Losing Faith (Surfers Way)

by Jennifer Ryder

  I take a moment to truly appreciate him and his new and improved athletic form. A fitted white tee is firm against his rounded pecs, the fabric stretched to accommodate his biceps, which are much more toned and rounded than they were years ago. I know because I ogled them every chance I could.

  His navy shorts sit low on his hips, the hem resting a few inches above his knee and giving me a peek of strong thigh muscles underneath. I push on with a full sweep of his body, admiring the gentle curve of his toned calves atop his blue runners.

  Whilst he definitely didn’t look like a boy the last time I saw him, now Q is that much more of a man.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I put my khaki satchel over my head and say goodbye to Dad and Aunt Cat. Any other time we’d drive home together, but tonight I have a visitor, and I’m thinking the walk home will do me good. I flick the sign on the door over so that “closed” faces the street. The bell on the door rattles as I swing it open and make my way over to Quade.

  “Hey, Lacey Lou,” he drawls. His vibrant blue eyes twinkle as his mouth slowly pulls until he delivers a mega-watt smile.

  I gulp down the lump in my throat. After almost three years, he’s as casual as if he saw me yesterday. The butterflies in my stomach turn psycho at the sweet rumblings of his voice, bashing around my insides as if they’re claustrophobic and need to escape. Clearly, they’ve missed him. Them and me both.

  “Hey,” I say on an exhale, but inside I’m all “I’ve missed your rugged face”, “Where the hell have you been?”, “I needed a friend like you”, and “Damn, have you been working out?” “Like, um, seriously, working out?”

  He pushes off the lamp post, uncrossing his ankles, and steps closer to me. “You walking home?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

  “I’d fly on the back of a unicorn, but I haven’t seen one around here for a good few months. I’m sure they’ll be back in the warmer weather.”

  “Do you always have to be a smartarse?” he scoffs.

  I never act like this around anyone else. Go figure. Even after all this time apart, old habits come back in full force. Being smart and being a pain in Quade’s arse were my ways of hiding my feelings for him in front of everyone else. “Better than being a dumbarse.”

  I start walking down the street. Quade falls into step with me.

  “How you been?” he asks and clears his throat.

  “Good.” That’s debateable.

  “Cool. Are you still living with your parents?”

  “Yeah, but I’m in the granny flat, so I get my space.”

  “Cool,” he says and shrugs.

  “So what are you doing back in town? It’s been a while.”

  “I’ve got a casual position teaching at the primary school until the end of the year and then next year I’ll be permanent.”

  Blood rushes to my face, and I swear I hear the force of it in my ears as it pushes through my veins with power behind it. He’ll be around here full-time? Not just visiting?

  “I would have thought the lure of the city would’ve kept you away.”

  “I always had every intention of coming back here. The big smoke had no chance of keeping me. I love this place too much.”

  “Your parents must be stoked,” I say.

  He snorts and gives his head a quick shake from side to side. “I worry about them,” he says, avoiding my question.

  Worry? Whatever for? Surely Mrs Kelly is over the moon to have her son home, especially with Quade’s upcoming news of weddings and celebrations.

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine the last few years have been easy on them, but I’m sure with you around there’s stuff to look forward to.”

  Quade gives me a quizzical look and then blinks rapidly a few times, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking about. “You still see my parents much?”

  I toy with a tangle of loose hair that’s escaped my ponytail and wrap it around my finger. Here we go.

  “Um, well you see,” I mumble and bite down on my fingernail, which is already that close to the quick.

  His warm fingers wrap around my hand, saving my nail from being chewed to the point of bleeding. My feet cement to the ground and he steps in, taking prime position within my personal space. “What, Lace?” he asks, concern in his tone. “What happened with my parents?”

  A tortured sigh leaves my lips, and I draw in a deep breath. His blue eyes bore into mine, looking for answers. Does he have any idea? From his concerned expression, I don’t think he does. I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know, do you?” I walk around him taking slow steps along the path.

