Regret Page 24

  “I take it you don’t want to?” I offer her my hand so she can steady herself as she climbs over the chain linking the bollards.

  “No. I love that house. I’d stay there forever if I could. It holds so many special memories, things I don’t want to let go of, although …”

  “Although?”

  She sighs as she takes a seat at the picnic table tucked beneath a sprawling oak. “He’s right about one thing: it’s not healthy, the dependency I have on keeping those memories alive.”

  “The only memory you should ever forget is a bad one.” Because, fuck, don’t I know that?

  “Anderson, Piata! Somebody fucking answer me!”

  I shake my head clear and focus on tearing my paper bag perfectly in the centre so I can spread it out to make a kind of plate.

  “That’s the problem,” Cammie says, pulling her muffin out and dumping it on top of her bag, crumbs everywhere. “No matter how good the memories are, they all link into one hell of a bad one.”

  “And you choose to hang on to it?” I ask as I lean over and take a bite, hoping she’ll reveal a little more about what exactly happened to her.

  She wasn’t wrong, though: these muffins are good shit.

  “I feel as though it’s the final betrayal if I don’t.” She tips her head forward, her hair sliding to curtain her face as she picks at the edge of the muffin with her nail. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to keep the place, ways to make it work. I’ve been thinking about turning it into a B&B, but I’m not sure if that would be enough separation for him.”

  I can’t be sure what happens in the seconds that follow, only that wherever she goes when the voracious woman finally silences, it seems to absorb all of the negative shit that had begun to surface with her admission about the house. She quietly picks at the food, only the slightest movements made as she brings the crumbs to her lips. A gentle northwest breeze lifts the ends of her hair, giving the sun a chance to catch the lighter tips. She’s beautiful, and although I think she knows it, she chooses to ignore it.

  “Anyway.” The face that lifts to meet me doesn’t belong to the same woman. A smile splits her lips despite the fact her eyes are still dead. “Tell me more about you, Duke. What’s your story?”

  “Not much to say.” I shrug, turning the coffee cup in my hand. “I’m between jobs at the moment, kind of deciding where I want my life to go next.”

  “What did you used to do?”

  “Army.”

  Her eyebrows shoot upwards, a slim finger lifted to point at the chain around my neck. “So that’s why you wear that. Is that your tags?”

  I nod.

  “That’s so cool.”

  Fuck—she’s just like everyone else. “No,” I snap. “No, it’s not.”

  Silence falls between us, and although I can see her fight to keep it that way, she caves and keeps talking. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’ve just never met anyone who served before. Thought you might have some cool stories about being overseas, you know, experiences to share, that people like me who’ve never been in a plane might not have had the chance to have.”

  “Count yourself lucky, then.” I snatch up what’s left of the muffin and chew it angrily before swallowing and continuing, “Not all those experiences are great ones, and if I could trade places with somebody who’d never left this great country of ours, I would. But at the same time, I probably wouldn’t.” I laugh bitterly. “And you know why? Because trading places with somebody would mean they’d have to experience the bullshit I did. I couldn’t do that to a person, even if I didn’t like them.”

  “Well, I apologise for being so fucking naïve, then.” Cammie bundles her rubbish and rises from the table, marching over to the bin with it. “We’ll get your bag out of the car, and then I’ll leave you at Archie’s.”

  Fuck. This is why I don’t bother with people anymore. She asked an honest question. How was she to know what I went through, why I was medically discharged? And yet, like the douchebag I am, I took it out on her.

  Because that’s who I am now—a man who blames everybody he meets for bullshit they’re not even aware of.

  Unless you’ve been there, you just don’t know. And that’s not her fault. Hell, it’s not even mine. It’s nobody’s. Yet I just lumped her with it as though she should burden all the blame for the horrors that fucked me up as a man.

  “I’m sorry, Cam.”

  “No.” She whips around and marches back to the table, stopping by my side. “That’s the second time you’ve had to apologise to me for losing your temper, and you know what? It makes me think you’re not the kind of person I need to be around.”

  She has a point.

  “Let’s get my fucking bag then, and be done with it.”

  “Let’s.”

  I trail behind, my tail firmly tucked between my legs as she marches ahead, struggling over the chain on her own rather than accepting help from me again. Not a word is spoken as we cross the intersection again to her car, which for a chatterbox like Cammie, is kind of poignant.

  I can’t imagine many people piss her off to the extent that they actually get the silent treatment. And what’s weirder is, after wishing she’d shut the fuck up for the better part of a day, I miss her voice.

  She pops the trunk on her car, and wrestles my pack out of the back before dropping it unnecessarily hard on the road.

  “Thanks for the place to stay.” I don’t even look at her; I don’t deserve to meet her eyes.

  “Best of luck, Duke.” She makes no bones about getting in her car and turning it on, signalling that she’s ready to leave. I heave the pack up to my shoulder, and after checking the way is clear, cross the road to Archie’s workshop.

  Her motor runs behind me, the soft hum of the engine as it idles. The urge is too strong as I reach the door to the office, so I give in and look back at where her BMW stays stationary on the roadside. From this angle it’s too hard to see what she’s doing. The fact she hasn’t chosen to drive away yet, to me, means one of two things: she’s checking I make it over here okay, or she’s too mad to think straight.

