Fighting Absolution

by Kate McCarthy

  “What?” His defensive tone has me rolling my eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen Castaway with Tom Hanks? Wiiillllsonnnn!”

  I palm my face, shaking my head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “You could kiss me,” he says from left field.

  “What?” I blurt out, even though I heard him clear as a bell. My cheeks burn hot beneath my hands, and my heart begins a steady gallop. “Why would you say something like that?” I squeak, holding my breath for his answer.

  “To hear your reaction.” There’s a grin in his voice. “You sound so embarrassed. Have you ever been kissed, Little Warrior?”

  No. “Yes. Have you?”

  “What was his name?”

  “Tom,” I throw out.

  Bear busts out laughing.

  “What?”

  “You’re so making that up. Tom was the first name that came to mind because we were talking about Castaway.”

  “You were talking about Castaway,” I retort.

  “Are you sure you’re almost sixteen?” he asks. “Because you sound ten.”

  “Har har. Yes, I’m sure. It’s my birthday in four weeks.”

  “What date?”

  “Next month. The tenth.”

  “LW?”

  I sigh. Maybe I should tell him my name.

  But then he’ll know, cautions the niggly little voice in my head. And you don’t want him to stop talking to you, do you? But maybe … maybe he wouldn’t care?

  Or he would.

  It’s your risk.

  “Yes, Bear?”

  “I could be your first.”

  “First kiss?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you—”

  “Don’t lie.” His voice softens. “You can keep stuff from me, but don’t lie.”

  A minute of silence passes between us. I count the beats of my heart, knowing it’s still fast. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

  “You have brown hair and brown eyes.”

  “But—”

  He cuts me off again. “Why do I need to know what you look like? Isn’t what I feel enough to know what I want?”

  He has feelings for me? Does that mean he likes me? In that way? My face feels hot as I ask the question, my voice cracking on the words. “And you want to kiss me?”

  “Maybe not today. One day? Soon?”

  I run my tongue over my lips, as if testing whether they’re kiss worthy. Then I imagine Bear pressing his mouth to mine. My eyes close, the image stealing my breath. The sun beating down. The dappled shade from the tree above. The buzzing of insects. The warm, musky scent of his skin. His lips soft, their touch gentle but sure. Shivers skate across my skin.

  “Okay,” I croak. “One day. Soon.”

  Dad would flip his lid. The usual wave of pain rises up, and I shove it away. Not today. Please.

  “So what are we doing for your birthday?” Erin asks, unpacking the wrapper on her sandwich.

  We’re sitting out on the grass in the common area at school during our lunch break. It’s been our favourite spot for weeks now since the weather started getting cool. The sun is bright and warm and chases the goose bumps away.

  Time has passed quickly as I get to know my new friend, and now my birthday is only ten days away. The first one without— No. Sorry, Dad. But it’s easier to shove you out.

  “Sweet sixteen,” she adds with an excited shake of her shoulders, as if I’d forgotten. Erin is a permanently happy soul. I’m guessing she was pushed out of the vaginal canal with a giant smile on her face and hasn’t stopped since. You would think it annoying, but I don’t seem to mind. It’s almost as if she smiles enough for the both of us. She has an older brother, Matt, who’s equally as cheerful. He’s blond too, with blue eyes. Cute, if you liked cute. But I like deep, teasing voices and messy golden-brown hair. I like humour and complexity. I like—

  I realise the path my thoughts are taking me down and catch my breath.

  Bear.

  I like Bear.

  “Jamie?”

  My eyes shift from the distance and focus on Erin. “Huh?”

  “Birthday?” she prompts. “What are we doing?”

  “I hadn’t planned on doing anything.” Except talk to Bear.

  “We could have a party at my place?” The waggle of her brows suggests she finds this an excellent idea.

  “My birthday falls on a Tuesday.” And Bear has training that day. My shoulders sag. He won’t be home until late.