  “Know what? My parents still see you, right? You were like an adopted daughter,” he says. His tone is hopeful.

  I wish so bad that it were true. That we were still like family. Mr and Mrs Kelly were the parents I had when mine were too busy working.

  After Faith died, when I finally snapped out of my feeling-sorry-for-myself alcohol-induced phase, I committed myself into action. That was when Mr and Mrs Kelly shut me out. I wasn’t going to rest until Faith’s killer was behind bars even if they had an issue with it, for some reason. I still won’t rest until that day.

  “I don’t know if you heard, but I kinda lost some friends over my crusade.”

  He grabs my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “Explain.”

  “I’ve never stopped looking for who was responsible for Faith’s death.”

  Will he resent me for constantly reminding this seaside community what it lost that night?

  “You haven’t?”

  I don’t miss the high pitch of his voice.

  What the hell has he been doing the last few years? Has he had his head buried in the sand when it comes to his family?

  “Your parents didn’t say anything to you about me?” I ask, guessing they haven’t given his lack of knowledge on the subject.

  “They don’t like to talk about her, or anything remotely related, so no. Makes it kinda tough.”

  “I can imagine. They didn’t like me talking about her either,” I admit. The words sting as they leave my mouth. Mrs Kelly really gave it to me that day at the supermarket. I know she was grieving. She still is. I just wish she would let me explain, let me talk about Faith. Surely talking about it would help her move on, or find some kind of acceptance of what happened? She might have lost a daughter, but I lost a sister. Things have never been the same for me since.

  A long silence stretches between us as we turn into my street.

  “What did you mean by losing friends?”

  Boy. He really knows nothing.

  “I’ve interrogated every single person in this town. The police nearly charged me with interfering with police business.”

  “What? That’s insane,” he says, his voice climbing in octave. “There must have been a misunderstanding.”

  “No misunderstanding, Quade. I just never let up. I couldn’t.”

  He scratches at the side of his temple and lets out a laboured breath. “Wow. That’s full on.”

  “Yeah, it was.” If only he knew how full on it was with social media. The bullying, the torment, the death threat that had my parents shit scared and the police on our doorstep. Looking back now, I should have thought twice before I created the “Who Killed Faith Kelly?” Facebook page.

  I take a step back as we reach the point in the road where my driveway meets the tar.

  “I can’t believe your dad still has the van,” Quade says, eyeing the mountain covered with a tarp at the side of the house.

  “Ha, yeah. Still here. Generations of bugs and spiders have lived and died in there. He looks at it from time to time, but he refuses to get rid of it. He says we can’t bury him until it’s rolling around the streets of Runaway.”

  “Stubbornness sure runs in your family.”

  “Excuse me,” I say in mock offence. “I prefer the term headstrong.”

  “Headstrong it is then.”

  “You know if you think I’m headstrong, I have no
thing on my mother. She said that if Dad doesn’t move it in the next two years, she’ll be asking the guys at the cemetery to dig a hole big enough for the both of them.”

  “God I love your mum,” he says and chuckles.

  She loves you too, Quade. I loved you …

  I let out a long breath, wishing that I could stay and talk all night, but I’m dog tired and want to feel at least half-human tomorrow. And there’s the whole he’s-got-a-fiancée thing too. Awkward. “Anyway, I’d better get inside. Thanks for the walk. I guess I’ll see ya ’round,” I say with a shrug.

  Quade stands firmly planted to the black bitumen on the street, his arms open wide. “You gonna give me a hug or what?”

  “Sure,” I say, taking small steps until the tips of my purple Converse shoes meet his sneakers. He sighs and his shoulders drop as he slowly lets out a breath and wraps his giant arms around me. I feel so small, almost lost in his embrace. He moves his face closer to the crook of my neck, sniffing at my hair as he draws in a breath. “You don’t have to act all tough guy, Lace, like you haven’t missed me or anything,” he says, his low voice rumbling in my ear.

