Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3) (3 page)

The mistress of idle chatter beamed at him and held out her hand. “Hello. How are you? I’m Trieste.”

He rudely left her hanging.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“I was just wondering how you were doing,” he said quietly. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

He nodded, looking slightly penitent. “How’s Charli? Have you heard from her?”

If that was his idea of small talk, he was a bigger douche than I’d given him credit for.

“Who’s Charli?” asked Trieste, oblivious.

I glanced at her, then at Parker. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

I must’ve sounded as furious as I felt. He walked away. He was a dick, but he wasn’t stupid.

Parker was barely out of earshot before the interrogation from Trieste began. “Who’s Charli?” she repeated.

“Do you have to know everything?”

She tilted her head. “I like to know everything. My brain’s a big sponge. I need information to live.”

“Charli is my wife,” I muttered.

Her eyes widened and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You have a wife? Wow. You’re kinda young for a wife.” She pointed at my hand. “I saw the ring but I thought it was one of those purity rings. You know, the ones that signify sexual abstinence?”

I almost laughed for the first time in days.

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your wife, Charli.”

I wished I knew. “She’s travelling. She likes to travel.”

“She left you, didn’t she?” she asked sympathetically. “Why did she leave you?”

Answering her made absolutely no sense, but I did it anyway. “She saw through me.”

“Oh, that sucks,” she replied, making me smile.

“You have no idea.”

December 18

Charli

I hung out with Mitchell for a week before leaving Kaimte, feeling no less wrecked than when I’d arrived. Mitchell drove me to the airport and stayed with me until my flight was called. He hugged me, wished me luck and told me he loved me.

“One of these days I’ll visit you in when I’m in a better place,” I whispered.

“Your happiness doesn’t depend on him, Charli. Remember that.”

Very occasionally, Mitchell Tate could be an extraordinarily profound man. I wished I was better at taking his advice.

The jolt to my tired body as the plane touched down in Hobart bordered on brutal. I recovered quickly, grabbed my bag and stood in the aisle, desperate to get off the plane. I loved to travel, but I’d never been especially good at it. It seemed to take me days to get over long-haul flights. Alex vehemently believed that salt water cured everything. I had a better theory. Chocolate cured everything, and luckily for me I was back in the land of the Caramello Koala. When I spotted the vending machine on my way to the car rental desk, the koalas were practically screaming my name. I pumped a handful of coins into the machine and pocketed an obscene amount of chocolate for the journey home.

Finally free of the airport, I ambled across the car park with my head tilted toward the sky. The mild summer morning had a bite to it that only came with Tasmanian weather. It was like nowhere else on earth. I smiled to myself, realising I was travelled enough to make such a claim.

I was officially on home soil, just over an hour’s drive from Pipers Cove and more importantly, Alex.

* * *

I drove south in the unimpressive little white hatchback I’d hired, inhaling the cool air through the open window while I munched on my fourth koala.

As far as I could tell, the only thing that had changed in this tiny pocket of the world was me. Two years earlier I’d been desperate to leave, but as I got within the last few kilometres of the Cove, I was getting jittery, excited – and nauseas.

I looked at the growing pile of wrappers on the passenger seat and regretted my binge. Now I
really
wanted to get home and my eagerness to get there was reflected by my driving. I didn’t even look down to check my speed until I noticed the blue and red lights flashing behind me.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered, coming to a stop on the gravel verge. I used the time that it took for the policeman to approach my car to practise my please-don’t-give-me-a-ticket speech. I hadn’t had to use it in a long time.

The constable didn’t look much older than me. He seemed awkward, like he was still getting used to his starchy new blue uniform.

“Good morning,” he said politely. “Where are you headed?”

“Hi. The Cove.” I pointed ahead through the windscreen as if he needed direction.

“And where are you coming from?”

It occurred to me that a smart mouth might not work in my favour but I couldn’t help myself. “Africa, actually.”

“I see.” His lips formed a tight smile. “And did you speed the whole way?”

I didn’t answer him. I had other things on my mind – like what the rental company would charge me if I vomited in their car. I threw open the car door and he took a quick step back to avoid being hit by the door. He took another leap back as I lurched out of the car and threw up all over the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, humiliated and convinced he thought I was drunk.

“Can I get you something, Ma’am? Some water, maybe?”

I tilted my head to look at him. “No thank you. I’m okay.”

“Good. In that case, can I see your licence please?”

I straightened up and grabbed my bag off the passenger seat, sending koala wrappers flying in all directions. “For a second there, I thought you were going to take pity on me and not write the ticket.”

“Being ill doesn’t excuse the fact that you were doing a hundred and seventeen in a hundred zone.” He clicked his pen authoritatively.

“Have you had a good look at this car?” I asked. “There’s no way I could have been going that fast.”

His smile broadened but he continued writing. “You don’t remember me, do you, Charli?”

He kept writing while I stared at him. “Should I?”

Finally he stopped scrawling, tore the ticket off the pad and handed it to me. “Flynn Davis.”

My eyes widened. “Floss and Norm’s grandson?”

He handed me back my licence. “The one and only.”

I hadn’t seen him in years. I remembered the times he’d visited his grandparents over the holidays. Flynn was a couple of years older than me, which is as good as decades when you’re children. I’d never known him well. All I really remembered was his penchant for heavy metal music and Floss threatening to cut his long hair with garden shears.

“I didn’t recognise you without your Metallica shirt and duffle coat.”