  “I know that, silly,” she retorts, tossing one of her sandwich crusts at me. I’m wearing my hair down today, and it catches in the long strands, dangling there, smearing butter and tomato seeds everywhere.

  “Erin! Gross.”

  She laughs and rises to her knees, reaching across to snatch it free and toss it to the grass. Then she tries wiping the mess from my hair. I slap her hand away, laughing too. “Oh my god. Stop. You’ve done enough damage.”

  Erin sits back down and picks up the other half of her sandwich. She takes a massive bite, talking around the mouthful bulging from her cheek. “I was thinking the following Saturday. Maybe you could invite…” she hesitates “…Bear? Is that his name?”

  My brows snap together. “Why would I do that?”

  “You talk about him all the time. Bear said this. Bear did that.”

  “I do not!”

  “You totally do.”

  “I don’t, do I? Really?”

  “Yes.”

  I purse my lips.

  It’s Monday afternoon, the day before my birthday. I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror, assessing my hair and face. The scar on my cheek has faded. It’s thin now and maybe an inch long. Barely noticeable. But maybe … maybe I could cover it with a bit of makeup for my birthday party.

  I run fingers through my hair. Erin trimmed it for me today. She brought her mum’s hairdressing scissors to school, and we sat outside during lunch break while she chopped off about three inches. It only reaches halfway down my back now, but there’s more life to it now. The colour looks richer. More vibrant.

  I take a step back, getting a sense of my overall appearance. My skin is tan from sitting out in the yard all the time, my brows thick and even, my eyes dark. Lips full and rosy. But I don’t see beauty. I don’t see hope in my eyes. Or warmth. Or love. I still see a girl who failed.

  I swallow thickly and leave the bathroom.

  Who cares what I look like anyway?

  Bear probably won’t come to my party. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to.

  After grabbing my textbooks from my school bag, I ignore the other fosters like I usually do and trek my way out to the fence. Finding my groove, I sit down and open my books, flicking pages as I find my place while I wait for Bear.

  “Happy birthday Eve.”

  I jolt, not realising he was already there. It was too quiet. Usually he’s stomping about, or kicking a ball, or flicking a pen. Something.

  “Thanks. I’m uh … having a party. At Erin’s.”

  “Wow, cool, Little Warrior. Look at you go. A real member of society now.”

  “Hardly.” I let out a shaky breath and forge ahead. “No one will probably come. But I was thinking that maybe you—”

  “You’re kidding, right? This is Fremantle. You’ll get a packed house. Any chance for a party.”

  He cut me off unintentionally, but now I’ve lost my nerve. “How was school?” I ask instead.

  “Same old shit, different day.”

  “You sound like me,” I tease, rubbing sweaty hands against the knees of my old, faded jeans. Why am I so nervous? “Bear, I wanted to—”

  “Sorry, LW. I can’t stay today. There’s stuff I have to do.” My body deflates like a popped balloon, leaving a sad, empty feeling inside. “I just wanted to tell you I’ll be here tomorrow after practice to wish you a happy birthday. If that’s cool?”

  I swallow my disappointment, pushing it down deep inside. “Of course that’s cool,�
� I say with forced cheer. “Go do your stuff,” I add, as if him leaving early is no big deal. As if I haven’t been looking forward to ‘seeing’ him all day while at school, counting down every painful minute, watching each second tick over until I was ready to scream my frustration.

  “I got you a present.”

  My breath catches, surprised. “You did?”

  “Yep.” Bear sounds really pleased with himself, and my curiosity rises. I bite down on my bottom lip, a grin forming.

  “What is it?”

  “As if I’m gonna tell you. You’ll find out tomorrow. Think you can hold out until then?”

  “No,” I quip.

  He laughs and I hear the grass rustling from the other side of the fence, catching a shift of movement. “I’ve got to go.”

  “So go,” I say, feigning indifference.

  He pauses, his big frame lingering behind the fence. “LW?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I miss you when we’re not together. Is that weird?”

