Chapter 23 Emory
Emory
In the days that followed Tucker’s emergency food supply trip, the water slowly began to recede. First, Emory noticed the mud on the ground by the second chicken coop became less sludgy. Then the trunks of the fruit trees that lined the back of Byron’s backyard space came into view.
A few days later, the smell hit. Wet grass, soggy mud, and the dank scent of moss filled the air.
Emory started lighting the candles Tucker had brought as soon as she woke each morning, but the subtle aroma did nothing to clean the air.
Byron didn’t seem fazed by it, and Clayton probably hadn’t even noticed.
But Emory held her breath as often as she could.
The bridge was still closed, but by the fourth day of receding water and no more rain on the forecast, it became clear that their period of isolation was, finally, coming to a close.
It caused a pang in Emory’s chest she hadn’t been expecting.
As it turned out, being trapped in a house with Byron had been so much better than she had imagined.
She didn’t spend her days hopelessly trying not to feel her raging attraction to Byron, and she didn’t spend her nights lying in bed, on edge and unable to sleep due to the pulsing tension in her core that ached for release.
No. Instead, she spent her days and nights in some kind of lust-filled bliss.
She could gaze longingly at Byron as often as she wanted and not fear being caught out.
Because all the times he did see her staring, he went right on and stared back.
They shared affectionate touches and passion-filled glances, and every chance they got, they shared more too.
They’d fallen into the perfect rhythm, and Emory didn’t want it to end.
She sat, staring out the study window, willing herself to focus on her revision.
With the receding water came the notice of her final exams. She still hadn’t brought it up with Byron, even though she knew she had to.
But the truth was, she was scared. Her heart wanted her to stay, but her brain wanted to go, and she felt like no matter what decision she finally came to, she was going to get hurt.
Looking down at the giant tome in front of her, the words swam. Something about marketing and target audiences, but nothing that stood out as crucial anyway. She slammed the book shut, giving up for the day. Maybe she needed some fresh air, even if it would smell like a grotty swamp out there.
Blowing out the candle she’d lit earlier, Emory tugged her zip-up hoodie back over her shoulders.
Clayton’s gentle lullaby rang out down the hall, so she tiptoed in the other direction with her fingers crossed.
Byron had done so much for her while they’d been stuck here.
He kept Clayton entertained every morning while she studied, putting him down for a nap whenever he needed one.
Emory would emerge from the study once Clayton was asleep, thankful she wasn’t the one to fight the battle that day.
Today was no different, only Byron wasn’t fixing them both a warm drink in the kitchen when Emory walked in.
He wasn’t there at all. She supposed maybe he’d gone to the den.
Maybe he wanted a moment alone? He hadn’t before, and the thought was like a nail chipping into Emory’s temple.
She hesitated, turning back and forth in the kitchen, trying to decide if she should go down there and see.
If Byron did want to be alone, she couldn’t take that from him.
And she shouldn’t really blame him for it either.
They’d spent so much time together over the past two weeks, and maybe he just really wanted to get to the end of that book he’d been reading.
It would probably do Emory some good to spend a bit of time alone, too. Although she’d spent plenty of it, every morning, in the study, none of her time had been really hers. She’d been too focused on studying—mostly—to let her mind wander. And she did have some big decisions to make after all.
Fresh air, she finally decided. Well, stinky air, but outside all the same.
She grabbed her earphones from the little tray on the bench, stepped out onto the porch, and pulled her gumboots from the crate.
Dropping the lid down, she used it as a stool while she tapped them out and pulled them on.
All the little things that had become habit since she’d moved to Gardner Creek.
Keeping lids closed so snakes couldn’t get in, tapping out your shoes to check for spiders.
If she moved back to the city, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of it.
But she wouldn’t be with Byron.
Fuck, that’s what she always came back to, every time she tried to imagine herself finally moving on from this tiny outback town. She wouldn’t be with Byron.
With a huff, Emory stood and marched past Betty, still tied to the pergola, and down the yard towards the chicken coops.
She wasn’t sure what drove her, but she had a need for physical labour she couldn’t explain.
On her way past the shed, she grabbed a shovel and a wheelbarrow.
Hens clucked from the largest coop. They were squished in there, but it had been necessary to keep them all safe and dry.
Now that the lower coop was clear of water, she might as well start cleaning it out for them.
Sticking her earbuds into her ears, she played the best noughties playlist she could find and got to work.
The ground inside the coop was caked in mud.
Emory wasn’t sure if there was supposed to be grass underneath it, but when she cleared the top layer, all she found was more sludge.
She kept working, though, until the muddy ground was level and the wheelbarrow was full.
Her back strained as she hefted the wheelbarrow back out of the coop. She hadn’t thought this through.
What exactly was one to do with a wheelbarrow of swampy dirt?
Emory tipped her head up to the sky and huffed out a deep sigh. She wouldn’t be able to steer the heavy barrow very far, even if she did know what to do with its contents. Resigned, she tipped it out into a small pile between the coops. That would do, for now at least.
