by Lilly Mirren
Sarah leaned back in her chair. "You're right, we're not going to write him off, but Mum doesn't have to take him back. That's not how relationships work. He's always going to be our dad, he's not always going to be her husband."
"They're getting a divorce?" Adele asked, her voice cracking.
Sarah sighed. This wasn't her place; it wasn't her conversation to have. "You should talk to Mum about it."
Mum returned then, sat at the table. Her eyes glistened, but otherwise she looked the same well-groomed, put-together woman she was minutes earlier. Her grey hair was curled just so, her makeup was minimalist and stylish, and her pantsuit accentuated her curvy figure just enough without being over the top.
"I hadn't wanted to talk about your father today," she said, "but I know you want to understand what's going on. You love him, it's perfectly natural to be curious."
Adele wiped her mouth with a napkin. "You don't have to, Mum…"
Mum raised a hand. "It's okay. I have to face it sometime. Your father ran off with his assistant…"
"We know that part, Mum," Ethan interrupted.
She smiled. "When he did that, he broke trust with me and any chance of coming home again. He didn't talk to me about what he was going to do, only left me a note on the bench. He packed his things, took anything of value he could find in the house, cleaned out our bank account and left."
Adele raised a hand to her mouth.
"Now, I don't want to speak ill of your father, he will always be in your lives, but that doesn't mean he'll be in mine. I don't want him to come back. I've hardly spoken to him since he left, and even when I have managed to get him on the phone, he's unapologetic. He blames me, for some reason. Says I wasn't there for him, didn't care for him the way he needed…blah blah blah."
Ethan's frown deepened. "I'm sorry, Mum."
"Yeah, that's horrible, Mum. It must've been so hard for you. I didn't realise he left a note, that he didn't explain to you face-to-face how he was feeling. I can't believe he'd do that. I'm going to say something the next time I talk to him." Adele's nostrils flared.
Sarah's stomach tightened. It wasn't the first time she'd heard the story, but it was still difficult to stomach. Hearing how little concern her father had for her mother after so many years of marriage, it made her wonder how marriage could work for anyone.
"No, there's no need for any of you to get in the middle. I'll deal with him in my own way. Now, let's finish breakfast so we can start on the gifts. I've made some delicious peppermint coffee to sip while we unwrap."
Colourful, torn wrapping paper lay in a neat pile beside her mother. Sarah leaned back against the couch and crossed her feet at the ankles. The carpet was soft, and she caressed it with her fingers a moment before taking another sip of coffee. The rug beneath her had been a part of the family for as long as she could remember. Mum had it cleaned every year, and even though the colours had faded, the Turkish patterns still looked just as she remembered them.
"Thank you for the earrings," Adele said, holding two hoops up to her ears with a grin. "I love them."
"You're welcome," Sarah replied.
It was good to be home. Even better to have Adele and Ethan there. Their family had changed, but it was still family and still warmed her heart. Surely Dad missed that. It wouldn't be the same with just him and Keisha. The fact that Keisha was only a few years older than Sarah herself made her shudder to think of it. It was all too strange, too bizarre to consider.
The front doorbell rang, and her mother's aged Pomeranian launched itself at the door, yapping on high alert.
"Settle, Petal!" shouted Sarah and Ethan at once.
They both laughed. The fact that their mother had named her dog Petal had been an endless source of amusement over the years.
"Who would come knocking on Christmas Day?" Adele mused, her brow furrowed. She stood, smoothed her hands down her pants. "It must be Dad. It has to be."
Sarah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Even after everything he'd done, Adele couldn't fault her father. He'd always been a hero in her eyes, and it was clear she thought there was some kind of mistake, something that could explain his absence apart from the obvious. She wanted to believe the best of him, but Sarah was afraid she was going to be sorely disappointed.