  His admission sends flutters through my belly. He misses me the same way I miss him. I’m not alone in this, whatever it is. “No,” I say softly. “It’s not weird.”

  Bear leaves and it’s not until he’s gone I realise I didn’t get a chance to invite him to my party.

  4

  JAMIE

  Happy birthday, Little Warrior.”

  I close my eyes, a tear tracking its way down my cheek. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel waking up today, knowing it’s my first birthday without Dad here. Without him cooking his horrible birthday pancakes with the chocolate drops plonked in to make a wonky smiley face. They tasted like rubber, but I didn’t care. It was enough having Dad in the kitchen with a spatula and a grin, along with a pile of wrapped presents waiting on the counter. I used to get all the latest gadgets and toys. Nothing ever girly because he didn’t know about that stuff. Neither did I. I still don’t. But none of that matters. Material things feel so meaningless now.

  I clear my throat. “Thanks, Bear.”

  “You’re not crying, are you?”

  I open my eyes, scrubbing a hand across my face. “Of course not.”

  “Is it …” He hesitates and I know why. When it comes to talking about anything personal, I’m a freaking cactus.

  “Yeah.” Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “Today just feels … wrong.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  It’s dusk and cold. Shivers track across my exposed arms. There’s no dappled sunlight at this time of year. No chirping crickets. No bees hovering from flower to flower, taking their fill. I’ve always thought of winter as the saddest season. Everything is dark and gloomy. Cold. Windy. It’s harsh and unforgiving, whereas summer is beautiful. It might get hot enough to blister your skin, but it’s bright and full of hope.

  Bear is like my summer in this cold, crappy season.

  “Nope,” I say. “I don’t.” His disappointment is almost tangible. If it were a brick, it would hit me in the face. It’s been five months, and I’m still closed up tighter than a clam. Dammit, Bear. Why do you poke and prod me so? And why do I feel this urge not to let you down? “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “Start wherever you want to.”

  I draw a deep breath inside my lungs and picture the first thing that comes to mind. It’s me in the Dojo. The mat beneath my bare feet is cool, the scent of old sweat wrinkles my nose. Dad stands across from me, taunting me, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he waits for me to put him on the ground. Not that I could. His strength and size made it impossible, but he expected me to give it a red-hot go regardless. “I have a black belt in karate. I used to love it in the same way you love your rugby.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool, LW. Are you telling me you could kick my butt if you wanted to?”

  “Totally. I could take you down like that,” I say, snapping my fingers.

  “Ha! I’d like to see you try.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Hell yes. I love a good challenge. How long did it take to work your way up to a black belt?”

  “Eight years. I got it last year, a couple of months after I turned fifteen.”

  “And what made you choose karate?”

  “Not what, but who.”

  His voice softens. “Your dad.”

  “Yeah. He was one of the best fighters there was. One of the greats.”

  The image of my father and me in the Dojo fades like smoke in the wind. I want to replace it with the image of Bear, but I can’t because I’ve never seen his face. Anger tightens my chest. Anger at myself. I never used to be this way. Never. That face I saw in the mirror—the one with the scar and the empty eyes—used to hold determination. Confidence. I was a fighter like my dad. Now I’m nothing but a timid mouse, too scared to feel anything anymore.

  “What happened?” Bear prompts.

  Is he already starting to connect the dots? “He got injured and everything went downhill from there. He started on drugs and alcohol. They got him through the pain when I couldn’t. I wasn’t enough to help him, Bear.”

  A pained sound leaves his throat, and I wipe at my eyes. “Don’t say that. You were just a kid. What were you supposed to have done?”

  “I don’t know. Something. Anything. I was strong. I could have handled it.”

  “You’re still strong, Little Warrior.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “How can you say that? Life brought you the biggest fight of your life, and you know what you did?”

  “What?”

  “You showed up. Every day. You showed up. You’re still showing up. One day you’ll look back and realise how much strength it took just to do that.”

