Page 63 of Meant to Be

“I’ll fix you some lunch. You still have some old clothes up in your room if you want to freshen up.”

I bound up the stairs and am almost at my bedroom door when Dad steps into the hallway. He eyes my attire briefly.

“Hi, Dad.”

He gives me a tight-lipped smile and steps around me before he stalks down the hall with heavy footsteps. Sighing, I let myself into the room and beeline to the cupboard. I screw my nose up in distaste at the few clothes hanging on rusted coat hangers.

I settle on a white off-the-shoulder tee and denim shorts. The shorts don’t fit, so I borrow a belt from my brother, not that it goes with the outfit at all.

My eyes flit around the room, taking in the photos plastered on the wall. The memories of this room hang over me like a ghost. If I stand still long enough, I swear I can hear Elise’s laughter floating down the hall. I shiver and rush from the room, not being able to stand it for another moment longer.

Lunch is ready when I return downstairs. Mum has used leftovers from the roast they had for dinner last night to make hamburgers. I load up my plate and take a seat, feeling the tension roll off my father in waves.

“How’s everything going?” Mum asks, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the kitchen. “How’s work?”

“It’s really good. I like it there. I’ve learned a lot from Danny. He works very old-school compared to what I’ve seen in the city, but he has some really great tips.”

“That’s great, hon.”

I exhale, circling my hands around the burger and taking a bite. I’ve gained weight since returning home and not living the lifestyle I was, but I feel stronger and healthier.

“What have you been up to?” I ask her.

“Oh, you know, busy, busy! Me and the girls are organising Farmers Week, so that always has me running around the clock.”

Farmers Week is an annual event to celebrate the local farmers and help raise funds in case of a drought, which is a regular occurrence being out this far west. It’s quite possibly the biggest event on the social calendar, other than the agriculture show.

“Oh, right, yeah. When is it?”

“Next Saturday,” she replies.

“Are you entering the cows in the parade?” I ask, turning my gaze to my father, who has been silent since I came downstairs.

“Yes,” he answers.

I think for a moment about something else I could ask him to make conversation about, but I draw a blank. At least he answered me, even if it was in a frosty tone with no eye contact.

As I lost the race home, I wash up after lunch, before joining Sam on the lounge. He puts on a movie, and I rest back, my legs draping over the arm of the chair. My leg muscles hurt already from riding. I used to ride all the time, but since I haven’t for a few years, everything feels achy and strained.

I only last a few minutes into the movie before my eyes grow heavy. Mum takes a seat on the same lounge as me. Quietly, she rakes her fingers through my hair softly, like she did when I was a little girl.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel truly safe.

To be home.