Chapter 15
Sunny except for spots of overprotectiveness
A week passes in a blur of work and nights at the community center.
There have been no practice sessions. Yet.
Luke offered. I declined. Maybe if I keep saying no, everyone will forget about Kristen’s brilliant idea.
I’m certainly trying my hardest. And I have other things to worry about… like finally having my apartment fixed.
A knock pounds on my door early on Saturday morning.
Cain walks through the apartment, a tool belt slung low around his hips, inspecting everything he passes with a frown. He twists his hair into a bun and fixes it with a pink elastic as he scans the kitchen, his eyes jumping from the window that refuses to close to the dripping faucet.
“How long’s that been broken?” He nods at the sink.
“Um, well…” I avoid his eyes by straightening the buttons of my sundress. “Since I moved in, Mr. Abernathy.”
He roars with laughter. “Mister! I’ll buy a new fridge for this place if you call me that in front of my wife.”
“Do you prefer…Cain?”
“That’ll do it.”
Purposeful steps thud to a stop behind us. Sawyer looms in the doorway. “Sounds like a lot of talkin’ and not a lot of fixin’,” he says.
“I just got here,” Cain replies.
“And time’s a-wastin’.”
Cain’s lip curls. “When did you become such a hard ass?”
“Right around the time I found out Elsie is livin’ in a place that should be condemned.”
“It’s not that bad!”
Wood groans behind us. Three pairs of eyes whip around as one of the overhead cabinet doors sighs one last time before finally giving up. The door tips off its hinges and crashes to the floor.
Sawyer folds his arms and gives Cain a pointed look.
“I’m going to fix it!” Cain says defensively. “Don’t get your knickers in a damn knot. I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Yeah. I s’pose.” Sawyer jerks his head at the teenage boys with matching mops of dark hair who are roughhousing in the living room. “You and your motley crew.”
Cain grimaces slightly. “My sister said they need work.”
“She said that because she wants those two knuckleheads out of her hair.”
“Probably.” Cain grins before sticking his head into the living room. “Boys!” he growls. “Quit shoving each other around in Elsie’s place. You break her TV, and I’ll break your ass.”
The two lanky teenagers straighten their spines and push back their shoulders. Neither of them looks at all sorry. They’re both smothering smirks.
“Sure thing, Uncle Cain,” one says.
“Unc,” the other adds with a snicker.
“Unc-o.”
They burst into a roll of uncontrolled giggling.
Sawyer rubs his temple. “It’s gonna be a long day.”
“Pfft. Not for you,” Cain says. “These repairs will get done a hell of a lot faster if you ain’t here eyeballing me the whole time.”
Sawyer tips his head in my direction. “How do you feel about that, Elsie Hoskins?”
I clear my throat, but it’s hopeless. Only an “Um…” comes out.
Sawyer leans over and murmurs in my ear. “You’re the boss. Use that big, brave voice.”
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so patient. He gives me all the time I need to get comfortable in a social situation. My parents never bothered. A shove, a barked order to smile, and a shaking head as they wondered, “Why aren’t you cured?” was their method.
Sawyer gets a bold but grateful smile from me. I square my shoulders before I face Cain.
“You and your… your… nephews…” I point to the teenagers. “Are you going to touch anything?”
Cain’s thick eyebrow arches. “Well, I’ve gotta touch the molding, look at the plumbing, and obviously I’ll need to check all the cabinets—”
“But you won’t touch any of my things?”
“What type of…things?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Quit that shit,” Sawyer says. “You know what she’s talkin’ about.”
Cain puffs out a breath. “Mate, you have become seriously less fun these last couple of days. I’m just joking around.”
“Less jokin’, more—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fixing. Elsie, I promise I won’t touch any of your things.
I’ll keep that pair of idiots out of your bedroom.
I’ll even tell them they have to use the restroom at the takeout place downstairs so they don’t piss all over that fluffy pink thing you’ve got in front of your toilet.
And I promise I’m gonna work my ass off all weekend to get this place up to scratch… On one condition.”
“Name it,” I say.
Cain grins. “Take the snarling pitbull with you when you head out.”
“Almost at the dunes.” Sawyer takes his eyes off the road long enough to give me a smile. “You got everythin’ you need?”