Back inside the coop, she had to crouch to enter the henhouse. Mud lined the wooden floor, and Emory got to work scraping it away and reloading the wheelbarrow. It was harder work than outside, but she welcomed the way her arms burned with each scrape of the shovel.
The physical labour helped to clear her head, and even though she was in a dim, smelly henhouse, she found the clarity that she had been hoping for.
She could do this kind of work for a moment.
Clear out the henhouse as a small token of her thanks to Byron for letting them stay.
But it was not at all how she imagined herself spending the rest of her life.
She’d come to this town on Jaxon’s arm, hoping she would finally find her place in the world here in Gardner Creek.
But she didn’t. Because, she knew now, it wasn’t where she belonged.
All her life, she’d followed people around.
Her parents as they hopped from major city to major city, then Jaxon here to this rural community.
She couldn’t follow Byron to the farm any more than she could expect Byron to follow her to the city.
Sometimes people’s lives just took different trajectories. They belonged in different places.
It was a hard fucking pill to swallow and left her gasping for breath. But it was the truth. She had to pursue her dreams in the city. It wasn’t fair to herself if she didn’t.
Something a little like hope still flickered in the back of her mind, though, no matter how hard she tried to snuff it out. It still pondered on the what-ifs.
Like, what if she didn’t get a job? Was she really meant to be in the city if she spent her time there struggling to make ends meet or back working in some little café just to pay the bills?
She didn’t know the answers, but she knew there was only one way to find out. She had to try, at least.
Pulling out her phone, she paused her music and logged in to her university email.
With a few taps, she opened the first of many draft emails she’d written the day after she submitted her final assignment.
One by one, she sent each one off. Emails to all of Sydney’s biggest marketing firms, complete with her CV and whatever graduate application form she could find on the website.
With each little whoosh from her phone, she grew more confident in her decision.
Putting herself out there, and the thought of moving to the city, still scared the hell out of her, but it felt right to be taking another step towards her dream.
Once they were all sent, she stared down at her phone as though waiting for a response.
That was silly, she knew. Most firms would take a few weeks to get back to her, at least.
She shook her head, laughing a little at herself. The ringing of her phone shocked her, so much so that she nearly dropped it onto the grubby floor. She fumbled for it, swiping to answer without looking at who was calling.
“Hello, Emory speaking,” she chirped, just in case it was one of the marketing firms.
Mya’s laugh boomed through the phone. “What the fuck,” she cackled. “I’ve never heard you sound so … prissy.”
Groaning at her friend, Emory connected the call to her wireless earbuds and shoved her phone into her pocket. There was only a small section of floor left to clear, then she supposed she should look for some hay.
“I thought maybe you were a marketing firm.”
Mya snorted, but Emory’s silence must have told her it wasn’t a joke, because she corrected herself. “Oh, you’re serious? I didn’t realise you’d started applying.”
“Yep, today though, so the chances were slim it actually was one of them.” Her breath heaved as she shovelled another heap of mud into the wheelbarrow. “What’s up?”
“Wait, what are you doing? Why are you all breathy? Are you … Oh, fuck, don’t tell me.”
“Mya, chill, I’m cleaning out the chicken coop. There’s mud everywhere.”
She could almost hear the way Mya froze. “You? Doing hard labour?”
With the old wooden floor now clear, Emory dropped the shovel and hoisted up the back of the wheelbarrow.
Mya was right, Emory and hard labour didn’t normally mesh well.
This had been therapeutic, though, and Emory wondered if that’s why so many people enjoyed physical work as much as they did.
Endorphins or something, maybe. She waited until she had steered her load out of the coop and tipped it out onto her little pile of dirt before answering Mya.
“I felt like I needed to help, that’s all. But it’s shit. I’m not doing it again.” The women shared a little giggle before Emory added, “I was made to sit at a desk, clearly.”
“You’ll be great at it,” Mya mused, her voice trailing off at the thought.
They both knew what Emory’s career ambitions meant for her living situation, and neither was ready to voice how much they would miss each other.
Emory supposed she could come visit. It would be good for Clayton to still have a relationship with Byron and Tucker—they were his family, after all—and Emory could stock up on her best friend’s book recommendations and comforting hugs.
“Anyways,” she remembered, “what did you call for?”
“Oh, ha. You spoke to Tucker.”
Emory gulped. Was she not meant to? She stammered, trying to find a response.
“It’s okay. It’s good, actually. The roads opened today, so I’ll go back to my place, and we agreed to start from scratch.
Being so isolated was … not great, but I think we both realised it doesn’t mean we won’t work long term.
Tucker just needs to learn not to leave the toilet seat up or use all the hot water. ”
“So, the two of you are …?” Emory felt herself smiling. Tucker was like family to her. Mya, too. Knowing the two of them were becoming something filled Emory with a special kind of proud joy.
“I think we are, Emory.” A moment of silence passed as Emory made her way to the shed in search of hay for the coop.
“Hey, Emory.” Mya’s voice was soft and crackled through the patchy reception around the far side of the house. “What about Byron?”
Emory closed her eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”