  Knowing the effect I have on people, I’m going with the latter.

  NINE

  Cammie

  Duke swaggers across the road toward Archie’s shop. Bets are on the bastard not feeling the slightest bit guilty about his attitude.

  I get it—he probably has his demons. But the way he snapped at me, and the hate in his eyes as he did so … That man has one heck of a violent side sitting just below the surface. When and if it decides to show, I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to be around to see the aftermath.

  I put the car in gear, yet hesitate when my phone rings inside my bag. Returning the shifter to neutral, I race to get my phone out before I lose the call to voicemail. Part of me wonders why I didn’t let it go when I see who’s calling.

  “It’s the weekend,” I answer, bypassing formalities.

  “So?” Jared asks. “What does that matter?”

  “I had hoped you’d let me have at least a couple of days off where I didn’t have to think about it.”

  “This is the real world, Cam. You don’t get to bury your head in the sand and pretend things don’t need to get done.”

  Arsehole. “What are you calling about then?”

  “I’ve got a shortlist of agents I want you to look at.” I’m still not ready for this. “I thought if you’re home, I’d pop over later and go through it with you.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m not mentally prepared. It’s barely been a week since he sprung the decision on me.

  Then again—will I ever be ready if the task is something I don’t want to do?

  “I’m out running errands at the moment, but I should be back by eleven-thirty.” I lean forward, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. “I’ve got to be back on the road by twelve-thirty, though, for the afternoon show.

  “You still wasting your time with that?” He sighs, as though my soc
ial life inconveniences him. “Kell and I are busy right now as well. I can come over between shows, around five.”

  Of course. Because he won’t come now if it means he has to bring her with him. He knows better after what happened last time.

  “See you then.” I disconnect, keeping my head on the steering wheel, and groan. A goddamn shortlist. May as well say he’s picked the agency. What’s the bet the arsehole had the list curated before he approached me with the request? I wouldn’t put it past him to have a contract drawn up with one of them already, and this is just his fake bullshit show of making me feel “involved”.

  My eyes drift to the rear-view as I straighten up, but Duke is nowhere to be seen anymore. Good. I’ve had it with men—all of them. The only man I know of that’s half-decent is my dad, but even then, he has his days.

  I make the drive two blocks down to the grocery store with my eyes on the road, but my mind is on the past four and a half years.

  It wasn’t your fault. The same bullshit lie I tell myself every time to try and reason why I should be moving on with my life. But at the end of the day, how can I believe that when I failed the one basic rule you’re silently given when you become a parent: keep your child alive.

  I pull the keys from the ignition and get out, opening my bag to drop them in after I’ve locked the car. My eye snags on one of my many crutches, buried deep in the dark recess of the main compartment. My fear morphs into an immovable lump in my throat as I reach in and exchange the car keys for the toy.

  A Polly Pocket. One of her favourites, and the very one that would send her into a fit if I didn’t have it with me when we went shopping.

  Just like I am now.

  I should put it back. Hell, I should toss the little plastic compact in the trash on my way past. After all, it’s useless to me now.

  But it was hers.

  So instead, Polly takes a ride with me around the supermarket, perched on the fold-out kids seat in the front of the shopping trolley. I pack it away when I get to the checkout, the same sinking feeling taking root in the pit of my gut when I drop the toy back into the dark.

  “Hey, Cammie. How was your week? The show doing good?”

  I detach from the past and lift my chin to face Ava. She’s worked the checkouts at the local grocery store since I was I primary school, always pointing out the chocolate that was on special when I came in with my pocket money. She won’t take credit for it, but a lot of the customers come here to keep up with her, rather than save ten dollars shopping on the other side of town.

  I’m one of those people.

  “The show’s going great,” I say as I pack the bagged goods into the trolley. “Sold out yesterday’s matinee.”

  “That’s good. What one are you doing this time again?”

  “Pirates of Penzance.”

  She chuckles. “Oh. That’s always a good one. I should convince Ed he needs to go.”

  “Call it a date.” I throw her a sly wink.

  It sends her into fits of laughter as she scans and bags my goods with a speed that belies her sixty-four years. She could have retired a while ago, but I think she secretly enjoys the chance to get paid for catching up with her “children”. She’s a mother figure to those of us who’ve stayed local after school finished, always there to lend an ear, or in my case, offer support when it was needed most.

  “Saw you with that toy of hers.” Ava tips her head toward where my bag sits on the far side of the scanner.

  Yeah—she also calls me out on my bullshit.

  “I saw it in there when I was putting my keys away,” I reason. “I didn’t search it out on purpose.”

  “Maybe not, but why have you still got it in your bag, honey?”

  I hold her soft and soothing gaze. “You know why.”

  She clucks her tongue and rearranges the vegetables so my celery stalks won’t tip out of the bag. “A busy woman like you needs more iron in her diet, you know.”

  “What?” I protest with a chuckle. “I’ve got lots of vegetables and yoghurt.”