I dig around in the oversized red beach bag parked on my lap. “I’ve got my book…my hat…”
“Water?”
I hold up the bottle and swish it so he can hear how full it is. “Yes.”
“Sunblock?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad.”
“What food have you got?”
“I was going to wander over to the fish and chip place if I get peckish.”
“I s’pose that’s okay.”
“Oh, you suppose it is?”
“I don’t want you gettin’ into trouble, is all.”
“If you’re that worried, why don’t you join me?”
Sawyer’s neck swivels. Both of his eyebrows are up, questioning me as if I’ve lost my mind. My invitation isn’t that shocking, is it?
I rush to add, “We can hang out.” Unless, of course, he doesn’t enjoy spending time with me. Maybe I scared him off after choosing that awful CD for the drive to Launceston. “Or…not…”
“I’ll see where I’m at.” His fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel. “Maybe I’ll stop in early when I pick you up.”
“I can walk back.”
His lips press into a stern line.
“It’s not that far,” I protest.
“Fifteen minutes in the truck is at least two hours on foot. I’ll be pickin’ you up. What time?”
I shrug. “After lunch? Later? Honestly, I can spend all day at the beach, and I don’t get to the dunes that often.”
“You’ve been before?”
“Once.”
“Who took you that time?”
“No one. I walked.” I stopped at two cafes on the way home and regretted wearing my flip-flops, but it was a magical day.
“Elsie Hoskins,” he growls.
“You’re such a big old grizzly bear sometimes, you know that?”
He doesn’t deny it, and that disapproving line is back between his brows. “You’re goin’ to wait for me to pick you up, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. McLeod.”
“Good.”
Sawyer’s frown reappears when he turns off the main road and onto a gravel track that winds the rest of the way to the dunes. The truck rattles over the uneven surface, and the thick canopy of trees thins. I wriggle excitedly in my seat. Almost there!
Sawyer’s positively scowling by the time he parks and watches me slap on my hat and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“Look.” I gesture at the one caravan that’s also parked there. “There’s basically no one here. I will claim the whole of Peron Dunes for myself. I’m going to be fine. Okay?”
He grumbles something under his breath, but he really doesn’t need to worry.
I will be fine.
After Sawyer’s truck disappears, I walk the short distance from the gravel road to the towering hills of white sand and shield my eyes to scan the beach stretched out below.
Beautiful.
The sand curves in a perfect, undisturbed sweep all the way to the turquoise waves crashing on the shore. Tufts of native grass sway in a breeze that rises and falls just enough for my sundress to flutter against my legs.
I start down the dune, holding my arms out for balance as my feet sink into the warm sand.
I glance from side to side. There isn’t much shade.
A lone, wind-bent tree clings to the beach closer to the water.
Spotting my only chance of avoiding coming home redder than my beach bag, I kick off my flip-flops and head straight for it.
I fan out my towel under the tree. I don’t bother taking off my sundress. Maybe I’ll read for a bit? I rummage around in my bag to find my book, but when my fingertips trace over the leather cover, I pull my hand back.
I don’t want to read.
I need to think.
What now?
That is such a big question. I’ve been avoiding it, hoping an answer would materialize through some random series of events when I could suddenly point to one thing and shout, “Yes! This is my path!”
Life is never that simple, though, is it?
With a defeated sigh, I scoop up a handful of sand. The heat of it trickles through my fingers, falling in a soft stream that blends effortlessly into the beach. The opposite of me.
What is the path for the awkward, shy girl who grew older but not braver?
I have my qualifications, and I’ve certainly earned my parents’ dissatisfaction by refusing to make use of them. The phone calls every Sunday night get shorter. I don’t appreciate their “guidance.” I just want them to love me regardless of what I choose to do next.
Not that I have any idea what that is.
More study? Teaching? I like kids. I taught a few tutorials at the university. A small group is okay, but presenting…in a room of teenagers… My heart races. Okay, if teaching’s a no-go, maybe it’s time to start from scratch and become a…a… Ugh.
Frustrated, I huff out a breath, wrap my arms around my knees, and gaze out at the ocean.
I’m hopelessly stuck on what to do next.