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Hunter
I’m sitting on the veranda flicking through the classifieds in the local paper when I hear a car coming up the driveway. I assume it’s Sammy, because he’s the only one brave enough to be seen on our property, but then Tamsin’s Rav 4 appears. Rising, I wander over the steps and lean against the post. I’m really not in the mood for visitors.
The car rolls to a stop in front of the shed, and I glimpse Tamsin through the tinted glass. She waves but doesn’t turn the engine off or make any move to get out. Instead, the passenger door opens, and Annie steps out of the car.
Annie.
Her eyes meet mine as she walks to the boot and proceeds to pull out a suitcase.
‘Call me,’ Tamsin tells her through the window before putting the car into reverse.
Annie nods, then turns to me. She’s wearing knee-length denim shorts and a white Sportsgirl T-shirt. Her hair’s in a messy bun, and she’s makeup free, which means all those delicious freckles are on display. She walks slowly towards me, eyes narrowing on the bruise beneath my eye. I let Keith get one in, because he really needed it.
She stops at the bottom of the steps and says, ‘Good afternoon. My name is Annie, and we’re just calling around to people in your neighbourhood asking them the question, is violence really the answer?’
My lips twitch. ‘Where’s your leaflet?’
She pretends to hold one out. ‘Jehovah tells us in Proverbs 22:24, “Do not keep company with a hot-tempered man or get involved with one disposed to rage.”’
‘Is that a real scripture?’
‘Of course.’
I shake my head. ‘How the hell do you still remember that?’
‘I’m sure if you spent nineteen years dissecting the Bible, you would pick up a few verses too.’
I drink in the sight of her. ‘What are you doing here, Wilson?’
She lets go of her suitcase and climbs the steps until she’s standing on the one below me. Reaching up, she touches the colourful mark on my face. ‘Can’t believe someone finally got you.’
I catch her wrist. ‘I said, what are you doing here?’
She doesn’t try to pull her hand free. ‘I came for Maggie’s funeral, and I’m staying to help you.’
‘With what?’ My tone is sharper than it should be.
‘With whatever you need.’
My fingers relax around her. ‘What I need is for you to fly home after Maggie’s funeral.’
Very slowly, she steps up onto the veranda beside me and threads her fingers through mine. ‘I know your fight-or-flight response is in full swing right now, but I refuse to fight with you. And if you run, I’ll chase you.’
I don’t want her in this town or anywhere near my mess, but I also don’t have the strength right now to push her away. Annie Wilson is the epitome of comfort, from her homely scent to her PG-rated humour. So instead of pushing her away, I pull her to me and bury my face in her neck. Her arms go around me, and I breathe her in. Minutes go by, and I feel my mind growing quieter with each one that passes. Finally, I draw back to look at her, and I see tears on her cheeks.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her.
She wipes her face. ‘I think people with pain recognise people with pain. That’s always been our draw.’ Her fingers go to my bruise again. ‘Let me stay. Let me help.’
I have to look away. I’m so undeserving of the kindness and devotion she’s extending to me. ‘Your mum know you’re here?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘This town’s swarming with J-dubs armed with crosses and garlic. Are you really up for that?’
‘I think you’re confusing Witnesses with vampire slayers. They don’t own crosses because they believe Jesus died on a stake.’ She pauses to think. ‘Garlic might be effective, though.’
I drop my mouth to hers. She tastes like lemonade and bad jokes. I’ve forgotten how well our mouths fit together, and our hands. And our hearts.
