Ask Me to Stay (7 page)

She looked away, tapping her fingers on the table.

He leaned forward. ‘Nina’s going to be just like her, isn’t she?’

Sammy shook her head. ‘Neenz is going to be better. Because she’s got a lot of her dad in her, too. She’s so brave, so steady. She’ll survive anything life throws at her – you’ve got to admire that.’

A bird call outside moved her eyes to the window. That big blue sky Ethan loved filled the view from where they sat.

‘Bree’s going to leave a hole,’ Sam murmured.

He took her hand and held it. After a moment she looked down at their interlocked fingers. She sat very still.

‘Now tell me about you,’ he said.

Her fingers slipped from his and disappeared beneath the table. ‘You know all there is to know.’

‘That’s bullshit.’

He hadn’t meant to swear. He wasn’t even sure where that flash of temper had come from, but there was something like a skin of urgency around his heart now and each beat bruised it, frayed it. He had to know everything about her.

‘Do you still play the guitar?’ He remembered her sitting on the hood of his dad’s ute, absently plucking strings and humming a long-forgotten tune.

‘No time for it any more. There’s always something else that needs doing.’

‘What about woodworking? Do you still build?’

‘I only took that class because you were in it, Ethan. I haven’t built more than a spice rack in my life.’

‘It was a good spice rack.’

She chuckled. ‘Mum had to buy special jars for it. I made it too skinny.’ She touched her mouth. Her neck. ‘I think it’s still in her kitchen.’

They drank.

‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Sammy-doll.’

‘Yep.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m unique, just like everybody else.’ Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Was humour a defence mechanism? He tried again, testing his theory. ‘I think about you.’

‘Hmm.’

Okay, so maybe not.

She drained her mug. ‘So your little trek last night. Or this morning, I should say. That wasn’t the first time, was it? Nor will it be the last.’ He eased away from her, sitting further back in his chair, but she pressed on. ‘There’s some serious psychology at play here. I’ve never seen a man look the way you did last night.’

Silence.

‘What, you can fossick around in my life, but the shoe can’t be on the other foot? How about you give
me
some answers?
You’re
the puzzle!
You’re
the big mystery!’

‘I’m not a mystery —’

‘You’re right. You’re a martyr.’

‘I’m a what?’

‘Why did you carry this? Why didn’t you talk to someone?’

She’d hit on something that mattered at last. And he was pretty sure he wanted the collected, unflappable Sammy back. This one was starting to alarm him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Why, at sixteen years of age, did you decide to protect an entire town?’

Ethan shot to his feet. ‘What did I say last night?’

She rose also. ‘You didn’t say anything —’

‘Then you don’t know what you’re talking about!’

‘I
know
.’

‘You can’t prove anything!’

She anchored herself to the table with her fingertips, and she looked suddenly sad, and infinitely sorry. ‘No. But you can. You can prove what you know, can’t you, Ethan?’

This room was too small. Had he really only minutes ago been thinking this table was too far from the bench? He needed the sky.

She rubbed her face with both hands. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

‘I’ll walk.’ He stepped away, backing towards the hallway.

She nodded, her expression infuriatingly blank. ‘Write up those quotes for me, won’t you?’

He slammed the door. And ran.

If it had been winter and the days shorter, Ethan would have got back to Dean’s house in the dark. But the season was on his side, and the sun was just licking the horizon as he climbed the front verandah steps and let himself in.

A commotion in the kitchen stopped him from calling out.

Frowning, he walked the length of the hallway and stopped in the doorway. Rowan was sitting at the table, his head down. Dean was standing by the fridge holding something thin and rectangular in his shaking hand and he was shouting at Nina, who stood behind a chair, hiding her face in a curtain of hair.

‘This isn’t how it’s done, Nina! You don’t just decide things were different, do you understand? You can’t change the past!’

She did not respond.

‘Don’t
ever
do this again. This wasn’t yours to change. If I hear you’ve been drawing on anybody else’s things you’ll be grounded.’

He looked up, saw Ethan standing there and scowled. With a flash of temper that Ethan recognised, Dean shoved the rectangular thing into the bin.

‘Bedtime.’

Neither child argued. Rowan slid from his seat, grasped Nina’s hand, and together they hurried upstairs.