  If only he knew just how much.

  I choke back the whirlwind of emotions bubbling inside me, reaching the point where I can stop the tears from tumbling. One knee buckles. He tightens his grip around me. Once upon a time I would have yelled at him for so many things—for not making contact, for not seeing if I was okay—but too much time has passed. Even though we never got to show each other how we felt, he took a huge piece of my heart the day he left.

  What we had was special. The promise of something with Quade was the only thing in my life that gave me that kick of excitement. Us being together was the only thing in my future I was certain of. I wanted Quade Kelly. I wanted to be with him. I would have given him the world.

  I’ve dealt with the fact that he left. It was a shitty thing to just pack up and never look back, but I know he had his reasons. After all this time, I’ve moved on, and I shouldn’t be surprised that Quade has moved on too.

  The hug continues. The embrace is not the kind that a guy who’s about to propose to his girlfriend should be giving to another woman. What’s with that?

  “I’d better go,” I say quietly, withdrawing from his warmth. “There’s a hyperactive little fella in there that’s waiting for my attention.”

  He looks to the house and then back at me. “A what?”

  A loud howl cries out from behind the fence followed by a series of scratches against the back of the timber gate, which has the metal parts clanging against each other. Luckily Mum is still at work, so I don’t have to stress about him waking her.

  “Ah, speaking of, that’s Charlie,” I say and chuckle.

  “Oh, right,” he says and snorts. “I thought for a second you were talking about a kid.”

  “I promise you. Kids aren’t on the cards for me anytime soon.” That would require a partner, and some indication of a sex life. “Not like some.”

  He stares vacantly at me and then takes a few steps up the driveway and looks back to where my feet are firmly rooted to the ground. Well, isn’t he the gentleman. Is he going to walk me all the way to my door?

  I skip to catch up, and Quade walks me towards the gate. The sensor floodlight casts a strong beam over us, causing long shadows of our figures to stretch out on the grass to the right of us.

  He licks his lips, pink lips that I’d intended on ravishing the shizzle out of way back then. It’s funny how today the same feelings are there. But he’s not mine.

  Quade nods and licks at his lower lip again, not breaking eye contact with me as he draws the flesh between his teeth.

  “Have you been eatin’ donuts or something?” I ask him.

  His brows pull together, causing a crease in the skin above his nose. “No. Why?”

  “Then why are you licking your lips like that?”

  He looks me up and down, causing an ache low in my stomach. He slowly runs his tongue over his top and then bottom lip, just to be an arse about it. “A man can’t lick his lips?”

  “Not when they’re looking at me like you are now.” Diversion. “Anyway, I’d better get to Charlie.”

  His eyes light up as the whining through the gate grows into a rough growl. “Let me see him,” he says.

  “He’d probably jump all over you. He doesn’t understand the whole ‘playing nice’ thing.”

  “Come on, Lacey. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Ah, you end up in emergency with a ripper of a bite?”

  Charlie takes an almighty leap against the fence, his head peeking over the gate for a split second.

  “Sit down, boy,” Quade says, his tall frame peering over the fence.

  “Okay, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you,” I tease.

  I unlatch the gate and creep it open, preparing to grab Charlie’s collar at the first sight of it.

  Charlie pushes his nose into the gap and swings his head violently to the side causing the gate to fly open.

  The man beside me kneels and Charlie bounds into his chest, licking at his neck and the round curve of his shoulder.

  Never have I been jealous of a dog in my life. Ever. Until now. “He usually doesn’t like people.”

  “He seems fine to me,” Quade says, chuckling as he ruffles his fingers around his ears and then scratches under his chin.

  Charlie rolls over onto his back and whines as he is gifted with a belly rub that has me wanting to throw myself on the grass and flash my stomach for the same kind of attention.

