Page 53 of What Did I Miss?

Makayla does another lap of Beau’s block, slow-crawling past his house for clues about how he’s doing the day after she ripped out his heart and reversed over it.

Has he been crying harder than he ever thought possible, like Makayla did all night? Did he skip breakfast because he’s nauseous as hell? Has he googled ‘chest pain causes’ in case that feeling of his lungs being wrung out like a wet towel was a medical emergency?

Beau’s neat lawn with perfect hedges gives nothing away. Closed curtains don’t either. The sun hasn’t been up long enough to tell if that means he’s asleep or doesn’t want company.

There’s only one way to know. Makayla could walk up to his door and knock.

If he didn’t answer, she’d keep going until her knuckles bled and Beau got so annoyed, he’d yell for her to ‘Go away!’ She’d ignore him and say …

actually, what would she say that she couldn’t have said last night?

When he stood there waiting for her to commit to him – to them – like she’d promised in Bali. Sorry wouldn’t cut it. Not this time.

Makayla stomps on the accelerator before she’s spotted and speeds away to knock on a different door. It’s a miracle her aunty doesn’t slam it in her face.

‘Make yourself useful.’ Quinn thrusts a roll of bubble wrap at her.

A stale scent of dust lingers in the air. Bulky furniture has been removed and replaced with towers of cardboard boxes, like a life-sized game of Tetris. They’re labelled donate or trash .

Makayla carefully wraps items that will go to new homes.

Quinn must be less worried about the condition they’ll arrive in; knick-knacks clatter as she dumps armfuls into boxes.

It’s more likely she’s holding her tongue for the sake of a drama-free goodbye.

Last night, Makayla sent a text and voicemail explaining everything.

Quinn didn’t respond. Will an in-person apology get her talking?

‘I’m sorry about lying to you. Sorry about it all.’ Makayla’s words echo in the empty house and disappear into the ether.

Quinn stares past her out the front window.

Gertie gleams in the driveway after the buff and polish Makayla gave her this morning to help her chances.

No deal. Quinn holds out a flat palm, asking for the key, and makes a point of shoving it deep into her pocket when Makayla reluctantly hands it over.

She should have known better than to think her aunty would change her mind.

‘I thought you would’ve had the good sense to leave the car with Waz,’ Quinn says.

‘He doesn’t want it anymore. He’s got other priorities at the moment.’ A tiny smile finds its way to Makayla’s lips. At least one good thing came out of all this.

‘I can’t believe you’d abandon the club like that.’ Most people would use an ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ inflection. Quinn, however, swaps them.

‘I haven’t,’ Makayla says. ‘There’s no rule stating members must own a Mustang to serve on the committee.

I confirmed with Priscilla this morning and told her I’m staying on in my role.

She was happy about it.’ It’s hard to tell if Quinn is too, with her body turned away, taping up boxes.

‘Everything is good to go with the Business Studies class. They’ll get stuck into the marketing campaign next term.

’ Makayla arranged for Danny to visit the school, and he wowed the students with his car and his stories.

‘I’ve also put together a proposal about donating a portion of membership fees to a family violence response centre. ’

The ripping sound of packing tape stops. That got Quinn’s attention.

Granny Frances’s triumph was creating the club after her husband abandoned her at a time when single mothers were stigmatised and unsupported.

It was an ‘up yours’ to him and anyone who double-crossed her.

No wonder Quinn embraced it after her marriage went down the toilet.

But it doesn’t have to be fuelled by spite anymore.

Makayla, of all people, knows how damaging that can be.

Why not channel their rage into something useful, like her gran did when she taught vulnerable women how to drive?

Partnering with a rescue centre is the perfect way to honour Frances’s real legacy.

Makayla had hoped her commitment to the club would win her brownie points. Nope. Quinn stomps around like a toddler who asked for jam on their toast and got Vegemite.

It’s weird being on the receiving end of her silent treatment.

Whenever they’d meet up at the Goldie, Quinn always had a tale about someone doing her dirty.

Close friends, colleagues, Frank at the post office – you name it.

She’d cut them off in a heartbeat; Makayla was in awe of the way she didn’t take crap from anybody.

