Ask Me to Stay (9 page)

‘Oh God,’ she gasped brokenly. She ran on. What was it he had said?
He couldn’t promise anyone anything
. Despite knowing this, she’d given herself to him.

What good were her defences if a breath from him could knock them down?

She ran over uneven ground, through tall grasses and open paddocks. She climbed three fences and rested against two trees. She pumped her legs until she thought she’d be sick with exhaustion. It was only a couple of kilometres, but she was pushing herself.

All she could think, all she could tell her labouring body, was to get to her keys, and get in her car.

The farmhouse came into sight.

Relief overcame momentum, and her pace reduced to an unsteady walk. She was just cresting a small hill when she saw Ethan’s car bumping along the main road. He must have woken shortly after her, perhaps she’d made a lot of noise. Had he seen her running? She darted behind a tree. Out of sight, she watched him turn into the driveway and accelerate towards the house. He leapt from the cab, ran inside. Moments later he re-emerged, his stature looking somehow diminished.

Ethan got back into the car. He turned in the direction of her house and was eventually lost from sight.

Tears streaked down her burning cheeks. She clutched at a stitch in her side, pushed away from the tree and stumbled the remaining distance. She needed her keys. And she needed to be away from the heartache she had inflicted on herself. Because she couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t stand there and watch Ethan leave her in his dust for a second time.

Sam wasn’t that girl – that girl who didn’t get it. She was smart and independent. She was courageous and she went after what she wanted. But Sam didn’t bounce. When she was hurt, it crippled her.

She had to leave town for a while. She’d come back when he was gone, pick up the pieces and move on. It was the only way to get through this.

For the rest of her life, Sam would be out of town whenever Ethan Foster breezed through Hinterdown.

Ethan wasn’t sure of much in this world, and he didn’t hand out his faith easily. So it was a blow that the first person he’d trusted in years had crept into his heart the day before she’d crept out of town. ‘Crept’ being the operative word.

After what had happened last night, the last thing Ethan had expected was to wake up alone and confused. He and Sam should have had breakfast together, he thought, then lunch. Then dinner. They should have spent the whole weekend together, but instead he was working on a yard project with Rowan, and she’d fled town without even the briefest of explanations.

No one had known Sammy was planning a trip: not her parents, who were cursing the unexpected workload; not her brother, who had been looking for a bit of quality time to get through his recent upheaval.

This, Ethan concluded, meant her out-of-town sojourn had been as planned as her night with him under the stars. Not. One. Bit.

Thinking of her lithe body curled around his warmed him, then chilled him. Christ, she was wreaking havoc on his system. Was it a happy memory or not?

The wonderful, insightful and candid things that she’d said had loosened knots within him. In many ways she’d freed some of his fears and dispelled some of his assumptions. But to follow that soulful exchange – that bodily exchange of trust and hope – with sneaking away while he slept . . . The contradiction had rocked him.

He’d returned to Dean’s house after searching at her place and then all over town, to find her car gone and a note. Dean got notes telling him he was the light of someone’s life. Ethan got notes saying, ‘If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe trip back.’

Ouch.

Rowan sprinted across the yard, his hair bouncing and flying.

‘Did you get what we need?’ Ethan asked him.

Rowan held up a bottle of vegetable oil. Ethan would have loved to see Dean’s expression when his eight-year-old had barrelled into the kitchen and asked for it.

‘Good work. So we’re going to pour this concrete into the bowls. See how this workbench is flat? That’s so the concrete doesn’t flow out of one side of the bowls.’

‘Okay.’

‘Take these gloves and this rag and start wiping the oil over the inside of the bowls.’

‘Okay.’

Ethan resumed stirring the concrete in the bucket at his feet, his thoughts immediately slipping back to Sammy.

‘Why?’

Ethan looked up. ‘Why what?’

‘Why am I doing this?’

‘The oil lets the concrete slip out of the bowls once it sets. It’s so it doesn’t stick. It’s called a release agent.’

‘Okay.’

Ethan poured the first two buckets of concrete into the bowls, patiently explaining every step, then Rowan poured the third bucket, aided by Ethan’s steadying hand. He poured the fourth on his own.

‘Now pat it with your hands like this. It gets the air bubbles out.’

Rowan watched then copied. He grinned at the wet, slapping sounds.

When they were done with that, Ethan held up a straight bit of timber. ‘What you’re going to do now is screed.’ He placed it over the bowl and guided Rowan’s hand back and forth in a sawing action. ‘We want the concrete to be level with the top of the bowl, so we’re going to scrape off the excess.’

‘Okay.’

Ethan grinned down at him.

As Ro continued on to the second bowl, Ethan half-buried a 125mm bolt into the centre of the first. By the time they were done they had four large plastic salad bowls filled to the brim with concrete. Two had bolts sticking out of them and two had holes in their centres.

Ethan wiped his hands and Rowan copied this too.