  I swallow the sob climbing my throat. I would have never showed up if it weren’t for Bear. Life would have beat me to the mat, and I would have stayed down, defeated, never to get up again. “You don’t understand. I killed him, Bear.” My voice cracks. “My father died because of me.”

  He sucks in a sharp breath. “Jesus, LW. You can’t take that on yourself.”

  I jerk my head, nodding. “Yes I can, because it was my fault. I was the one driving the car. It was me.”

  There. Connect the dots now. His death headlined every paper across the world. News reports covered the story on television. You couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing something. They spun his story into a tragedy. Dead at just forty years old, his daughter at the wheel. One of the greatest fighters to ever live. So handsome. Fierce. Vital. Now gone. There was an outpouring of grief—all of it utter bullshit. Where was the love when he was spiralling? When he needed it most? None of them were there to pick him up when he hit rock bottom. There was only me. And I failed.

  “Jamie,” Bear whispers. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Jamie Murphy.”

  Hearing it on his lips for the first time is too much, like I want to claw my way out of my skin. I sink down against the fence, wiping my face, my stomach clenching in a sick, hot ball.

  “It was a freak accident. An accident.”

  A snort escapes me. It’s a horrible, bitter sound. “Maybe so, but I was the reason he was in the car to start with. If I hadn’t made him go, he would never have died.”

  “What happened?”

  “He took something. I don’t know what it was. He was shaking and slurring his words. I was so freaking scared.” He was failing right in front of my eyes. Falling apart. And it broke my heart. “I called an ambulance, but they were taking too long. I should have waited.” I curl my arms around my knees and drop my head. “I should have waited.”

  A few seconds pass as I rock painfully into myself. “Jamie?”

  “Yes?” I whisper against my legs.

  “Neither of you would have got in the car if he hadn’t taken anything.”

  Anger rises swiftly, hot and bright. My father was everything. Everything. He simply went too far, and tried too hard, and it broke him. “So what … I should blame him?”

&n
bsp; “No. But I think you’re angry at him and you don’t want to be. You’re angry because he died and left you alone. But you can’t stand being angry at him, so you take it out on yourself instead.”

  My protest rises swiftly, sweeping his words away. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

  Bear’s voice softens. “It’s okay to be mad.”

  “I’m not!” My cheeks grow hot. “It was my fault. He didn’t want to go, but I made him. I didn’t know he was going to jerk the wheel while I was driving, trying to get me to turn the car around. He didn’t want the publicity of an overdose. I jerked the wheel back, only I jerked it too far and lost control.” I scrunch my eyes shut, hearing the almighty bang all over again, the sound like a thunderclap, the screech of metal, the shards of glass splintering my face. “We hit a tree. The force made the car flip, and he died.” My voice breaks, my jaw chattering. “He d-d-died.”

  Bear makes a noise that’s deep and heavy and sad. “I’m sorry. I wish I could fix it for you. I wish I could do something.”

  I wipe at my face. “Being here is enough in case you didn’t know.”

  “Maybe this will help?”

  “What?”

  “Look down.”

  My eyes shift down and to my right, seeing nothing. What the— I look over to my left. Bear is pushing something underneath the fence. His hand is already large for seventeen, his big knuckles scraping the timber panels as he nudges a small pouch towards me. It’s pale blue in colour with a thin gold ribbon tying it together, complete with a little bow. It looks tiny and delicate in his hand.

  My birthday present. Just like he promised. I reach for it. My fingers graze his, and there’s an urge to grab hold. He releases the little pouch, and I don’t think. Before he can retreat, I put my hand on his. I don’t know how he manages it, but he twists his wrist until his palm is open. My hand slides in easily, and his fingers wrap around mine, warm and rough.

  The small bit of intimacy has my breath catching in my throat, but I like it. I’m grateful for that small contact. I can’t remember the last time I openly touched someone.

  It feels good.

  It feels so good.

  My eyes burn as the sweet bloom of something big and beautiful begins to unfurl in my chest. “Bear.”