Ethan pushed his hands into his pockets. Dean stalked around him. Moments later he heard his brother’s heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Curious, Ethan approached the bin. He lifted the lid and retrieved what Dean had been so upset about. It was a photograph of nine smiling faces: Dean, Caleb and Sam’s dad, Ben, were wearing Santa hats; big, gaudy Christmas wreaths hung from Bree’s ears; Sammy, Nina and Rowan had reindeer antlers on their heads and Anna and Sam’s mum, Catherine, wore tinsel like necklaces. They were all gathered around an enormous tree crowned with an angel. Lights and baubles weighed down the branches. Everyone was hugging each other and laughing. Anna looked a little apart from the crowd, but Cal had a hand about her waist, pulling her in. Bree was kissing Dean’s cheek. Rowan was shrieking with laughter.

Beside the tree there was a tall, black stick figure. One of its arms was too long, but only so that its hand could reach Nina’s. Silly little curls stuck out of the circle meant to be its head.

There was a permanent marker on the kitchen table.

A few days passed and Dean wondered if the increasing absence of his brother was symbolic. It was a new style if it was. Maybe Ethan was weaning off them this time. Lifting up and out slowly. Better, Dean supposed, than the alternative.

It kept him up at night, thinking how his kids were going to handle it.

First their mother, then their uncle? Kids could only lose so much so fast. And they were at that age now where they would remember the hurt. Whatever occasion Ethan deigned to come back for in the future wouldn’t earn him so warm a welcome, Dean was sure.

And that photograph.

He shouldn’t have yelled at Nina. It had been fear that had pushed him to anger. He wished he could take the moment back. It had been such an innocent, lovely thing to do. He saw that now.

Standing in the garage, sweat moistening his collar, Dean shut the bonnet of the Commodore with a satisfying bark of sound. He thumped his fist on it. ‘She’ll run right now, Norm. Don’t put anything in it but unleaded, okay?’

‘Sure thing, sure thing.’

Norm was in his early eighties. And he left his common sense at home as often as his dentures. Thankfully, he was wearing his teeth today. And big Coke-bottle glasses that magnified his eyes and made them disproportionate to his face.

‘That brother of yours sure fixed up Mike Nguyen.’

Dean straightened. ‘What?’

‘Yep. Mike was floored.’

‘What do you mean, “fixed him up”?’

‘And Nick Camilleri.’

‘Norm. Norm, look at me. What do you mean?’

‘He’s real good with his hands, that one. Quick, too. So what do I owe you?’

Dean rang up the invoice, got the money off Norm and sent him on his way. Then he stood in the street and waited for someone to pass.

As luck would have it, Catherine O’Hara was taking an early lunch.

‘Cath. Looking good.’ He waved her over.

She crossed the street, holding a large sunhat to her head. Her sunglasses were purple. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’ She chuckled and he grinned.

‘There’s rumours,’ he began.

‘I love rumours.’ She set her bag of shopping onto the footpath, readying herself for a chat.

‘What’s my brother up to?’

Her hands found her hips. Her nails were purple too. ‘Why, he’s working. Didn’t you know? Sam fixed him up with a few folks needing things done. Broken steps, window seats, storage units. He’s been knocking some furniture together, mending things. He fixed that bloody honesty box out the front of Shauna’s place for her. I was really hoping that was going to go to God this year. Those kids never whack it hard enough.’

Dean waved at an imaginary nuisance, but the irritation was in his mind. ‘He’s working?’

‘Bev wouldn’t let him start on her window seat till she’d seen his certifications. He had to get them faxed over to the library, can you imagine? Mind you, for the trouble I think he upped his price. Serves her right, the suspicious old bat.’

She paused. What she saw in his face he couldn’t tell, but she softened her voice. ‘He works like he’s got the devil on his heels. In and out, real fast. He’s working over at Bev’s now if you wanted to swing by and see him.’

Dean took an early lunch. And he did swing by Bev’s for a look. He eased his car onto the verge and propped his elbows on the steering wheel. Bev had guests. Half-a-dozen of them all sitting on the porch in their summer frocks, drinking iced tea and watching the show below.

A half-naked man stood in the front yard amidst a mess of power tools, extension cords and building material. The sun made the sweat on the man’s body shine, and it cast small shadows on his muscles as he turned this way and that, accentuating the size of them and giving Bev and her friends her money’s worth.

It was Ethan, bent over a band saw, pushing timber through its hungry, whirring teeth. He wore cargo pants, loosely belted, and steel-capped boots. His shirt was tied around his forehead, a makeshift hat and a kind of headband to keep his hair out of his eyes. Tinted safety glasses protected and hid his eyes.

Dean’s brother was a carpenter.

Dean sat back in his seat, stunned. Ethan had always been good with his hands at school. But as far as Dean knew, he’d never applied himself. After their parents died he’d coasted along, not committing to anything – be it a team sport, a project or a passion. Then without warning – without even a sign that things had got too hard for Ethan to handle – he’d left.