  Well of course he likes Quade Kelly. Who doesn’t?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I stroll down the familiar cracked concrete path, wildflowers in hand. I veer off to the left and walk carefully between the headstones, which have been in place since last century. The groundskeeper, Jim Moore, nods in my direction as a silent hello as he walks towards me with a half-filled black garbage bag.

  Mr Moore, who is probably as old as the place, does a pretty good job at maintaining the grounds. Ever since his wife passed away, which I’m told was long before I was born, he’s dedicated his time to keeping the memorial park groomed and looking beautiful all year-round. Whether it’s true or not, I heard the council tried to put him on as a staff member and pay him, but he wouldn’t have a bar of it. What I do know is that he barely has to fork out for a thing. Dad happily shouts him pizza from time to time, the corner store delivers fruit and veg to him every fortnight, and there isn’t a café on The Strip that will accept his money for coffee. Most of the local businesses in this town have been passed on to the next generation, so I guess there’s a lot of family up here that Jim honours with his time.

  “Miss Marone,” he says with a wink of his tired grey-blue eyes. With a gloved hand, he pats down the stray grey hairs which have come free of his slick comb-over. Of course he knows my name, because we see each other every week. Sometimes we chat. Sometimes sharing a simple smile is all that’s needed. It’s as if he knows purely from looking at me if I need to talk or need space. I guess if anyone understands grief, it’s him. He’s used to seeing people at their lowest. Hell, he’s seen me here at my lowest on too many occasions to count.

  “Hello, Mr Moore,” I say in return, gifting him with a wide smile. Today is a good day. I have positive things to talk to Faith about. I’m pretty sure there won’t be any tears.

  A small smile pulls at the corner of his thin lips and then he nods and shuffles off into the distance. When I reach my destination I turn and he’s gone, like a ghost.

  The flowers from last week have already been taken away from her resting place, no doubt thanks to Jim, with the exception of a single yellow rose laid on top of the headstone. Over the years I’ve found the odd rose like this here, usually in the weeks surrounding the anniversary of Faith’s death. I never see who places them. I guess a part of me hopes it’s Faith’s mum or dad. They can’t continue to shut her out and not talk about her. How
must that be for them? Do they just pretend she never existed?

  I arrange the new assortment of silvery green leaves and cream and yellow wildflowers that I picked along the way. I pull the full water bottle from my bag and top up the plastic vessel. The arrangement sways with the breeze that whistles through the weeping willows, sending a shiver to ripple throughout my body.

  There wasn’t any sign of wind when I left home, but whenever I move within sight of her special place on the hill, there’s always a breeze. I like to think it’s Faith’s way of telling me that she knows I’m here. It’s no longer creepy, like it was when I first came to visit. Now it’s just expected.

  I sit on the perfectly manicured grass, where I imagine her feet to be. I cross my legs, tuck the end of my short dress into the gap between them to cover my knickers, and slip off my silver thongs.

  “Hey sister,” I say in a quiet voice.

  Hey, biatch. I think of her saying back in that sassy tone. Imagining the look on her face and the likelihood of her poking out her tongue at me has me smiling.

  I place my palms flat against the ground in front of me, where I imagine her fingers to be, entwined together at her waist six feet under. I close my eyes, picturing her warm hands in mine, squeezing tight, like she’d done a million times before.

  “Funny thing happened yesterday,” I say and huff out a breath through my nose.

  Yeah, what?

  I pick at the grass in front of me, tugging out a few strands and holding them high before letting the breeze carry them away. A vision of Quade standing in front of the Palace comes to mind. Quade is going places. Working out in the real world, and about to have his own family unit. He’ll have a baby. He’ll be a dad. I should be happy for him, but it still hurts my heart.

  “Your brother is back in town.”

  The breeze whips around my head, turning my hair into a veil, blinding my vision.

  Okay, that was kinda creepy.

  “He came to see me at the Palace, and walked me home after I finished work. I’m not gonna lie—I’ve really missed him. Of course not as much as I miss you, biatch, so settle down.”