  “And one tray of meat.” She perks an eyebrow. “More iron, miss. If you don’t buy it, I’ll show up on your damn doorstep after my shift and bring it to you.”

  “Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up. “I’ll buy more … next time.”

  “Good.” She totals the order and leans back on her seat while I do the payment. “You showing up for the school fundraiser this week?”

  “You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Doesn’t matter that I have no children at the kindergarten anymore. I owe it to them for the effort they’d put in when I needed the help, to repay the favour.

  “Apparently I’m in charge of face painting this year,” I tell Ava. “One of the guys on our crew has a son who goes there. He gave me the box of paints the other night and wished me luck.”

  She chuckles, tearing off my receipt and handing it over. “Girl, if that work of art on your face is anything to go by, you’ll be fine.”

  “It’s only a bit of eye shadow and liner, Ava.” I tuck the paper into my shopping, purposefully avoiding my bag.

  “When you’re as old and wrinkly as me, love, you don’t bother putting anything on your face anymore, so it’s nice to see someone who takes the time to do it right.”

  “Say hi to Ed for me, and tell him I said he needs to take you on a date.” I leave her with a smile and head out to the car to load up with the groceries.

  Archie’s tow truck cruises past as I place the last bag into the boot of the BMW, heading away from his shop. I close the car, and watch as he takes a corner and disappears from view. Guess that meeting didn’t take long. If Duke tried pulling the same attitude he did with me, then I can guarantee Archie would have shut it down just as fast.

  My stomach grumbles as I open the car door, making it known Donna’s muffin wasn’t enough to fill the gap. I mentally catalogue what I bought, planning what I’m going to devour first as I pull out of the car park and head for home.

  I make it as far as the edge of town before my food-fantasy is brought to an abrupt halt. I should have taken the long way home for a change, avoided passing the motels on my out. Except I didn’t, and yet again, the Good Samaritan inside of me reaches for the handbrake as I come to a stop on the side of the road.

  I really need to learn how to mind my business.

  TEN

  Duke

  “Cody, you need to help me with this.”

  “I can’t. I told you, I’ve got nothing left after buying the damn thing.”

  I rest my head in my free hand, hunched over on the side of the highway using my bag as a seat. “Exactly. Which is why I can’t trust you to pay me back, either.”

  He sighs down the line, clicking his fingers in the background—a nervous habit he has when he’s thinking hard about something. “I could ask Mum?”

  “Like fuck you will. She gave up bailing you out of the shit when you got a job, bro.”

  The phone call’s turning out as to be expected, given the day I’m having. First, I pissed Cammie off, and then, the only place in town that sold the right charger for my phone was fresh out of stock. The one good thing to happen so far was finding out Archie used the same phone, and that he was gracious enough to let me use the charger so I could run the repairs past Cody. A week to get the part couriered in, and then two days to get the job done—and all at the relevant expense for such a big job. Which is a lot.

  “What other option do we have?” my brother says with a smug tone. “You gotta get the car fixed so you can get home.”

  I knew I shouldn’t have offered to do this for him. Knew I should have told him to sort his own issues out, and stuck to what’s more important—finding a job.

  “If I pay for the whole thing, I haven’t got enough left to cover the motel, man.”

  “They have a backpacker’s, or something?”

  “They’ve barely got a main street. It’s not that big of a town.”

  He huffs
down the line, leaving the conversation hanging while he thinks it over. There’s no use; he can’t come up with anything I haven’t already thought of.

  I shift the phone against my ear and straighten up, casing my surroundings as I wait for him to hopefully fold and offer me at least a few hundy to help with the stay. A dark green truck rattles up the road, heading out of town.

  “Come on, C,” I plead as I shift my bag and myself farther off the road to avoid the truck’s backdraft. “Surely you can spare a hundred? Spot me the rest after payday next week?”

  He sighs as I drop my stuff down again and look toward the truck as it passes. “I could maybe do fifty.” The car tucked behind the trailer unit comes into view.

  Shit.

  “Duke? Would fifty do?”

  Cammie pulls off onto the grass verge.

  “Whatever you can spare, bro.” I hang up on him mid-sentence, completely over any lame-arse excuse the lazy fucker is giving me, and head toward the little chatterbox emerging from her car.

  “Trouble?” she calls, battling with her hair as it refuses to blow anywhere but in her face.

  “Not really. I was about to head back into town.”

  “Town is where I left you,” she helpfully points out. “So why are you on the outskirts?”

  “Just where I ended up after I enquired at the motel up the road there.” More like, needed the chance of bumping into another “friendly” local to be zero to none.

  What should have been a simple spot of shopping to get myself a change of clothes, and toiletries, ended up being a grilling.

  “What’s a nice man like you doing around here?”

  “A week’s a long stay. You got plans?”

  “If you’d like suggestions on what to do while you’re here, come back and see me okay?”

  God—they’re all so damn chipper around these parts. Probably not a big deal to anyone else, but shit, I just want some space to work things through.

  “What did Archie say?” Cammie pops her hip as she stands before me, her car idling behind her. If she’s left the Beamer running, she doesn’t plan to stop for a long chat then. Good.