by A. M. Hudson
“Yes.” Dad grinned. “I started to wonder if you were my daughter’s only friend.”
Okay, I’m officially going to kill him.
“Ha!” Mike looked at me with that cheeky, cocky grin inhabiting his lips. “I was.”
“Was not.” I punched him in the arm. He leaned
away, r ubbing off my pathetic effor t at
violence.
On the way home, Mike sat in the front, talkin g to Dad and marvelling at all the old houses
and wide highways. Wit h the sun high in the east , touching the morning dew wi th its light, this
sleepy little town showed its true beauty; quiet and reserv ed, but most of all, with the approaching
autumn changing the leaves on the trees, it was so spectacularly colourful.
When we pulled into the driveway of home, Mi ke turned and smiled at me. “You never told
me how beautiful this place is, Ara.”
“It’s all right, I guess.” I shrugged, not meeting his eyes.
Each tree had turned a different colour with the autumn air, and as the leaves fell from the
branches one by one, they gathered in piles or floated down the curve of the road, leaving a wash of
yellows and reds and oranges all over Maple Terrace.
But my fairy-tale time-line meant that for ever y leaf which fell away, so too di d the days I
had left with David. Sure it was pretty, but all that beauty was slowly and surely delivering me to
heartbreak.
“Ara would prefer it if they we re Gum trees, I think,” Dad sa id and hopped out of the car—
laughing to himself.
“What’s up, Ara?” Mike asked. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Jumping out of the car, I slammed the door before Mike could comment
on my gloomy temperament.
I was sure a quiet groan came from his throat , but he got out of the car wi th a smile on his
face and walked around to the boot. “I’ll take that.”
“Boy, that’s heavy.” Da d nearly dropped Mike’s bag as he passed it to him. “I must be
getting old.”
“Nah. You’re not old, Mr Thompson. I’m just bloody strong,” Mike said . “I’d have to be
strong to keep up with this one.” He winked in my direction.
“Please, call me Greg, Mike—you’re like one of the family. And who knows —” he looked
over his shoulder at me, “—with the way my daughter talks about you, maybe one day you will be.”
“Dad,” I dragged the word out and buried my face in my hand.
Mike chuckled. “Not likely, sir, unless you have another daughter I don’t know about.”
Ouch.
“I have a son,” Dad mused with a frown.
“Hm. Yeah, not really on that side of the fence,” Mike said.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to adopt you, then.” Dad laughed and patted Mike on the back
as they headed inside, leaving me, shouldering a rise of hurt, to trail behind them.
“When did he become the favourite?” I said under my breath.
“Mike, good to finally meet you.” Vicki left her station behind the bench to hug Mi ke. “How
have you been?”
“Good, Vicki. Really good—” Mike said softly. “It’s nice to finally be able to put a face to
the voice.”
Great, so Vicki’s been talking to him on the phone, too. Just bury me now.
Vicki smiled. “I’ve made you some breakfast—figured you’d be hungry after all that
travelling.”
“Yeah, great—” Mike said and sat at the table next to me, “the ai rport food was pretty
average.”
“So, Ara tells us you’ve been accepted into the ah—what was that called again?” Vicki asked
as she busied herself in the kitchen.
“Vicki?” I moaned. “Dad’s already interrogated him. Do you have to do it, too?”
“I don’t mind an i nterrogation, Ara.” Mike n udged me gently with his elbow. “It’s uh—it’s
called the Tactical Response Group. We get to use cool guns, basically.” He grinned and raised his
eyebrows at Sam.
“Do you get to shoot people?” Sam sat on the edge of his seat.
Great, he’s already head-over-heels, and Mike hasn’t even brought a gun with him.
“Well,” Mike’s voice softened, “the only place I like to shoot people is on Halo. Other than
that, we try to avoid it as much as possible. But I have a Taser?” he offered.
“Awesome. Hey, do you play on Li ve—” Sam’s voice became background noise while the
boys talked video games.
Without touching my food, I leaned on my hand and listened to the sound of normal; how the
laughter, forks clinking on plates, and cups resting with a clunk on wood could echo familiarity and
content. Once upon a time, being normal meant having a life with two parents, no grief and no scars.
Now, normal means I can sit in my kitchen, eat food with my family, and at the end of my life—die.
A few months ago, I didn’t know how much I had to be grateful for, but the hourglass of fate
can rock, and tip every-thing out of balance at any time. I know now that I have to take each breath
of normal with a kind of appr eciation I never understood before, becau se imagining, with
David’s interpretation of eternity, if I didn’t have any of t his—I looked at Dad and Vicki, leaning
closer to each other as they laughed—I would miss it all terribly.
“Well, Vicki—” Mike wiped his mouth with a napkin and rested his arm on the table, “—that
was the most amazing breakfast I’ve had in a long time. Ara’s right, you are a good cook.”
“Ara said that?” Vicki looked at me with a wide smile and round eyes. “Well, thank you, Ara,
and thank you, Mike. I really enjoy cooking—especial ly for people who eat it without salt.” She
glared at Dad.
