Dark Secrets (39 page)

Sam stacked the last
of the dinner plates on the counter beside the sink, and I flicked
on the faucet to help wash the scraps down the ancient garbage
disposal. There were an awful lot of leftovers tonight.

When the clock in the
front entrance chimed seven, I sighed. The anticipation to possibly
see David tomorrow—possibly tell him I was sorry, and maybe even
tell him I’d take that last few months with him—made the day drag.
I spent the better part of it out on my swing, just wishing he’d
come by; even contemplated throwing the cat up in the tree just to
entice him. And if I knew where he lived, I’d have gone
over—without invitation.

My ears pricked to the
sound of Dad and Vicki’s footsteps overhead. It was unusually empty
in this house tonight; no TV buzzing from the lounge room, no
laughter from Dad as he told Vicki about his day, and Sam, who
normally tossed the forks in the air and caught them behind his
back, dried them slowly and placed them quietly in the drawer. All
the silence gave me too much time alone with my thoughts—never a
good thing.

“
Are you okay, Ara?”
Sam said.

I jumped back from the
sink, flicking the faucet off as water spilled over the edge,
soaking my tank top. “Damn it.”

“
Might wanna clean
that up before Dad sees,” Sam said, drying a plate.

“
It’s just water,
Sam.”

“
Yeah, but…you don’t
want him asking how it happened, right?”

“
What’s that supposed
to mean?” I asked, mopping it up with the floor mat.

“
You were…pretty
spaced out there for a bit.”

“
I’m not going to flip, Sam.” I rolled my eyes. “I know
everyone’s waiting for it, but I’m okay, really.
Really
!”

He took a long step
sideways—away from the crazy person—and continued drying the
dishes, wearing the same smug grin he always wore when he thought
he had the upper hand.

That’s it!
I dipped my fingertips into the sink then flicked
dishwater all over his head.

“
Argh, Ara!” He
blinked, wiping his face, and when he looked up at me, revenge
burning in his gaze, that little prank suddenly seemed like a
better idea in theory. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” He held the
tea towel an arms length away, spinning it in circles to make a
long, twisted snake.

“
Oh, no. No. Don’t
you dare!” I warned, with the pointed finger of
authority.

“
And who’s gonna stop
me?” He flicked the back of my leg with the towel.

“
Ouch.” I squealed,
running around the island counter to out-manoeuvre him. No good—he
took a head shot. “Hey, no fair, keep it below the knees,” I
yelled, running toward the front entrance, then bolted up the
stairs.

“
Come back and I’ll
make it quick.” He thudded up behind me.

As the towel came at
me again, I slammed my bedroom door—catching the end of it in the
doorframe. Sam laughed boisterously, trying to pull it
out.

“
Told you I’m faster,
Samuel,” I called through the door. “And don’t even—”

“
That’s enough, you
two,” Dad said in his booming voice.

“
But, Dad—” Sam
started.

“
I said enough! Now
get back down and finish your chores.”

“
What about
her
?”

“
Now!”

In the hall, Sam
sighed loudly. The tea towel made a grating sound before releasing
from the door with a short, dull thud. “Why does the
princess
always get her
own way? It’s not fair.”

“
Move it, Sam,” Dad
finished.

I tensed, waiting for
him to yell at me—to force me downstairs where I’d get my butt
whopped as soon as he walked away, but he didn’t. Instead, he
walked down the stairs and closed the front door, obviously having
gone out it. I opened my door to check, hearing the car start up,
and felt suddenly really bad for mucking about with Sam.

“
Did Dad just go
out?” Vicki asked, coming out from the spare room.

“
Um, yeah. I think
Sam and I might’ve upset him.”

She looked at the
front door. “I doubt that, Ara-Rose. He’s just…He’ll be okay. It’s
just been a big year.”

“
Yeah. I guess.” I closed my door before I could see the tears
I heard in her voice, and wandered over to sit at my desk. Under
the charcoal sky of the coming night outside, the oak tree rustled
lightly in the breeze, and the swing, hovering low over the soft
grass, swayed gently—almost as if a small, invisible child were
rocking back and forth on it.
Along the
sidewalk, a group of kids ran noisily past our block, dragging a
red wagon behind them. Their laughter filled the night until they
disappeared down the street, leaving an eerie stillness behind
them.

It amazed me how a
second of distraction could make everything seem less empty, not
quite so lonely, and when it was gone, the mere silence you were
lost in before felt more like a vortex of desolation. Just like
with David, I suppose; he came into my life when I was numb inside
and, without him, I felt like I was dead.

And that was exactly
why I had to let him go. Knowing the grief he’d suffer for losing
Nathan made me soft; made me think about taking him back. But that
would do me no good at all. Time heals, David told me once, and if
that was true, then time needed to start now. The sooner I let him
out of my heart, the sooner I’d move on.

Tomorrow, at sunrise,
I’d go running for the first time since I lost them—feel the fresh
air on my face in the early morning, just as I used to every day
with Mike, back home in Australia. Vicki would think I was okay
again, Dad would be happy I’d left my mum and Harry in the past,
and I would run. Nothing more. Run, until everything that hurt in
my heart and my soul moved to the edges of my limbs, into my knees
and my lungs, and I would leave it there. Leave the pain—leave the
sorrow. Leave David.

When we saw each
other at the funeral, he wouldn’t know me. I could play a different
Ara. I could stand strong—smile. I
would
smile. If only for a second,
just to nod toward him, while in my mind I’d be saying
goodbye
.

Chapter
Fifteen

“
Dad, you look nice,”
my voice trailed up as I set eyes upon my suit-wearing father,
coming out of his room.

“
Thank you, Ara.” He
nodded solemnly.