‘Twenty-four hours, mate. Then we keep going.’

‘That was fun.’

‘Glad you enjoyed it. Now go play.’

He took Rowan’s gloves from him and walked to the back hose. He tossed the kid’s gloves alongside his on the grass, turned the nozzle and washed them clean. He was pegging them to the clothes line when Dean joined him.

‘I’ve been thinking and thinking,’ Dean said, looking over at their makeshift workstation, ‘but I haven’t got a single clue what you’re making.’

‘Spheres.’

‘Spheres for what?’

‘They’re the legs for a seat we’re building. It’s going to wrap around that tree.’ He pointed.

‘That’s not a quick job.’

Ethan wiped his wet hands on his work shirt and tried to ignore the knot of tension building at the base of his neck. ‘A couple of days.’

‘I don’t know how to finish that, Ethan.’

‘Nobody’s asking you to, Dean.’

Dean huffed out a breath. ‘Seriously. You’re getting my kid all excited about a project – a project he’s going to put all of his energy into and count on. Are you going to finish it with him?’

Ethan whirled on his heel to face him. ‘No, I thought I’d pull the plug halfway through and laugh in the kid’s face. Is that what you want to hear? That’s all you expect of me, right?’

‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’ Dean pointed at Ethan’s face. ‘Don’t start what you’re not going to finish. Not with Rowan. Not with Nina. And whatever you did to Sam, I ought to knock you out where you stand.’

‘I didn’t do anything to her!’

‘She’s not a one-night stand, Ethan. Don’t you touch her, I mean it.’

‘You mean it? Or what, Dean?’

‘Don’t test me. Don’t you bloody test me. Leave her alone if you know what’s good for you.’

Ethan glared at Dean’s back as he stalked back into the house. Everyone was always condemning him for his lack of commitment. But not a single person was asking him to make one.

‘This isn’t your style, Sam.’ Cal spoke to the sky. He was lying on his back, his legs hooked over the bottom rung of the guardrail on the balcony surrounding the town’s water tower. Beside him, Sam bumped her feet against the metal. The noise rolled around the balcony and back again. ‘Was this you running away from home?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Weak job of it.’

‘I know.’

‘You made it – what – a kilometre?’

‘Less.’

He snorted. ‘Parking your car at the bottom of the water tower, bold as brass, didn’t help you any.’

‘Maybe I wanted to be found.’

‘By me?’

‘By anyone.’

‘Say by me. It’ll make me feel better.’

‘By you, Cal.’ She sighed. ‘How are you feeling, anyway?’

‘Better.’

‘Really?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. I want to talk about why you’re hiding out. And why Leo the butcher is swearing black and blue that he saw you bolting through his paddock just after dawn.’

Sam unhooked her legs and pulled herself up. She eased her back against the concrete water drum and tapped a rhythm on her thighs. ‘I slept with Ethan.’

‘Christ. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to talk about you at all.’

‘And he’s going to leave.’

‘Of course he’s going to leave. It’s what Ethan does best.’

‘I want him to stay.’

Cal squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Well, I think you just handed him your only bargaining chip.’

‘Cal.’

Cal propped himself up on his elbows to frown at her. ‘C’mon, Samantha. The guy’s a guaranteed one-nighter, you go sleep with him and now you feel bad about it? I’m sorry, but you walked right into this one.’

‘Thanks for the kind words.’

Cal hissed and looked away. The town unrolled beneath them in every direction. In the distance the buildings became sparse and the land was master. Further still there were just mountains and sky. He noticed she’d sat on the side of the tower that overlooked the Foster farmhouse, and knew now that it hadn’t been a coincidence.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I don’t know whether to hug you or shake you.’

‘Again, thanks.’

‘Sometimes I can hardly tell when something matters to you. You’ve got these big-arse walls all around you, Sam. I’m bloody tired of trying to climb’em, but I’m your brother. And I’m going to keep trying. Others won’t.’ He pulled his legs in so he could sit beside her again. He leaned his shoulder against the tower and faced her.

‘You know others won’t. They’ll stick around for a bit, figure they don’t matter, and leave.’

She stopped tapping her fingers.

‘Come on, Sam – show some emotion here! How do you feel about what I just said?’

‘I feel like pushing you off this tower.’

‘You don’t look like you feel like pushing me off this tower.’

She arched a brow. ‘What’s a person look like who feels that way?’

Cal crossed his eyes and dropped his tongue out one side of his mouth. His words were slurred when he said, ‘They look like this.’

She giggled and swatted his shoulder. He rearranged his face and smiled at her.

Cal eased his head back. ‘Something’s different this time with him, though. I reckon he’s looking for any excuse to stay but just doesn’t know it yet. Give him a reason, Sam. Let him know he matters.’

‘I . . .’ She swallowed.

Cal took her hand. ‘Sam, it’s really this simple: if you don’t fight for him, you’re going to lose him.’