Even though he was her father as well, and she loved him, she had a different view. She'd seen the way he treated their mother over the years, to him, she wasn't there, didn't matter. He'd been the fun one, she'd been the responsible one, and he never attempted to shift any of the burden onto his own shoulders, even seemed to regard her with contempt at times for it.
When it came to their father, Adele wore rose-tinted glasses, but Sarah saw things clearly. If it was him at the door, she'd be happy to see him but wasn't sure how things would play out with their mother. She shifted in place, her heart rate accelerating.
"Well, look who's come over for a cup of coffee." Mum walked back into the living room, stepping aside to reveal Athol Miller, the family doctor and their father's best friend. Or at least he had been Dad's best friend years ago. Sarah didn't recall hearing as much about him in recent years, though of course she'd moved to Sydney so that was to be expected.
Athol waved a hand. "Ah, Merry Christmas, Flannigans. How nice to see you all. I told Cindy that I'd love to come and visit with all of you on Christmas. I haven't seen you in so long."
Sarah stood to greet him with a gentle embrace. "Uncle Athol, it's so nice to see you. Merry Christmas to you as well."
He chuckled. "You can all call me plain old Athol."
She nodded. "If you like. I suppose we're getting too old to call you uncle, although habits can be hard to break."
He kissed the women’s cheeks, shook Ethan's hand, then sat with a grunt in an armchair. Dad's armchair. Sarah noticed the grimace on Adele's face even as she quickly turned away. She knew it was hard on her sister; Adele had been close to Dad, his little girl for so long.
"So, how have you been, Athol?" Sarah asked.
Athol smiled. "I'm getting there. It's been busy at work, but I hired a new doctor. Hoping to get her up to speed before I retire."
"You're retiring?" Ethan asked.
Athol's lips pursed. "I suppose I'll have to at some stage, though I'm not particularly keen on the idea. What I'll do with myself then…who knows." He chuckled. "Your mum tells me I can help out in the cafe, though I'm not sure how relaxing that will be."
Mum emerged from the kitchen with a cup of steaming hot coffee and handed it to Athol. He leaned back in the armchair, crossed one long leg over the other and sipped. "Thank you, Cindy."
Sarah studied him as he spoke. What was going on? They'd had Athol over for Christmas many times in the past, but it was always because he was Dad's friend.
"Have you heard from Dad lately?" Adele asked, shoving her light brown curls behind one shoulder.
At twenty-three years old, she had a young face that gave her the appearance of a teenager, something her passengers no doubt wouldn't appreciate. She was older than her years though, more mature somehow. Being the youngest, she'd felt the need to prove herself.
Athol arched a bushy eyebrow. "Uh…no, not lately. In fact, I haven't spoken to your dad since right after he left."
Creases formed above Adele's hazel eyes. "That's a shame, I'm sure he needs his friends right now."
Irritation buzzed in Sarah's gut. Adele always stood up for their father, even when he was in the wrong. She hadn't asked Mum once how she was coping, yet she was concerned about their father's well-being. It rubbed Sarah the wrong way; even though deep down she cared about him, her anger burned closer to the surface.
Athol shifted in his seat. "Well, that's probably true, I suppose. But…your father and I don't see eye to eye on a few things."
"What kinds of things?" Adele asked.
Ethan coughed. "Adele, that's none of our business."
Beside Ethan on the long leather couch, Mum bit on her lower lip, staring at th
e coffee cup in her hands.
"No, it's okay." Athol waved a hand and smiled. "I don't mind talking about it, as long as Cindy doesn't mind."
Mum offered a quick nod. "I don't mind."
"Well, for one, I didn't like the way he left things with Cindy. He didn't talk to her, didn't try to work things out, just took off. As you all know, I lost my wife almost a decade ago, and there hasn't been a moment where I didn't wish she was still with me…" His voice broke, but he cleared his throat and continued. "I think he should've appreciated Cindy more than he did. It's not only about him leaving… He took her for granted for years…didn't see what was right in front of him, didn't treat her the way she should be treated." As he spoke, Athol's gaze drifted to where Mum sat. He focused on her, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.
