‘We really shouldn’t be laughing at someone else’s expense,’ I say, turning the indicator on. We are around the corner from home. ‘Especially since it involves a baby.’
‘Think she wants to give it up for adoption?’
We’re still laughing at Paige’s terrible joke when we pull into the driveway.
‘You know, I don’t really feel like going home right now.’ I angle my body towards hers. ‘Want to head to the beach? We could exchange theories on how Annoying Emily might be able to track down Pedro.’
‘How’d you know his name?’
‘I don’t – call it a wild guess.’ I lean back, loosen off my tie and toss it on the back seat. ‘So, is that a yes?’
‘You asking me out on a late-night date?’
‘Do you want it to be a date, Hutton?’
‘Um… well… usually I only date guys who bring jelly beans.’
‘Is that right?’ I reach over to the glovebox and produce a jar of jelly beans. They say that life is full of defining moments, if only you know how to look for them. Ours is a jar of jelly beans.
Twenty-One
Paige
Two months later, Nick and I are in Tasmania, staying in one of Bette’s five beachfront stone cottages. Here, on the edge of Great Oyster Bay, where the spring sky turns lavender and chalk-blue in the evenings, where the pebble-stone stretch of beach curves around the bay, we manage to settle into a new rhythm together.
Bette meets me in front of the cottage we’ll call home for the next two weeks carrying two grey hand-knitted blankets to put around our shoulders. While the days are pleasantly warm, the nights here are still quite cool. Nick has gone out to pick up some fresh seafood for dinner. Bette hands me a blanket and we set off, following a narrow path to the sandy patch of beach and onwards to the pebbled part of the bay.
‘Things getting easier?’ she asks as we stop to sit on a couple of large rocks. The sun’s setting, and the sky looks as if someone has brushed it with pastel watercolour.
‘Things are much better,’ I say. ‘I mean, I still think of Max all the time. We both do. But the fog’s lifted.’ It’s true. Once Nick and I started talking about things, it did become easier. I bend down and pick up a shell, smoothing off some of the sand. ‘You don’t think it’s… too soon, do you?’
‘No, darling. There are no “shoulds” with this kind of thing. Your time is the right time.’
I half-smile.
Bette tilts her head and gives a small nod. ‘It’s okay for you to feel happy, Paige, so please don’t feel guilty over it.’
‘That’s what Nick says.’
‘And how is Nick?’ she asks.
‘He’s okay. He’s not spending every waking hour at the hospital, and we found a way to talk to each other, so things are good.’ I squint at the sky. ‘We’re in a good place now. We like it here.’
Bette smiles and pats my knee. ‘Good work, kiddo.’
‘I can’t help wondering what it would have been like for Nick if the baby had survived and I hadn’t,’ I say as we make our way back to the cottage. Until now, I haven’t admitted this to anyone, not even Imogen.
Bette wraps an arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder as we walk. Her flowery scent mixes with the gentle salty breeze. ‘Thankfully, you don’t need to think about that.’
‘I couldn’t imagine him as a single dad.’
‘And I couldn’t have imagined myself being a single mother. But I did it. You somehow find a way to work with the hand life deals you. It wasn’t always easy. Let me tell you – behind that oh-so-handsome and serious demeanour, there was a kid that loved to get into trouble when I wasn’t looking.’
‘No way. You’re lying.’
‘Well, not the bad kind of trouble, but he used to sneak out at night. And to this day he still has no idea I knew.’
‘Really? To do what? Meet girls?’
She grins. ‘Nope.’
‘Go drinking?’
‘Nope. It was much more innocent than that.’ She stares out along the coastline and adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. ‘He would get up at three in the morning, ride his bike down to the fruit shop and go make deliveries. It took me an entire six months to figure it out.’
‘What gave him away?’
‘I eventually realised no bills had arrived. No phone bills, electricity, gas, water. He’d been keeping tabs on the mail and went and paid them all at the post office as they arrived. I tried to hide how hard it was to make ends meet but he was perceptive, like most kids are. I don’t need to tell you what a good man he is. You already know.’
I smile, nodding in agreement, feeling a burn in my chest that makes me want to be with him right here and now. ‘He is. He was raised by a beautiful woman.’
Bette smiles. ‘It wasn’t easy. Losing Zac, or raising Nick alone.’ She pats my thigh. ‘But you don’t need to worry about that, and neither does he. He told me your last echo showed improvement?’
‘Some improvement. Which means he is… we are hopeful. We’ll see what the next one shows.’
We stand up and make our way to the white Adirondack chairs positioned in front of the cottage.
‘I can’t imagine my life without a son or daughter,’ I admit after some minutes pass.
‘Don’t ever stop hoping,’ says Bette as we watch the skyline morph into a shade of plum. ‘You’ll find a way, whatever it takes.’
Minutes later, Nick whistles at us from some distance away. His jeans are rolled up to his ankles, and he’s wearing a wrinkled linen shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. Everything about him shows how relaxed he is here. The way he moves, the way he smiles, the way his hair, due for a cut, is unkempt and messy. He’s holding a package containing fish and chips and waves to us with his free hand.
I get up from the chair and start running towards him. When I stop in front of him, completely out of breath – it’s moments like these that my heart’s weakness is most apparent – I fling myself towards him. He drops the package and lifts me up. He twirls me around in circles, and as I close my eyes, the wind sweeping up my hair, I’m thinking that if we’ve gotten through this, then together we’ll be able to face anything at all.
By the time we turn around, Bette has started walking away.
‘Hey, Mum, why don’t you join us for dinner?’ calls Nick. He holds up the package. ‘I got scallops for you.’
She waves a hand and continues walking. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got to sort out a late check-in,’ she calls out.
‘I thought you said you were booked out until next week,’ calls back Nick. He creases his brow. ‘Isn’t that what she said this morning?’
I laugh. ‘Yeah. She definitely did say that.’
Back at the cottage, Nick slides the key in the lock and holds the French door open for me, revealing a living space with a fireplace, a lounge and two sash windows that afford us clear views of the beach. There’s a rectangular dining table to the right near the small kitchenette, and to the door on its right, an ample master bedroom with windows offering a view of the deck and the waters of Great Oyster Bay beyond it.