But they’re family, and this is her niece’s first offence. That’s got to count for something.

Quinn swoops past without warning, sending Makayla backwards into a stack of boxes. They drop with a thud, contents splaying across the timber floors. Makayla scoops them up, and among the rubble finds a photobooth keepsake.

Quinn and a woman with an unforgettable beauty spot are pulling funny faces in the first three images and kissing in the fourth.

A tight embrace, hands through each other’s hair, lips sucking like a vacuum type of kiss.

Quinn’s nose ring is visible in the photo, and she only got that at the end of last year.

Makayla holds the photo strip in the air. ‘Do you want to talk about this?’

‘There’s nothing to say.’ Quinn plucks it out of Makayla’s hand and crumples it. Whatever happened between them clearly ended badly. What did Nova do to end up in a box destined for landfill?

‘You could’ve told me,’ Makayla says.

‘That I’m bi?’

‘No.’ Makayla jerks her head back. Quinn doesn’t owe her an announcement. ‘I mean, why didn’t you tell me about the relationship?’ She takes a cautious step forward. ‘Is Nova married?’ A cluster of diamonds glistened on her left hand in those photos.

‘They took some time apart. Nova was going to leave her husband. We had a plan. Then she couldn’t go through with it. She didn’t want to hurt him, so she kicked me to the kerb instead.’

Hundreds of thoughts attack Makayla’s mind at once. She takes a minute to thread them together. Quinn’s travel plans, the tattoo and the haircut all make sense now. She is dealing with her grief the same way Makayla was – by avoiding it.

‘Is she the reason you’re leaving?’ Makayla asks.

‘Piss off. Do you think someone could run me out of town? I’m tougher than that.’ She snorts, like it’s something to be proud of. ‘You’ll get there one day, too. As long as you stay away from that sooky la la at work.’

‘Beau?’ Makayla stands taller, ready to jump to his defence. ‘He’s allowed to be upset. I broke his heart.’ The awfulness of her actions settles over her. Tears fall, and for once, she lets them.

‘Don’t do that. They’re not worth it.’ Quinn zigzags around the room, rearranging piles. ‘It’d be a big help if you could take this lot down to the Salvos.’

Makayla stares in disbelief. ‘I’m standing here crying and you’re ignoring me?’

‘C’mon, MK. Do you want me to grab a tub of ice cream and some tissues? You’ve got to take it on the chin and move on. Don’t let them get to you.’

‘Says the woman leaving the country after a break-up?’

Quinn draws in a sharp breath. ‘I’m not doing this with you right now. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot of packing to do.’

Makayla catches Quinn’s elbow before she spins around to do busy work that can wait. ‘That’s right, we Andersons don’t talk about real stuff, do we?’

‘Sitting around chatting about our problems won’t solve them.’

‘Bottling them up doesn’t either.’

Something flickers in Quinn’s eyes, like the words have squeezed through a gap and hit a nerve. Frown lines crease her forehead. Is this how Makayla looked when Beau called her out? Pretending to be strong to hide how terrified she was of facing her pain?

It’d be easy to walk away; who knows when the two of them will be on the same continent again? But she doesn’t want to. If Quinn will meet her halfway, they can break this cycle and have a healthier relationship. One where they can open up about bad break-ups and miscarriages.

‘It doesn’t matter how far you run. If you don’t deal with your issues, they’ll eventually catch up with you.’ Makayla waits for a reply, heart thumping.

Quinn lifts her chin and peeks through the fallen strands of her long fringe. She shakes, holding it all in, until she can’t any longer. ‘The club was the one place where I felt like I belonged, and I’ve ruined that. I can’t stay here and see Nova at every meeting or event.’

Makayla wants to hold and comfort her, only she knows being touched might have the opposite effect. This is the most honest conversation they’ve ever had. Baby steps. ‘I know it’s painful, and it seems like it’ll never end. Trust me, you will get through this. Please don’t go.’

‘I have to. I’ve quit my job, sold this place, and you’ve taken my position on the committee. Also, after tons of travel research, I’m ironically looking forward to it.’