His grey hair was combed to one side but had shifted into peaks where a hand had run through it. He wore long, khaki pants and a button-down blue shirt, and with spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, he looked every bit the country doctor. Sarah couldn't help noticing how handsome he was, and one glance at her mother told her she'd recognised that fact already.
Sarah's eyes narrowed. Something was going on between the two of them, and she wasn't entirely sure she liked it. If she was going to pick someone for her mother, she'd have thought someone more masculine, maybe a man who worked with his hands, would suit her. Someone rugged and outgoing, not a quiet, unassuming doctor with pale skin and smooth hands. Though after being married to their father for so many years, perhaps quiet was just what she needed. Athol was kind, gentle and thoughtful, that much she knew from their years of friendship.
Adele had listened to Athol's speech with flashing eyes. She inhaled a quick breath. "I don't think that's very fair. You don't know both sides of the story. Mum can be irritating at times… Dad's put up with a lot from her over the years."
"Adele!" Sarah shouted, her hackles rising. "This isn't the time, and that's completely unfair. We're not going to pile on Mum."
"Well, I don't think we should pile on Dad either. It's not right, he's not here to defend himself."
"You're right, he's not here. He abandoned us. Left Mum on her own. And that's not all—"
"Sarah, there's no need," Mum interrupted, her cheeks flushed.
Sarah swallowed the rest of the words that she wanted to say. About the fact that Dad had left Mum with debts she might never be able to repay. That he'd been draining their finances for years. Sarah had no idea what he'd been doing before his retirement that'd brought him to that place. His financial planning business must've been losing money, but he hadn't let on, and it seemed Mum hadn't known a thing about it either.
She pressed her lips together, her blood boiling. "Fine, we can talk about it another time. But I don't think you should be attacking Mum right now. It's Christmas, we should talk about nice things like sugar plum fairies and puddings, or we could even debate the likelihood that a rotund man in a red suit could squeeze down so many chimneys all around the world in one night, or how he's able to break into houses across Australia since most of us don't have chimneys… And while we're at it, let's address the elephant in the room: why does he bother, now that he can simply shop online and have it delivered?"
Ethan chuckled.
Adele shook her head, her body relaxing.
Mum reached over to squeeze Sarah's arm. "Let's get this mess cleaned up, and we can all relax on the veranda before it gets stiflingly hot."
Sarah collected bits and pieces of wrapping, ribbon and envelopes and wadded them into a ball. She watched as Mum gathered empty coffee mugs to carry to the kitchen, and her heart ached. Mum could've said something, could've railed about what Dad had done; instead she didn't want to destroy Ethan and Adele's view of their father at Christmas. It was just like her, always thinking of her children. Sarah couldn't fault her for it, but she worried about her mother and what the future might hold.
Chapter 15
Sarah
The year was almost over. Tomorrow would be New Year's Eve, and Sarah felt she could finally face it. She was ready. She'd unpacked everything in the cottage, found a place for it all, even had a vase of wildflowers in the kitchen to bring a sense of life to the room. She'd never been one to do much decorating; her focus had always been her career, networking, building a life for herself outside of her home. Her unit in Sydney had been austere, modern with smooth lines and neutral tones. But so far, the cottage had a more vibrant, colourful and vintage feel to it, and she loved it.
Nothing really worked, apart from the internet connection which was finally somewhat reliable. She took a sip of coffee and glided in her new rocking chair on the rotting deck - she'd been careful to find the most solid section of the timber floor before dragging the rocking chair out onto the deck. She'd found the chair by chance in town at a garage sale. As she drove past the sale, her gaze had flitted to the chair, and she'd immediately pictured herself rocking in it on her deck, looking out over the ocean, the wind teasing her hair. So she'd pulled over and negotiated with the owner to deliver it to the cottage for her, along with a vintage buffet and dining table with six matching chairs, all in good shape.
