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‘It did appear and smell that way, but let’s not contribute to gossip. Goodness knows there’s enough of it in this town.’ She meets my eyes once more. ‘Would you like to come with me, Annie? Hunter’s in your year at school, isn’t he?’
‘He is.’ My voice barely carries.
He was a year above me through primary school, but he missed so much of year seven after his mum passed that he ended up having to repeat it.
‘Such a troubled boy,’ Mum says, tutting. ‘But he might be more willing to listen if Annie’s with you.’
The fact that Mum thinks Hunter would listen to me shows how little she knows him.
Sister Jane turns the car onto the dirt road that leads to the farm. ‘There’s nothing quite like bringing people hope of seeing their dead loved ones again.’
I can barely hear her over the thrumming of my heart.
‘I know it can be a little awkward witnessing to other students,’ Sister Jane says, ‘but Jehovah never tests us beyond what we can bear.’
That’s not true. I couldn’t bear it when Dad left, and I certainly couldn’t bear it when Bridget left. I can’t bear the hollow feeling I wake up with every morning or the sense that I’m living a life meant for someone else. And right now I can’t bear Donna staring at me.
I can’t bear any of it.
‘Here we are,’ Sister Jane says when the house comes into view. ‘Ute’s here, so someone’s home.’
My entire body tenses up when I spot Hunter chopping wood at the side of the house. He’s wearing a torn Red Hot Chili Peppers T-shirt, which is clinging to his lean frame, and faded jeans with Blundstones. His hair’s a sweaty mess.
And I can’t look away.
He lowers the axe when he notices the car. I try to shrink down into the seat, but he sees me, eyes narrowing with suspicion. He drops the axe on the ground and walks to the front of the house, arms crossed as he waits for us to exit the car.
‘Good luck,’ Donna whispers.
There’s a slight tremble in my hands as I struggle with the door yet again. It takes me three tries to push it open, and I only succeed with Sister Jane’s help. We walk towards Hunter, Sister Jane smiling warmly and me trying very hard not to appear as outwardly mortified as I feel on the inside.
‘What are you doing here?’ Hunter asks me in place of a greeting. His gaze sweeps the full length of me as he awaits my answer.
I wrap my cardigan tighter around me, covering as much of my hand-me-down blouse as I can. ‘Is your dad home?’ I’ve forgotten to say good morning, to tell him that we’re calling on him and his neighbours, and the many other things I’m supposed to say. Maybe because I know he wants me to get straight to the point.
Sister Jane looks awkwardly between us, then says, ‘I had a lovely conversation with your father on Wednesday. I left him with some reading and wanted to see if he had any questions.’
Hunter looks at her, and his expression makes me want to retreat to the car. ‘He’s still asleep, and he didn’t read your leaflet, because I binned it.’
Sister Jane’s face falls.
‘Do You Have an Immortal Spirit?’he says. ‘That was the title, wasn’t it?’
Jane clears her throat. ‘That’s right. It talks about—’
‘I know what it talks about.’ He shifts his weight. ‘It said the spirit dies with the body. That when we lose people, they don’t go to heaven. They’re 100 percent gone. Noted. Thanks for coming all this way to share the good news.’
Sister Jane had good intentions when she left that tract with Kevin, but people grieving don’t want to hear that their loved ones are simply rotting in the ground and the only way to see them again is to upheave their life, abandon their friends, and come worship a God they don’t know.
Sister Jane takes a step back from him. ‘I think we’ll come back another time.’
Hunter shakes his head. ‘I wouldn’t bother. Everything Dad worships comes in a can or a bottle.’
I drop my gaze, unable to look at him any longer.
‘Perhaps you could let him know that we came by.’ Sister Jane gestures to the pile of wood he’s dragged up from the creek. ‘I hope you get through that before the rain arrives.’
Hunter nods in place of a reply, then turns and heads for the chopping block.
I return to the car, feeling hot now despite the cold air, and tug once, twice, three times on the door. I stop and draw a long breath as Sister Jane slides breezily into her seat without any problems and reaches for her seat belt. I yank at the door again with no success. Donna makes a move to help me, then freezes.
What is she doing?
An arm appears around me, two fingers sliding under the handle next to mine. Hunter opens it on the first go, then keeps hold of it, waiting for me to get inside. When I look up at him, I’m met with an annoyed expression. This isn’t an act of chivalry. He simply wants us off his property—now.
‘Thanks,’ I say before dropping into the car.
The door slams shut, and I watch him stride away through the window. He snatches up a piece of wood and places it on the chopping block.
I hear the axe come down as we pull away.