“What?” Dad shrugged, holding his hands out.
Mike laughed and placed his napkin on the table. “Well, my mother raised me with the strong
belief that it’s considered an insult to the chef when one puts salt on his food.”
Vicki’s brow rose and she smiled. “See, Greg? You could stand to learn a few table manners,
yourself.”
Sam laughed.
“Hm, Ara?” Dad cleared his t hroat, ignoring Vicki and Sam. “Why don’ t you give Mike t he
grand tour?”
“Yeah, okay. Come on.” I stood up and, as always , reached for Mike’s hand, but he quickly
dropped it and tucked his fingers into his back pockets.
“Thank you for breakfast, Vicki.” Mike nodded politely then wandered into the formal rooms
behind me.
“So, this is the lounge room…and out there is the backyard.”
“Is that the swing? Where you s it when you’re sad?” Mike aske d, looking past the porch to
the old oak tree.
“Yes. The very same.”
We walked into the TV room on the other side of the house, and as we came to the fr ont
entrance again, I heard Dad telling Sam, who argued the point, to get ready for school.
“Not much to see, really,” I continued, glad I was getting a day off. “All the rooms join up, so
if you get lost, just follow a wall and you’ll end up back here.” I placed my hand on the railing of the
staircase and smiled.
“I like this. It’s a nice house, Ara. It’ s good to see the places you’ve been talking about all
your life.” He tugged on a strand of my hair, making me lower my foot from the first step to look up
at him. “I really missed ya, girl.”
I
missed him, too. But was afraid to say it in case he read it the wrong way and thought I
hadn’t moved past the whole kissing-rejection thing.
From my stare of gloom at the floor, I traced the blue of his jeans and the tight muscles under
his shirt, until my view floated to his brown eyes. The caramel colour reminded me of autumn—they
always had. I used to love the autumn, but there would have to be a different comparison for his eyes
now—now that my autumn would forever be a reminder of losing David. Maybe…
“Ara?”
“Hm?” My eyes focused suddenly on the entranceway and Mike’s face again.
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Um—” Did I? Was he talking? I didn’t even hear him.
Mike’s shoulders dropped and he nodded t o himself. “Come on, why don’t you show me
upstairs.”
He walked ahead of me; I leaped up quickly to overtake, sporting a competitive grin. “Race
you.”
“You won’t win.”
“I already am.” I looked over my shoulder at Mike, who grabbed the railing and pulled
himself up, nudging me into the railing as he passed. “Ouch!”
He just chuckled as he raced ahead. “Ha! Told ya!”
“Hey. No fair.”
“Life’s not fair,” he said.
Argh! I hate those one-liners. Maybe I should give him the same ser ving David got for that
comment. “You never let me win,” I huffed with my hands on my hips.
“Ara?” He looked down at me from the top. “I always let you win.”
A smile broke out across my face; “Okay, true—I ‘spose you do.”
“Maybe I should stop,” he said, “you’re getting spoilt.”
Hmpf! Am not. “So, anyway—that’s my room.” I pointed to the room across the hall from
Mike’s. “And this is yours.” When I pushed the door open, a cold br eeze brushed over my face and
swept my hair back with a pleasant tickle. Mike stared at me; his eyes narrowed then focused, while
his lips pressed together, but turned up slightly. “What?” I shuffled my feet and looked away.
“Nothing,” he said, but that strange look stayed.
“Uh, well, I’ll just cl ose this window. It’s a li ttle chilly in here.” I broke the tension with a
brisk stride across the room. “So, there’s a bathroom there.” I pointed to the door on the right of his
bed.
“Wow, my own bathroom. Nice.” Mike leaned his head around t he bathroom door, then
smiled back at me.
“And you have a TV.” I walked to the closet; the door on the left of his bed, and rolled out
one corner of the LCD. “We usually roll it away to make more space.”
“Great.” He grinned. “I’ve got a stack of our favourite movies on my hard drive.”
“Awesome.” I nodded, pressing my lips into a thin line.
Mike stared down at me with a half-lit smile, his hands on his hips like he did when he’d
question a suspect, and a narrowed look in his eyes that made me clear my throat.
“Why do you keep staring at me like that, Mike?”
“I’m sorry. There’s just—” He went to walk away, but stopped and gave that same look
again. “—Did you dye your hair or something?”
“Why?” I toyed with the ends. “Does it look different?”
“Not sure.”
“Okay.” I laughed. “That makes perfect sense.”
“Sorry.” He shook his head and hooked his fingers under the handle of his suitcase. “I just
haven’t seen you in so long. I think I forgot how you looked.”
“Oh. Well, didn’t you have a picture?”
He shrugged dismissively, placing his suitcase on the end of the bed. “P robably somewhere.
Why?”
“You could’ve referred back to that.”
He scoffed lightly. “I ‘spose I could. Guess I just didn’t think of it.”
“Oh.” I nodded solemnly.
“What?” he said, ceasing the removal of th e padlock from his bag. “What’ s with the long
face?”