He blushed. “Well, we all go through an awkward phase.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “I think I’m still in my awkward phase. So are you living in Pipers Cove now?”

“Yeah, I’m renting a house on the beach. It keeps me out of trouble.”

“I thought being a policeman would keep you out of trouble.”

“What about you, Charli?” he asked, ignoring my smart-arse comment. “Are you just visiting?”

“For a while,” I said vaguely.

Flynn stepped back and I wondered if I looked like I was about to vomit again. “Well, I’ll let you get on your way. Drive safe, okay?”

I turned the key and the little hatchback purred to life. “Of course I will,” I replied, pointlessly revving the powerless engine. “Look at the car I’m in.”

* * *

I had no idea where to find Alex. I decided to try the house first because it was on the way into town. My promise to the rental company of driving only on sealed roads went out the window as I bounced the little car up the gravel driveway. I almost hoped Alex wasn’t there. Seeing my out-of-practice driving skills would probably lead him to confiscate my keys. As I got nearer, I saw a shiny new red ute parked at the house. It had to be his. He would’ve traded up at least twice in the time I’d been away.

As I got out of the car, Alex stepped out on to the veranda and a weird, silent standoff ensued as we stood staring at each other.

My father looked exactly as he had the last time I’d seen him. His sandy hair was still unkempt and boyish. He wore faded jeans and a once-white T-shirt that had been destroyed by his tinkering in the shed.

I didn’t know whether to go to him or not. Alex just looked baffled, leaving me convinced that he’d forgotten who I was.

“Hi, Dad,” I said in a tiny voice.

He snapped out of whatever confusion was plaguing him and bolted down the steps without touching any of them, slowing his roll as took the last few steps toward me. “You’re really home!” He took my face in his hands.

I nodded and his hands moved with me, until he let go to pull me into a bone-crushing hug. I endured it as best I could before wriggling free and drawing a long, steadying breath.

“Are you tired?”

“Deathly,” I replied, mustering my best smile. “It was a long way home.”

“Come inside,” he ordered, draping his arm around my shoulder as we walked. “I’ll make you lunch and then you can sleep.”

* * *

The house looked different. The ugly but comfy brown leather lounge suite was gone. In its place was the pristine white suite from Gabrielle’s cottage. Some of her artwork hung on the walls, and the once unimpressive bookshelf was now stuffed full of books. Those were the most obvious changes, but a hundred others were subtler.

The last thing I wanted to do was appear miffed. Alex had every right to move Gabrielle in. No one deserved happiness more than him and the Parisienne.

“Is Gabrielle here?” I asked.

“She has an appointment in Hobart this morning. I’m glad we have a few hours alone, though. It’ll give us time to catch up. We have a lot to talk about.”

“I have a lot to tell you,” I replied, following him to the kitchen.

For two people who had a lot of talking to do, not much was said over the next few minutes. I felt calm just being in the same space as him. Alex set about making sandwiches while I sat at the table.

“How long are you home for, Charli?” Alex set a huge plate of food in front of me. He pulled out a chair and joined me at the table, demanding an answer by staring at me.

“For a while, if that’s okay.”

“You can stay forever. This will always be your home.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, lifting the top of my sandwich to check the contents. He’d made me tuna. My stomach lurched and I pushed the plate to the centre of the table and pinched my nose.

“Do you have something against tuna?”

“Today I do. I’ve been scoffing chocolate the whole way from Hobart.”

He dropped his sandwich on his plate. “Are you going to puke?”

“I wasn’t even thinking about it until you mentioned it.”

“Can I get you something?”

I shook my head. “I’m okay. Just tired. I really need to sleep.”

He nodded but I could see the tension in his jaw. We’d hardly spoken in months. I’d arrived home unannounced and he had no clue why. He didn’t want to me sleep. He wanted answers.

Thankfully, he didn’t push the issue. I followed him down the hallway to my bedroom. I was hoping it had remained untouched, but there were shades of Gabrielle all over the place. A large easel stood near the window, accommodating a cool abstract painting that she hadn’t finished. Pots of paints and brushes littered the dressing table. I could overlook her arty junk, but I couldn’t ignore the pungent smell of turpentine that hit me the instant I walked in. I pushed the curtain aside, slid the window open and waved my hand as if I could somehow pull the breeze into the room.

“Sorry, Charli,” Alex muttered, scooping pots of paint off the dressing table. “Gabi likes to paint in here, something about the light being good.”

I turned and smiled at him. He deserved to think I wasn’t upset by the hostile takeover of my room. “I don’t mind. I just want to sleep.”

He gave me a smile that I knew wasn’t real and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

As exhausted as I was, sleep was impossible. As soon as I laid my head on the pillow, the ear-splitting sound of cracking wood invaded the silence. I ignored it for as long as I could before admitting defeat and getting up. I ventured outside to confront the axe-wielding maniac working the woodheap.

“I thought you said you were tired,” said Alex, pausing only momentarily to ask the question before swinging the axe over his head and belting it into a log.

I winced as it made contact. “How can I sleep with this racket going on?”

“I chop wood, Charli. It takes my mind off my errant daughter.” He set another log on the chopping block. “If I didn’t chop wood, I’d go insane.”

“I’m home. You can stop worrying now.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he asked. “But you’re here, and I’m still driven to smash wood.”

I stepped off the veranda. “What do you want me to say, Alex? I don’t know what you want to hear.”