It hurt to hear his
voice sounding so flat and sad. “You okay, Dad?”

“
I’m fine,
honey.”

“
Okay. Hey, um, Dad?”
I said as he started walking away. “Is this dress okay for a
funeral?”

His lips twisted
tightly as he studied my mournful black attire: a soft cotton
dress, with a burgundy belt around the waist. “Ara, are you sure
you’re ready for this?”

I frowned up at him.
“For a funeral?”

“
Yes. It’s just
that—it’s barely been two months, honey.” His eyes held obvious
memory of my mother. “Are you sure you can cope with
this?”

“
No, Dad. I’m not sure. I’m actually not sure about
anything
anymore. But
I
want
to go—for
Emily and…David.” His name stuck in my throat.

Dad nodded, but didn’t
speak.

The clock on the wall
at the base of the stairs chimed eight. The funeral wasn’t until
nine o’clock, but Mrs Rossi asked my dad and his family to attend a
church service beforehand. Unfortunately, he agreed.

“
Had breakfast?” Dad
asked, heading down the stairs.

“
Yeah,” I lied. I
knew I should sit at the table and eat with him—maybe even have a
coffee to help ease the chill in my skin from my early morning run,
but he was better than anyone at seeing through my mask; I wasn’t
okay. I wasn’t ready to see a coffin or see people crying. But I
had to see David one last time before he was gone from my life
forever.

I sat at the base of
the stairs, hugging the post, listening to the calm of the house;
the way the smell of toast could make everything seem kind of okay.
My hunger pangs grew, twisting my gut into knots. But instead of
eating, I watched my father with a careful eye—resting his chin on
interlaced fingers, staring out at the white glare of the morning.
I wondered where his thoughts were—where his heart was. He said so
little about what he felt or how he was coping, that watching him,
seeing him look so sad and distracted, came as a bit of a
shock.

“
All set to go, are
we?” Vicki asked, coming down the stairs.

“
Yeah.”

“
Did you
eat?”

I nodded, resting my
head against the post after.

“
Vicki.” Dad smiled
at her adoringly as he came in from the kitchen. “You look
lovely.”

“
Thank you, Greg.”
She straightened the front of her skirt. “I’m just sorry for the
occasion.”

Dad nodded, and the
sadness stole the smile from his blue eyes.

Vicki did look nice
in black, but it seemed like such an unfriendly colour, almost
cruel really, to say goodbye to someone in. If my last memory were
of my funeral, I’d want to see everyone dressed in
colours—to
celebrate
my life, instead of mourn it.

“
Sam, you ready?”
Vicki called.

“
One minute,
Mom.”

“
Hurry up. We’ll be
in the car.”

“
Okay.”

Dad grabbed the keys
and Vicki shouldered her purse, and as she pulled the front door
open, my breath stopped short of my lips. The cool morning air blew
across my knees, sending a chill through my skin, and the sun
reflected brightly off the damp black road outside, like a
spotlight—blinding me. But my eyes did not betray me, displaying
perfection before them. “David?” my dad said cheerfully. “You’re
right on time.”

Right on
time?

David stood in the
doorway with one hand in the pocket of his tailored black suit as
he shook my dad’s with the other. “Good to see you again, Mr
Thompson, Mrs Thompson.” He nodded politely at Dad, then Vicki, and
turned his head to look directly at me.

I was shrinking. I
could feel it. I wanted to close my mouth, wipe the dumbfounded
stare off my face, but I really loved David too much to hide the
elation in my soul. He looked so damn perfect. There was no way I’d
be able to control my emotions now.

“
Good morning, Ara,”
he said in that smooth, weightless voice.

“
Um…hi,” I said, and
my eyes fell to the floor. I didn’t want to see him standing there,
looking at me like nothing ever happened between us—like we were
just friends.

“
Uh, Ara?” Dad broke
the lengthy silence. “Since you kids are having your own wake at
Betty’s, I thought you might like to ride in with
David?”

“
You mean you
assumed
.”

“
Ara?” Vicki
gasped.

“
No, she’s right,
Vicki,” Dad said softly. “I’m sorry, honey. I did think it would be
okay.”

I folded my arms,
biting my teeth together. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; I was
supposed to see him from afar—supposed to prepare myself for
talking to him. Nobody seemed to care about my
trying
to move forward. I went
jogging today! Jogging! Wasn’t that enough? Dad had just
single-handedly destroyed all the resolve I had to let David go.
Well, I wasn’t going to stand by and let them conspiratorially send
me to a mental institution. I could handle this. I’d dealt with
worse.

“
I’ll just see you
there then.” David looked at me once then turned stiffly
away.

“
I didn’t say I
wouldn’t go. I said you should have checked with me
first.”

David
stopped.

“
Okay, Ara.” Dad
patted my arm. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

I took off, skulking
along behind David, arms still folded, piercing his soul with eyes
like daggers when he opened the car door for me. “I can get the
door myself.”

“
I’m sorry.” He took
a step back. “I know you can. I was…”

I pushed past him and
slumped into the passenger seat, shutting the door on whatever he
was going to say.

In the silence, while
Dad talked to David by the mailbox, the woodsy, lemony smell of his
seats stirred the memory of our picnic by the lake—making my
stomach growl again, spreading the familiar weak and shaky feeling
through my arms. I looked over at Dad, his hand on David’s
shoulder, with Vicki jumping in to touch his arm. It was nice of
them to just leave me sitting here, in the heat,
waiting.

David glanced back at
me, just for a second, then shook my dad’s hand, jerking his head
in my direction. I saw Dad’s mouth move, breaking into a grin; I
knew they were laughing at my bad mood—they always did. No one
cared to ask what was wrong. All they cared about was that my
sulking was something funny to laugh at.