You didn’t miss me like I missed you. “Um...well, it’s just David,” I said. “I told you—he has
to go away for a few weeks before he leaves indefinitely, and—”
“You’ll miss him?” Mike softened, then pulled me into his chest and squeezed me, always
just a little too tight. “It’s all right, kid, you got me. I’ll keep ya company.”
“I know.” I pushed out fr om his arms. “But, I’ve relied on him so much to get me through. I
just don’t know how I’ll cope without him. I hate missing people.”
“Well, what was I, if not the one who helped you get through things, before you came here?”
he said. “You’ll be fine, Ara. It’s not the end of the world, and he’ll be back to say goodbye, right?”
I nodded. It was all I could do for fear of crying hysterically.
“Okay.” He patted my arm. “So just…cheer up and enjoy this time with me. Okay?”
I exhaled through my nose, nodding.
“And sit down. You’re making me feel edgy just standing there, hover ing by the door.” He
motioned to his bed.
I looked at it for a long moment. It doesn’t seem right to sit on his bed now—now that I have
a boyfriend. Mike looked at the bed too, then smiled.
“What? Did you booby-t rap it—like last winter when you and your friends thought it’d be
funny to—”
“No,” I said swiftly, then wandered over a nd slumped down in the cen tre, with my feet
dangling off the side. “I just—I don’t know if I’m comfortable being in your room now, is all.”
“Right.” Mike nodded, letting his gaze slip past me to the window.
I rolled onto my side and propped my head up with the ball of my palm. “So, what ’s the plan
today?”
“Well, a change of shirt’s fi rst on the list.” He unzipped his suitcase. “Then, I wanna hear all
about this new boyfriend of yours.”
I grinned at the sound of his accent—how, alone, in a quiet space, the Aussie in him became
more prominent, more noticeable—not a strong accent, just enough to surprise me.
“What?” He frowned.
“Oh, um. It’s the accent,” I said, ceasing my stare at his face. “It sounds so...foreign.”
“Have you heard yourself? You’re all American.” He put on a mock American accent, but it
sounded more Canadian.
“Hey, don’t knock the accent.” I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. “Took me
weeks to get it right.”
“Well, it sounds very authentic,” he said warmly.
In a dream-like state, I listened to the sound of the small pockets in his suitcase unzip, and the
gentle thud of the drawers along the wall at the foot of the bed. I loved that sound.
When the suitcase scuffed along the floor, I looked at Mike as he kicked it under the bed and
laid a clean shirt on the blanket. Until the moment he lifted the worn shirt off his back and grinned at
my gaping mouth with that gleaming smile, I’d never thought much about his body. But his sexy
physique, with his bare chest, the softball-sized muscles on his arms, and his honey-brown tan made
me take a deep, shaky breath. “Looks like you’ve been working hard to get into the Tactical Group?”
I smiled at him one last time before a shiver ran down my spine, forcing me to look at the roof again.
“There’s no way not to appreciate that kind of workmanship.”
“Well, they expect a certain level of f itness,” he said, r
uffling about at the foot of the bed,
“it’s my duty to exceed that.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t look like that the las t time you took your shirt off, so...duty
fulfilled,” I scoffed, and everything went dark with the strong scent of Mike. “Ew. Wash this thing. It
stinks,” I joked, peeling his shirt off my face then throwing it back at him.
He caught it, held it to his nose, then shr ugged and threw it behind him. “Come on—move
over.”
“Make me.”
“Fine.” The giant jumped onto the queen-sized bed and sunk his elbows heavi ly into the
softness beside me, making me roll slightly into him.
I shoved my pal m against his arm and rolled onto my back. “God, you take up so much
space.” He chuckled and tucked his elbows under his ribs to hold his head off the bed. “If you don’t
like it, you could just get off my bed.”
I smiled as he shoved my gently. “Like I said; Make me.”
“If anyone could make you do anything, Ara-Rose, my life would’ve been much easier.”
“Ha-ha,” I remarked sarcastically. When I looked back at him, his smiling eyes traced circles
over my features. I smiled back, seeing the fine lines I’d memorized from all our nights lying beside
each other, watching movies, and the little pupil-sized scar on the bridge of his nose that he got when
I threw a rock at him for being a jerk one day. I felt at home in the comfortable silence—the kind we
were used to. “What is it, Mike ?” I asked when he t ook a long br eath and suddenly rolled onto his
back.
“I’m just tired. Long trip, you know.”
“Yeah, that I know.” Wit h a sigh, I looked at the clouds through the top of the window.
Mostly, I coul d only see the eaves of th e roof jutting out above the glas s, but beyond that, t he
summer sky went on forever.
As the shadows and the yellow glow of the sun moved across the floor and to the wall, I lost
myself in the peace around us —watching Mike’s chest rise and fall with his quiet breath, and the
vein on his neck pulse lightly with his heartbeat. It’d be nice to hear his hear tbeat—to place my ear
against his chest and rest my head there for a while. But I can’t bring myself to touch him that way
ever again. Mike’s made it way too clear how he feels. I won’t make the mistake of mis reading any
interactions between us ever again.