‘Just because you leave doesn’t mean you can’t come back. I have a spare room and we can share the coordinator role. When Priscilla steps down, you can run for president. Everyone loves you there. You’ll be a shoo-in.’

Quinn chuckles. Going after the coveted position must’ve crossed her mind. ‘Maybe.’ She retrieves the car key from her pocket, stares at it and presses it into Makayla’s hand. ‘Why don’t you take care of Gertie in case I come back? If there’s one scratch on—’

Makayla flings her arms around Quinn and squeezes tighter and tighter until a strangled cough signals for her to stop. They stand apart, fixing their clothing, cheeks flushed.

‘How about I make a quick trip to the op shop and bring back some food?’ Makayla carries boxes towards the front door. ‘We’ve got a long day ahead of us.’ She’s referring to part two of this necessary conversation. Might as well put it all out on the table.

Before closing Gertie’s boot, now filled to the roof with donated goods, there’s one last thing to add.

Makayla can’t believe she’s doing this. She wriggles out of her leather jacket, which has become like a second skin, and places it on top.

When Quinn gifted it to her off the back of leaving Warren, she’d made a joke about it being a bulletproof vest. In a way, that was true.

Wearing it is like having an extra layer of protection that makes her feel invincible.

It’s time to take it off – even if that means taking a bullet straight through her heart.

Waiting at the community hall is a woman named Sonya, who’s expecting Makayla at six sharp – popping the ‘p’ at the end when they spoke on the phone.

When Makayla signed up online to a pregnancy loss support meeting, she never expected the woman who ran it to offer her a lift.

Makayla declined, finding the offer strange rather than helpful.

But now that she’s standing on the steps – and has been for seven minutes, making her officially late – she understands why. Sonya knew she’d chicken out.

The last time she was here was for the speed dating event with Beau.

She smiles, remembering how they left early, descending these very stairs, to get a three-cheese parmigiana.

But the obscene amount of dairy wasn’t the reason Makayla raced to the pub, and clogged arteries weren’t why her heart skipped a beat.

It was him . It was always him. The way he asked deep questions, wanting to know the real Makayla.

How he leaned in when she spoke. Those caring eyes, looking at her like no other woman existed.

Well, she screwed that up, didn’t she? They’ve been back at school for four days and he’s acting like she doesn’t exist.

This is too much.

Makayla turns and comes face to face with a fiercely smiling lady who doesn’t move out of her way. She’s tiny, like Tinker Bell, and wearing ballet flats; no wonder she was able to sneak up undetected.

‘You’re a lot braver than I am,’ she says.

‘What do you mean?’ Makayla feels like she’s walked into the conversation midway.

‘I couldn’t even get out of the car my first time. Just sobbed into the steering wheel, ruining my false eyelashes.’ She flutters a gorgeous full set that has clearly recovered from said incident. ‘You’ve made it halfway up the stairs. Go you.’

Makayla musters a polite smile. She’s doesn’t see herself as brave, and this person won’t either when she makes up an excuse to leave.

‘I’m Imelda, but you can call me Immy.’

‘I’m Maka—’

Without warning, Immy pulls her in, smooshing their cheeks and chests together like they’ve known each other for years.

Makayla surprises herself by not shoving this stranger to the ground.

Instead, she grips her tighter. Everything about Immy is comforting.

She smells like roses. Her cardigan is so cuddly she must use the wool setting on the washing machine.

And her rhythmic sway is as soothing as a boat on gentle waves.

The most comforting thing of all is that Immy knows how Makayla feels without her having to explain it.

They’re bonded by a loss not even her closest friends can truly understand.

They pull apart to find a woman at the entrance with a confident stance and welcoming grin. A well-loved chequered shawl hugs her frame. She must be Sonya.

‘Makayla, I’m glad you made it.’

Sonya winks at Immy, and something tells Makayla that Immy was late on purpose. Clearly she isn’t the first person to freeze outside the building, and won’t be the last.

‘Will you be joining us? We’ve got Nutella doughnuts.’ Sonya holds the door open as wide as it will go.

‘If I’d known that, I would have arrived earlier.’

Makayla ascends the stairs, each step a little easier than the last. She can do this. She wants to.