But he’d made something of himself.

Ethan bumped the emergency switch with his knee. He tossed the wood onto the grass then measured and positioned another piece. He held the pencil between his teeth as Dean had seen their father do.

Nostalgia flared.

He drove home, unable to outpace the questions that dogged him. Inside, he headed upstairs. Ethan’s bed was unmade. The window was open to encourage the fresh air and there was little trinket on the sill. He crossed to the wardrobe and hesitated, his hands on the doorknob. What would he see in here? Would there be a suitcase sitting on the floor with all his clothes still in it? Was he ready to leave at a moment’s notice? Or . . . Dean swallowed and opened the doors. Clothes hung on the rails, alongside the suit that barely fit him any more.

Dean spun on his heel, full of surprise and hope. And then he saw something that made his breath catch.

Propped against the desk lamp, on top of some draft invoices with Ethan’s name in the header, was the Christmas photograph Dean had thrown in the bin.

He jumped when his mobile phone began to ring. He checked the caller ID and frowned.

‘Dean Foster.’

‘Dean, it’s Lana from Hinterdown Primary School.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘We need you to come down. Can you get away from work?’

‘I’ll be there in five.’ He hung up and sprinted to the car.

‘We noticed Nina crying at the beginning of lunch. One of the teachers was going to speak to her, but Rowan got to her first. At first he seemed to be comforting her. But within moments he was shouting at her. It got physical. They had to be forcibly separated. It was quite distressing for the other children.’

‘Yeah.’

He didn’t give a damn about the other children. He could only focus on his kids.

Why had Nina been crying? And Rowan was usually such a good big brother – why had he hurt her that way?

Dean looked over his shoulder. The office door was open and he could see them sitting in two seats opposite the principal’s office, heads bowed, shoulders slumped.

‘We thought it best to call you considering . . . Well, it hasn’t been very long.’

He nodded. ‘I’m going to take them home. We’ll sort it out.’

They rose from their seats.

‘Dean, before you go . . .’ The principal looked ill at ease. ‘It’s school policy that we have two emergency contacts listed for our students.’

He thumbed his jaw. Waited. ‘Yeah?’ And then it hit him. ‘Oh.’ He looked away. His lungs felt tight. ‘Uh . . .’ He withdrew his phone. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ve, uh . . . my brother.’

The principal was surprised. ‘Ethan?’

‘Yeah.’ He rattled off the number then hurried out the door. He gathered his children into his arms and carried them into the sunshine.

On the drive home Dean didn’t ask them about what had happened. He hated having important conversations or fights in the car. The space was too closed in. People needed air to communicate properly. So he waited. Impatiently.

Nina and Rowan wouldn’t look at one another. And Nina’s tears continued to fall.

They charged into the house once he parked in the driveway. He switched off the engine and jogged after them. He was intercepted at the bottom of the stairs by Ethan, home for a late lunch.

‘Was that the kids?’ He jerked his thumb at the roof.

‘There was some trouble at school.’

Furious shouting startled them both. Without thinking, they sprinted up the stairs.

‘Take them off!’ Rowan was shrieking. ‘
Take them off!
’

‘I’m trying!’ Nina’s voice sobbed. There was a strangled gasp of breath and another shout.

Dean and Ethan exploded into Nina’s bedroom. Rowan was standing by her bed, feet planted, hands curled into angry fists. She stood by her dresser, necklaces twisted through her arms, tightening against her throat and catching in her hair. She yelped and whimpered.

Dean fell to his knees beside her, while Ethan gathered Rowan up in his big arms.

Very carefully, Dean began to disentangle her from the chains and beads. It took a long time, but Nina never moved. She hung her head, miserable and defeated, as he laid each necklace on her dresser, piece by piece.

When there were no more around her neck, she crumpled. He caught her, lifted her from her feet, and carried her to the bed. Dean and Ethan sat side by side, a child in each lap. And Dean was immeasurably grateful for his brother’s support, however quiet the man had become.

‘What happened?’ Dean asked his son. Nina pushed her face further into Dean’s shoulder and curled her hand in his shirt.

‘She broke one!’ Rowan snarled. And then he recycled Dean’s words from a few nights ago. ‘It wasn’t hers to change!’

Dean closed his eyes, understanding at last.

Nina began to cry again.

He tightened his arms around her. ‘This was an accident, though, wasn’t it, Neenz?’

‘Accident,’ she agreed, her voice thin and quiet.

‘She didn’t mean to —’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ Rowan shouted over him. ‘It’s another one! And I don’t want any more goodbyes!’