Renovations would begin in the new year, and she was excited to see how the place would look given a face-lift. She glanced at the bowl of kibble beside her chair. She'd folded and visited the pet store one town over as well. She'd driven there to buy herself a comfortable armchair when she thought she might as well embrace the fact that she had a dog now. The creature wasn't going away; it visited every day, though it still hadn't let her within arm's reach.
As if sensing her thoughts, there was a rustle in the grass beside the cottage and the stray appeared, his brown fur matted and soiled.
He crept forward, tail pushed down firmly between his hind legs, large brown eyes trained on her face.
"Hi there, glad you could make it. Hope you like dog food. I know you've gotten used to bacon and my leftover steak or chicken, but let's face it, you could probably do with a little more substance and some vitamins or something. I don't really know, I'm new to this whole dog-owner thing." She hesitated, watching as the animal snuck up the stairs and found the bowl next to her chair.
If she reached out her hand, she could touch it. She held her breath, leaned down and peered under the animal.
"Ah, so you are a boy, I thought so. Is your name Oscar?"
The dog glanced up at her, crunching through a mouthful of kibble, the wild look gone from his eyes for now.
"Great, let's agree on Oscar. I think it's a fine name. I'm Sarah, by the way, just in case you were wondering what to call me."
Oscar lost interest, dropped his head to the bowl again and resumed eating.
She reached out a hand, let it hover over the animal's bony back. "I don't know about you, but I like my personal space. I'm not big on hugging, or touching, like some people are. But I figure, if we're going to share a home, and it seems to me that's what you're hoping for, then perhaps we should try patting…or maybe one pat. If you're up for it."
Oscar didn't respond. Sarah eyed him a moment, braced herself and gently dropped a hand onto his back. The feel of bones beneath her hand made her heart lurch for what he must've been through, how hard he'd struggled to survive since the previous owner of the cottage died.
The dog lurched to one side but didn't take his mouth from the bowl. Then he shifted and eventually relaxed.
Sarah sighed with relief.
She stroked his fur a few times, feeling the mange, the mud caked into the hair, the sharp ribs. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? Just giving you forewarning - I'm going to want to give you a bath at some point. I mean, not today, I get it, you're still warming to me, but before too long. You really need one."
Chapter 16
Franklin
Franklin Russell stepped out of the police cruiser, pushed the door shut with his foot and balanced a tray of disposable coffee cups in one hand, a manila folder in his mouth and the
strap of a backpack in the other hand.
He grimaced as the effort of shutting the car door made the cardboard tray sway precariously from one side to the other, then leaned against it to steady the cups before heading for the station door.
He studied the double automatic glass doors that barred his way into the station, one eyebrow arched. The doors were his nemesis. Everyone knew it. They all had a good old giggle at his expense whenever he collided with them. For some reason, he was the only member of the team who had an issue with them; they glided open with no problem at all for the others. Only for him, they stuck at times, and if he wasn't paying attention, he'd end up with his nose squashed against the glass.
With four coffee cups held aloft, he couldn't risk being caught off guard again. He stepped forward, and the doors swished open. He hesitated, then passed through the doorway, smiling around the mouthful of papers pressed between his lips.
"Good morning, Sergeant Russell. How are you on this fine day?" The receptionist's cheery voice pierced through the small opening in the centre of a secure glass window.
The day was already growing hot, and the high humidity had a line of sweat forming on his upper lip from the walk between his cruiser and the front door.
"Fine, thanks, Steph. How are you?" He uttered the words around the folder sagging at both ends between his lips.
Stephanie's brow furrowed. "What did you say? Here, let me help you…" She came out from behind the reception desk, through the security door and reached for the folder.
Franklin smacked his lips, dispelling the feeling of cotton mouth, then inhaled a slow breath.
"Thanks, Steph, that's much better. Here, I brought you a coffee. Yours is the one with 'Strep' written on the side."