Chapter 25 – Jace
JACE
A soft rap at the door startles me awake and I’m leaping out from under the blanket, accidentally kicking Charlie in the back in the process of getting to the door. “Shit, sorry!” I whisper shout over my shoulder even though he’s still dead to the world.
“Fuck. Pants,” I mutter, stopping short with my hand on the handle and spinning around to grab the nearest pair of pants I see, not caring that they’re Charlie’s.
The person on the other side of the door knocks again before I manage to swing the door open, disappointed when I find some old lady hunched over a tiny Maltese dog, and it takes considerable effort to keep a polite smile on my face.
It’s stupid. There’s no way it would have been Bonnie; she doesn’t even know where we are. We spent about an hour walking through the shop yesterday, answering all of Charlotte’s questions about our life back home as we threw everything into our trolleys.
It felt good. Half of the shit we bought, we don’t even need, we just wanted to prolong being in their presence for as long as possible.
But Bonnie never asked where we planned on staying, and we didn’t know how to work ‘we’re sleeping in the RV wherever we can park it’ into conversation, so there’s no way it would have been Bonnie behind the door.
Spotting me, the lady straightens and for a second, I panic thinking she’s about to tell us off for loitering or parking the RV down here by the river, but instead she gives me a bright smile. “Good morning!”
“Uh, morning.” A particularly loud snore has me glancing over my shoulder to see Charlie roll over in his sleep, completely oblivious. “What can I do for you?” I ask awkwardly, narrowing my eyes and blocking her view when she tries to peer inside the RV.
“Hm? Oh, right…well, little Billy here got out last night and he must have gotten under Mack’s ute. Bloody thing leaks oil everywhere, you’d think the old fart would get it fixed, but nooo.” I blink, nodding along as though I understand a word she’s saying, when in reality, I haven’t got a clue.
“Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice the sign on your RV and well…I don’t suppose you could fit Billy in for a groom?”
“Oh, uh…we’re kind of on vacation,” my voice trails off, looking down at the filthy dog that sure enough, really needs a groom. “Sure.” I sigh; it can’t hurt to get in the locals’ good books if we’re sticking around.
“Oh, thank you! You’re a life saver.”
“Let me just get dressed and wake my partner up, then I’ll grab your details,” I tell her, stepping back inside the RV and closing the door behind me before she can see inside.
“Charlie, get up.” I roll him off the blow-up mattress, and he lets out an indignant squark as his bare back hits the cold floor, instantly waking him.
I quickly explain everything, and he helps me lift the mattress, leaning it against the side wall and we kick our bags out of the way before I grab my tablet and head back outside.
Shooting off a quick text to Darla, I let her know Billy is ready to be picked up and wonder how best to approach her about my suspicions.
“Oh, look at you!” she coos when Billy jumps into her arms. “You look so good. How did you get his coat so white?”
“Purple shampoo,” I answer automatically before cutting straight to the chase. “Darla, you said Billy got himself covered in engine oil last night.” It’s not a question, and the sheepish look she gives me confirm my suspicions.
“What do you take me for, a fool? You clearly covered your dog in cooking oil and I’m guessing dirt from your garden. I don’t appreciate being tricked. What were you trying to gain?”
“Okay, yes. I lied.”
“At your dog’s expense? I have half a mind to call the RSCPA.”
“No, wait. Please don’t. Shoot, I’m sorry, I just – you look like him, you know?”
“Not really, no. Who do I look like?” I sigh, honestly done with this conversation. At this rate, I don’t even care about getting paid, I just want her to leave me alone.
“Your father.”
“My…what?” I shake my head; sure I misheard. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last thing I expected. I hadn’t even considered it a possibility that I was in my parents’ hometown and therefore could run into people that knew them.
All I have of Dad are the stories Mum used to tell me; I was too young when he died to remember him and to think…I’m older than he was when he died. “You knew my dad?”
“Knew him? Boy, the stories I could tell you…can you believe he used to sneak into my garden and steal my flowers to give to your mother?”
My eyebrows raise and I let out a started laugh. “Well, would you look at that, like father like son,” Charlie jokes from behind me, and I feel his chin sit on my shoulder as he wraps his arms around me.
“Is that so?” Darla smirks, looking between us. “Did he steal you flowers too?”
“Uh, n-no, not me. Um, they were for…our girl.” He shrugs a shoulder, and I watch Darla try to subtly look inside the RV again.
“Don’t act like you weren’t right there with me,” I tease to distract Darla, and it works as she lets out a laugh, forgetting about the RV.
We end up sitting at one of the tables by the river and she fills me in on so many stories I missed out on. Like the time Mum and Dad woke her and her husband up in the middle of the night soaking wet because Dad slipped on a rock after breaking his arm whilst they were climbing the mulberry tree.
And how he proposed to her, employing half the town to distract Mum away from the river where he strung up fairy lights everywhere, then collected heaps of pebbled rocks to spell out the words ‘marry me?’ in the grass not six feet from where I’m sitting now.
Dara shakes her head, a wistful smile and a faraway look on her face. “The day you were born…I’ve never seen two people more happily in love. Parenthood suited them, despite barely being adults themselves.”
I look up, trying to find the tears filling my eyes. I never knew my dad, he died before I was three. So, to hear stories about the two of them happy and in love…
Fuck, I miss them. Is it even possible to miss someone you don’t remember?
“The entire town mourned when he died. I don’t blame your mum for packing you both up and leaving when she did. There’s not an inch of this town that isn’t filled with memories of the two of them.
“I can’t even begin to imagine the pain she went through…to be constantly reminded of the fiancé and child you lost everywhere you look…”
“Ch-Child?” A ringing starts in my ears. I had a brother or sister? How could she not tell me?
“She was six months pregnant when your father died. She lost them both.”
“How?” my voice cracks, and I struggle to breathe through the grief tearing through my heart.
“She didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head. “She…Mum died long before I was old enough for her to, I guess.”
“Oh, sweetheart…I’m so sorry.” Darla reaches across the table, squeezing my hand and I fight the sob that’s trying to rip me open. It feels like I’m losing her all over again.
“H-How?” I repeat, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. “How did they die?” She opens and closes her mouth, hesitating. “Please.”
Her eyes close, a single tear falling down her cheek. “It was a car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light…your dad tried to swerve so the car wouldn’t hit your mother but there was a pothole, and he lost control…he bled out trying to get her out of the car.”
I pull away from the table, unable to hear anymore. A hand grips my chest, and I struggle to breathe. Charlie pulls me into his arms and I cling to him.
Over his shoulder, my eyes catch on a blurry figure in the distance heading this way, but I can’t clear the tears in my eyes long enough to make out anything about them.
All the times I begged her to tell me about my dad fly through my mind. I used to get so mad as a little kid when she refused to talk about how he died, telling me she would explain it to me when I was old enough to understand.
I close my eyes, guilt flooding my system as I picture the pain that would rip across her face when she indulged me, telling me little bits about him from their younger years.
It kills me to think I made her relive the pain of their deaths everytime I asked her to tell me about my dad. I can't help but see her face, the pain she successfully hid from my unknown child-self.
I just figured she was sad because she missed him, that that was why she didn’t like talking about him.
I didn’t think…I can’t begin to imagine the pain she must have felt losing her baby and fiancé in one go, only to force down her own grief simply because I was curious about the father I had no memory of.