Oh, God, what to say? Dean eased his chin onto Nina’s head and wished for the words that would make everything better.

‘You’re almost done with them,’ Ethan said softly. Everyone looked up at him. He swallowed. ‘Really. There are a lot of them in the beginning. That’s when it’s hardest. Goodbye, cream.’ He squeezed Rowan. ‘Goodbye, shampoo. Goodbye, Mum waiting at the gate after school.’

‘Goodbye, smell,’ Nina volunteered tentatively.

‘Right. Even goodbye, getting in trouble with Mum.’ He smiled at them. ‘But then you start to run out of goodbyes and you start to find hellos.’

‘Hellos?’ Rowan shifted to see his uncle better. The fire was gone from his eyes, buried, burned out.

‘Yeah. Hello to Mum’s favourite song on the radio. Hello to making cookies using Mum’s old recipe. Hello to . . .’ he faltered.

‘Mummy’s favourite flower,’ Dean finished.

Nina looked up. ‘A daisy.’

‘Right.’ Ethan kept his voice light. ‘You’re still in the goodbyes. But you’ll look for a hello, won’t you? Because they’re wonderful.’

Rowan and Nina nodded. And Dean didn’t mind at all when she scrambled from his lap to Ethan’s. She hugged him fiercely.

Twenty minutes later brother and sister were friends again. He’d helped her put on a solitary necklace before they ran outside into the sunshine. She’d tucked it beneath her shirt.

Ethan and Dean stood on the back verandah, leaning on the railing and letting the sun warm their tired bodies.

‘I saw you at Bev’s,’ Dean said. He smiled as his children blurred past. ‘I think it’s great what you’re doing. What you are.’

He straightened. Ethan wasn’t quite ready to look at him, so he kept talking.

‘You do what Dad used to do.’

Ethan’s entire demeanour changed. He pushed up from the railing, his eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘You hold your pencil in your mouth like a horse’s bit. Dad used to do that.’

Ethan rubbed his lips. Again and again. When his hand didn’t seem to do the job he used his sleeve.

‘I’m glad I saw that fight,’ Ethan said finally, nodding at the kids. ‘It was an important moment. Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work.’ He moved to leave, then hesitated. His brown eyes found Dean’s and searched them. ‘You’re nothing like Dad, you know.’

He left.

Standing alone on the verandah, Dean wondered why Ethan had said that like it was a good thing.

‘Wrap up what you’re doing. We’re going out.’ Dean picked up the remote and switched the TV off.

Mouth full of chips, Ethan dropped his feet from the coffee table and sat up. ‘Hey!’

‘We’re going to see Cal.’

‘He’s just been here!’

‘Has he? It’s Friday. I haven’t seen him in over a week. Have you?’

Ethan considered this, then shook his head. ‘Actually, no, come to think of it. Sammy did say he’s been acting odd.’

‘The very woman who’ll be knocking on our door in a few minutes. She’s finished work and she’s watching the kids. Up. Get dressed.’

‘I am dressed!’

‘Get better dressed.’

Ethan scowled, but slumped upstairs to change. Dean carried the chip packet into the kitchen and binned it. He took two cans of soft drink from the fridge for the road. Cal only lived on the other side of town, but Ethan would need something to chase away the salt, and Dean had a bad taste in his mouth that he wanted to drown.

He heard the front door open and wandered down the hallway to greet Sam. Catching sight of her framed in the doorway, her hair secured in a loose knot, he realised that it had been some time since he’d seen her too. As Ethan bounded downstairs, caution crept into her eyes, and Dean thought he could guess why.

Ethan faltered. He pushed his hands through his hair and rubbed his upper arm. ‘Hey.’

‘Hi, Ethan.’

‘How’ve you been?’

‘Fine.’

It was awkward, stilted, and Dean felt obliged to save them both. He clapped his hands sharply as he approached. ‘Sam. You’re my hero. Thanks for coming through for me.’

Her eyes brightened. ‘Of course. Find out what’s wrong with my idiot brother and we’re square.’

Dean passed Ethan one of the cans of soft drink. ‘
My
idiot brother and I intended to do just that. Here. Let’s go.’

He pushed Ethan out the door and kissed Sam on the cheek.

Cal didn’t answer the door so Dean climbed through a window. When a few minutes had elapsed, Ethan realised Dean wasn’t going to let him in the easy way. So he scrambled through the window too, struggling to manoeuvre his long legs and arms through the tight space.

Cal and Dean were sitting in the living room. Ethan gave Dean a dirty look then dropped onto the couch.