‘I can’t – I can’t lose him.’

‘Then let’s get going. I’ll drive.’

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the walk-in robe that used to be half his. It was all his again. Thirteen years ago he’d emptied this robe of his parents’ belongings. And life was so cruel that he would be made to do it again.

His late wife’s dresses. Her shirts. Pants. The fussy little scarves she’d worn for weeks after watching a particular foreign film.

He bent at the waist and put his head in his hands.

No garbage bags. Her things weren’t garbage. Was it too soon? Should he do this alone?

He’d called his brother’s name without consciously deciding to do so.

Ethan appeared in the doorway. ‘What?’ Seeing how Dean sat, his tone changed. ‘What’s happened?’

Dean straightened. He sniffed and wiped his face. ‘Nothing. Can you give me a hand with something?’

‘Of course.’

Had Ethan ever denied him anything, had he ever said no? Dean’s brain was foggy, he couldn’t remember.

‘I need some boxes. They’re in the toolshed.’

‘I know where they are.’ He left.

When Dean heard distant voices he rose and crossed to the window. Ethan was leaning on the boundary fence talking with the neighbour. Leo was nodding. Then Rowan was ducking through the fence and Nina was being lifted over it. Dean’s hands flew to the window, preparing to throw it open, but then Leo’s daughters Kate and Alice rode up on their horses.

They were good girls, steady girls. So he didn’t blanch when Leo lifted Dean’s kids up behind the girls in the saddles.

Kate and Alice pulled on the reins and the creatures beneath them turned. The group moved from the fence, Leo between them, a steadying hand on each flank. Privacy, Dean realised. Ethan had just given Dean time and space to do something the kids didn’t need to see.

Ethan stepped into the toolshed. He emerged with flattened boxes under each arm and masking tape around his wrist.

Dean’s hands dropped to the sill.

Ethan was a paradox. How could he leave them all, seemingly not think of them for years on end, then return home only to behave as if they were vital to him? Dean saw it in Ethan’s eye – he adored those kids. Dean had watched Ethan and Rowan building those weird spheres and felt his brother’s love from across the yard. Nothing Nina asked of Ethan was too big or small. Nothing anyone wanted of Ethan was a trial.

Yet any day now, any moment – he would turn from them all.

How could two such souls live in one body?

Dean turned when his brother stepped into the bedroom.

Ethan propped the boxes against the far wall and quietly began to build them. He taped the bottoms, flipped them right side up, and placed them at the end of the bed. Dean was so aware of the care in Ethan’s actions. Of the consideration his brother demonstrated towards this emotional obstacle.

He loved him for it.

Dean turned away, taken aback by the flash-burn of anger that followed. He seized a box and dragged it to the robe. And stood before Bree’s things; beautiful Bree’s beautiful things.

He swallowed and pressed a hand to his stomach.

It got easier after the first handful, but not by much. Gratitude that the kids weren’t part of this swelled and pulsed, then died away. Gratitude didn’t really have much place here. Not now. He filled a box. Ethan quietly replaced it with an empty one. Dean heard the scream of tape being pulled over the flaps and needed to steady himself a moment.

He stepped out of the robe to watch, hating to see part of his life being boxed away, but needing to.

Ethan uncapped a permanent marker and wrote the word ‘dresses’ on the box. He straightened and tucked the pen in his back pocket. He noticed Dean’s eyes on him and nodded.

‘I admire you, you know.’

Dean blinked. ‘Oh yeah? How’s that?’

‘You face things. Head on. You do what needs to be done.’ He rubbed his neck. ‘That takes courage. You’re a good man, Dean.’

‘We were bred to be good men, Ethan. We’re Fosters. Through and through.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Ethan said quietly. ‘You’re not.’

Dean frowned. ‘Not what? Not like our parents? Are you insulting me now?’

‘No. I’m not. You’re not like Dad. You’re nothing like him. But you’re Mum. You’re everything she was. She saved people. She put others first.’

Dean stepped away from the robe and waved his hands in front of himself. ‘Wait, wait. Back up a second. You tell me I’m a good man and then you tell me I’m nothing like my father. Are you having a go at our old man, Ethan? Is that what you’re doing?’

Ethan’s eyes rounded. Although he stood taller than anyone Dean had ever met, Dean saw Rowan in him at that moment – a vulnerable, damaged little boy.

‘Our father . . .’ Ethan licked his lips. ‘Wasn’t a good man.’

Footsteps on the stairs. Voices calling their names.

Sam and Cal stepped into the bedroom, all smiles. Their expressions changed when they looked between the brothers.

‘What’s going on?’ Cal said.

But Ethan was distracted. ‘Sam?’

‘I’m sorry, Ethan. I —’

Cal put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I don’t think now’s the moment.’

Dean ignored the interruption. Fuelled by hurt, by love and disappointment, his tone was clipped when he said his brother’s name.