US, even if it’s in a year. You need to think about this very carefully.”

  “I’m still thinking about how I can make this work.”

  After a moment, Diana nodded. “Okay.”

  The rest of what she said fell on deaf ears. While Diana’s reassurance about the kiddie pool episode brought Bron a great deal of relief, Diana had very clear opinions about the future prospect of Annie leaving Australia. Would she ever call Boston home again?

  As though on autopilot, she made her way down the tree-lined street after the meeting, her mind a conflicting mess. She pulled open the driver’s door and sought refuge in the front seat, immediately rolling down the window. A cool afternoon breeze swept over her sweaty neck—a small consolation. What am I going to do?

  She cradled her head in her hands. She tried to imagine a future where she stayed, and then tried to imagine a future where she went home to Boston—with Annie—against everybody’s wishes. The latter was the selfish option, but if she stayed in the mountains, what would that cost her? She had worked so very hard to build a life for herself overseas. Would she be undoing all of that hard work just to make everybody else—her mother, her brother, Diana—happy? And Annie? Her conscience pressed against her desires. Kids are resilient, Bron thought. Surely Annie would adapt after a while.

  It was after five when she stopped at the driveway entrance. Tammy waited patiently on the other side, probably for Daniel, or maybe Jackie had just left for Friday night bingo and taken Annie with her. She looked up the driveway. At the top of the hill, she could see the back tray of Daniel’s ute.

  And then realisation dawned on her. “Are you waiting for me, Miss Tammy? That’s a first!”

  Her heart couldn’t help but swell a little bit at the unexpected attention. She encouraged Tammy into the passenger seat for the short drive up the hill. She locked the gate behind her, and when she climbed back into the car, she instantly regretted the invitation when she saw blond hair blanketing every inch of the black seat cover.

  “Malting season, huh?”

  Tammy panted her answer. “Look,” she said to Tammy as the car climbed up the hill. Annie and Ally were in the middle of the yard, running in circles. Bron waved when they looked up. “Who’s that, Tammy? What are they doing?”

  In the middle of the front yard, a revolving sprinkler shot water so high into the sky that the droplets showered down over Ally’s head. Annie was inching closer to the sprinkler, the force of the water soaking her more completely as she bent lower. Ally laughed as Annie cupped her tiny hands against the rotating faucets and pulled back a second later, the pressure of the water exploding in her face. Drenched in her school dress, she cackled wildly. Trust Ally to let Annie run around beneath a sprinkler in her school uniform. Thank god she didn’t have school tomorrow.

  But Bron could deal with laundering a saturated school dress every single weekday if it meant that the kiddie pool lay forgotten around the side of the house for all of eternity. Ally had found a solution without ever knowing there was a problem.

  “Aunty Bron, Ally got us a sprinkler!”

  She tightened her ponytail, pulling it higher on the top of her head. “I can see that!” She fought the urge to be a buzzkill by pointing out—along with the school uniform issue—just how much water they were wasting. She didn’t know if the ability to keep her lips sealed came from a desire to see Annie happy or a desire to impress Ally with her relaxed disposition.

  Annie crawled forward across the wet grass. Oh god, the uniform will be covered in grass stains! She cupped her hands around the faucet again. Ally reached down and grasped her under the armpits, swinging her tiny body over the top of the fountain a few times. As Annie squealed, Ally looked at Bron, her expression vibrant.

  Bron smiled back. Ally was a good person. She was never anything but kind to Annie. She loved the little girl. And she was equally as saturated. Her black T-shirt, which was almost a size too big, clung to her abdomen. As she swung Annie over the powerful jet of the sprinkler again, the definition of the muscles in her forearms was prominent. Bron allowed herself a moment to wonder what Ally’s body would feel like beneath hers. Hot. Energetic. Dominant…

  In a daze, she clenched the car keys tighter in her fist. Ally looked over at her again, and their gazes held. Ally’s smile faltered. Caught.

  She started toward the house, feeling Ally’s dark stare on her, observant and knowing.

  “Want to get wet?” Ally teased as Bron stepped around the perimeter of the saturated grass.

  She shook her head and went inside.

  “Do you mind if I join you? I come bearing gifts.”

  Bron craned her head back against the porch swing to find Ally standing contemplatively in the doorway of the house. She lifted her arm, playfully waving one of the glass water bottles Jackie kept refilled with lemon water in the fridge. In her other hand, she had a glass for each of them pinched between two fingers.

  Daniel was out with Carly, and Jackie had taken Annie with her to bingo at the bowling club. “I missed last week,” her mother had said, truly concerned. “They’ll be wondering what’s happened to me!” And so Bron and Ally had been left alone to have dinner together. It had surprised Bron how easy it had been to fill an hour talking trivial nonsense with Ally as they ate and cleaned up after themselves. Afterward, Ally had excused herself to shower.

  Bron turned so that her back was pressed against the armrest of the swing and folded her legs beneath herself to make room for Ally, who must have mistaken the trepidation in Bron’s expression for discomfort. “If you want to be alone while you can, I can just go back inside,” she offered, the frosty bottle dangling in her fist.

  “Of course not,” Bron said, watching as Ally set the bottle down on the small table in front of them.

  The porch seat swayed, becoming accustomed to the added weight. As Ally leaned forward to fill their glasses, Bron’s eyes tracked how high the hem of Ally’s old Beatles T-shirt rode up. She permitted herself three seconds to admire the exposed tops of Ally’s naked thighs, the curve where her leg met dark underwear. Bron tried to remember the last time she’d felt confident enough to walk around the house in nothing but her sleep shirt and boy shorts. Probably way back in nineteen-ninety-never.

  At the sound of voices, Tammy came around the corner of the wraparound veranda, her chocolate-coloured eyes trained on them.

  “Hi, Tammy-girl,” Ally sing-songed.

  At the encouragement, Tammy sashayed up the steps. Ally beamed at Tammy, and a tingling sensat
ion fired through Bron’s body. She bit her lip. Tail wagging, Tammy laid down.

  “Jackie said that your appointment with Annie’s psych went well.”

  “Yeah. She’s happy with Annie’s progress.”

  “God,” Ally drawled, “those cicadas are deafening tonight.”

  Bron looked out into the darkness. “I hadn’t realised until you just said it.”

  “I suppose it’ll bug the hell out of you now.”

  Bron rolled her eyes. “Good one.”

  Ally sat back and closed her eyes. After a long moment passed, she whispered, “I don’t know if it’ll ever get old.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Just being out. Being happy.”

  “What did you miss the most? Steak? Alcohol?”

  Ally shrugged. “I’m still not sure. Normalcy, I suppose.”

  “It must have been nice to have Libby visit so often.”

  Ally nodded, picking at the peeling ink on her shirt.

  Silence fell upon them. Bron asked, “Were you in love with my sister?”

  Ally’s gaze shot up. “No.” She exhaled harshly and added, “But I was in love with you.”

  Thrown by Ally’s confession, Bron reached for her glass of lemon water. “Really?” she asked lightly. “In love?”

  “Yeah…” Ally said hoarsely. “Fifteen and madly in love with a twenty-two-year-old who wouldn’t even give me the time of day.” She waved a hand. “I know you all knew.”

  Bron chuckled, finally meeting her gaze. “I guess it seems so silly now.”

  Ally’s glare was tumultuous. “Does it?”

  “Well,” she said slowly, trying to alleviate the tension between them, “we all had those older-woman crushes. I fell for my high school art teacher.”

  Ally was quiet for so long that Bron thought she’d offended her. Eventually Ally spoke up. “Mrs Wrangler? She was thirty years older than you and married with like eight kids.”