Chapter Fifty-one – Andie
Chapter Fifty-one
ANDIE
I gaze at Dad, nestled between Toby and me on the couch, while the delicious fumes of chicken soup warming on the stovetop tickles my nose. Instead of taking him straight back to the home, we’ve decided to spend the afternoon together at my apartment.
It was a long shot, but I thought the shell might have triggered Dad’s memory of his teaching days at the University of Sydney. We rushed to the fig tree in the quadrangle where he always met Mum for lunch, only to find it deserted, and our hopes sank. But as we drove back to my place to get some much-needed rest, the police called. We’d been in spitting distance of him. A member of the marine biology department discovered him curled up asleep in the doorway of the science faculty staff room. Though his clothes were damp, he appeared unharmed. After a check-up at the hospital – and confirmation that his earlier scan was all clear – he was discharged into our care.
Now we’re watching Happy Feet and eating Maltesers while our soup simmers, as if this were a regular Friday activity.
Toby jumps up from the couch. I thought he’d agreed to stay.
‘I’ll be back,’ he says, noticing my alarmed expression. ‘Just gotta pee.’
‘Right, sorry,’ I reply, shaking my head and feeling silly. I’m still on edge.
As he leaves the room, I check the cracked screen of my phone, which, thankfully, Toby managed to temporarily resuscitate.
There’s a message from Grace letting me know that she’ll drop my bags off later, and a notification from Storytime.
When was the last time you were happy?
I ponder the question for a moment, glancing at Dad again, who’s happily munching his chocolate. The seashell, now chipped in a few places, rests on his lap. I’m so relieved he’s back with us safely.
Aside from right now? The last time I was truly happy was yesterday – on the lily pad with Jack.
Toby crashes my thoughts as he leaps over the back of the couch and settles into his seat. ‘Okay, so when are we going to talk about it?’
‘Talk about what?’ I thought we’d already hashed out stuff about Dad. I’m going to do my best to let go of the reins a bit and pass some of the responsibility over to Toby. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s necessary if I want to find time to even look into doing a film course, or allow any joy back into my life.
‘Duh. Don’t play dumb with me. Tackle-box man.’
Oh.
I sigh. ‘There’s nothing really to say.’
‘Come on, now. I’ve outgrown my car seat, and I’m now well versed in romantic tension.’
Toby grins, and I pretend to adjust the blanket over Dad’s lap. He responds with a sweet unblinking gaze that says he knows I belong to him.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I mutter, but my cheeks burn as I think about how Jack took us in his boat in the middle of the night, still looked out for me, even after I effectively made him feel like he didn’t matter to me.
My mind is stuck in a Jack loop, even though it has no right to be. It’s too late. I’ve ruined things.
‘That tension was so thick, sis, I could have cut it with a knife.’
Butter knife. Scarred hands. Salty sweet oysters.
I shake my head to rid it of the images.
‘Dad was missing, that’s why!’ I blurt.
‘Uh-uh. That’s not it. If you’re a seagull, I’m a French fry? Come on, sis.’ He mimes gagging.
In this moment, I wish he was a regular twenty-four-year-old brother who didn’t have an arsenal of romantic movies to inflate his EQ. Toby not only noticed Jack’s T-shirt, he knew it was for me.
That’s the one flicker of hope I cling to, that Jack went back to his cabin and put on the matching shirt – to wallow? To feel close to me? To come over to Moorings and talk to me?
‘Fine,’ I sigh, stealing another Malteser from Dad’s bowl and snuggling closer to him. ‘Just say that I was interested. He thinks that I’m some weakling who can’t deal with life.’
‘Ooft. Then he doesn’t know you very well, does he?’ Toby exclaims, puffing out his chest.
‘No, no, no, he does, he does.’ Now I feel the need to defend him. Argh, I hate this.
‘Well, what do you mean then?’
‘It’s only that he didn’t tell me some pretty big stuff about his life, like he thought I was a fragile shell of a person and couldn’t handle it or something?’
‘Did you ever stop to consider that maybe he was ashamed of whatever it was he was keeping from you and that’s why he didn’t tell you? Because he cared too much?’
I blink.
Maybe Toby’s right – perhaps Jack didn’t tell me about the oyster farm because he was afraid I’d see it as a failure, or see him as one.
I know what it’s like to give your all and still feel like you’re failing everyone and everything. I was so focused on how different our lives seemed that it took me too long to see how similar they actually are. There’s no great gulf between my city life and his island life; there’s just one real life, and we’re both trying our best in it.
‘That’s really insightful. Thanks, Toby.’
‘You can thank Mum and her endless tearjerkers. I might have accidently learned a thing or two from them.’
‘You loved them,’ I tease.
Toby pauses, a wistful smile on his lips. ‘I did.’
I lean over Dad to hug him. I wish we could stay like this forever, cocooning Dad in the safety of our embrace.
‘Ah, Andie?’ Toby murmurs into my shoulder. ‘Is that your soup burning?’
‘Shit!’ I pull away, but Toby beats me off the couch and hurries towards the kitchen.
‘Stay,’ he calls back to me. ‘I’ve got this, sis.’