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“Jase!” Scott bounds into the room with a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “Tell Robin I’m responsible. I’ll look after Dusky as well as I look after my LEGO sets.” He jumps onto the end of the couch where I’d been sitting, and Robin swings his legs off to give him room. The cat scrambles away.
“I’ll take good care of him, for real.”
My brother squirms, pleading with his big, mud-coloured eyes. His curly brown hair bounces with his movement.
“Sorry buddy,” I say, my senses prickling as Robin picks up the camera. “I’m sure Robin will let you help out with his pets when you come back to visit in a few months.”
Robin smiles and glances up at me for a second before focusing on Scott. “Sure you can. And bring your wetsuit when you come down next time, gremlin. We’ll get you more familiar with a surfboard, yeah?”
“How long before you stop calling me a gremlin?”
“When you stop eating the ankle busters, kid.” Robin winks at him. “You’re way ahead of your brother. I still haven’t managed to get him into the water.”
“That’s impossible,” my brother says, losing his laugh. And I know the next words out of his mouth before he says them. I lunge over to him, reaching out to slap a hand over his mouth and shut him up, but I’m too slow. “He won’t swim. Can’t.”
A panicked breath rolls up my chest.
That’s . . . I grab Scott by the shirt, haul him to his feet, and drag him towards the door. I can’t bring myself to look at Robin. Can’t bring myself to face the reasons I don’t go in the water.
“Don’t bring that up—”
“It’s not your fault—”
“Ever again.”
I let him go, feeling the heat of Robin coming close to my side, and then his firm hand on my arm, giving me a light squeeze. “Scott, do you think you could fill the cat bowl for me?”
Scott slinks off.
Immediately, I want to pull him back. Tell him I’m sorry. It just . . . hurts.
Robin squeezes me again, and drops his hand.
I look up, focusing on the living room—the silver Christmas tree—over his shoulder.
“Did we get a good shot of the tree this time?”
Robin’s gentle smile comes into focus. “I can teach you to swim. Or I know a few people who are great at giving swimming lessons. Lyle—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “Yeah, nah. I’m good.”
He frowns as I leave him and stride after my brother, into Robin’s small, bright yellow kitchen. “Come on, Scott.”
Robin follows, and hovers in the doorway. “You could stay for dinner?”
Any other day, I’d have leapt at the chance.
Scott looks at me, guilt stained onto his skin. Like he needs the breather as much as I do.
“Sorry, yeah. Let’s call it quits for today.”
Chapter Three
I send Scott ahead with the keys and walk the block. The air is moist with the promise of rain. The clamminess against my face makes it harder to shake off the memories . . . the lake, my gurgling cry, the small body.
I blink back the heat in my eyes and focus on calming my sticky breaths.
Across the road, movement catches my eye and I jerk my head around to catch a crop of sandy hair and very clean shoes vanishing behind a car.
I raise a brow.
An adult man, ducking to avoid me? I cross quietly towards him, stop at the boot of the car and lean an elbow on the roof, looking down at his crouching figure while he peers around the front fender. He’s trying to see if it’s safe to come out yet.
Smirking, I drum my fingers on the car roof; the guy twists around in shock and topples onto his ass in the gutter. He blinks up at me and slams his eyes shut. “This is awkward.”
I glance down the street to make sure he isn’t being laughed at by a teen behind nearby bushes. “No company today?”
“Never hear the end of it if there was.” He picks himself up and dusts grit from his jeans.
I gesture to him, me, the car, the whole scene. “I don’t hold grudges, you know.”
He laughs self-deprecatingly but holds his chin up, meeting my gaze. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Have a good evening.”
He strides off with a confident set to his shoulders and I stare after him, shaking my head in bewilderment.
The next morning, calm restored, I regret rejecting Robin’s offer of dinner and promise to make it up to him. His birthday is getting close. I’ll find him something special. Something thoughtful, memorable.
“Maybe some wax stickers for his surfboard or something?” Scott suggests as I wait with him for the bus that will take him back to Mum’s.
“Nah, it has to be . . . unique.”
Scott unzips the top of his suitcase and pulls out a packet of chewing gum. He stuffs a piece in his mouth and offers me one too.
