Page 71 of Malaise

TWENTY-ONE

“Didn’t take youas long as I thought,” I say, dropping into the Falcon.

The streetlights flicker on to counteract the dimming early-evening light. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I was supposed to eat at the wake.

“I wasn’t far away.” Carver flashes me a lop-sided smirk from the driver’s seat. “How you holding up?”

“Hungry.”

He leans across the car and flicks the glove box open. A pack of peanuts stares out at me. “Tanya left them in there a month or so ago, but I’m sure they’re fine.”

“I’d scrape the mould off a block of cheese if I had to.” I snatch them out and tear into the bag.

“Didn’t get to the wake then?”

I look back at the parlour, and at the small adjoining hall for the after-service formalities. “Nope. Didn’t feel like facing everyone.”

“Why didn’t you message me earlier then?”

I shrug. Why didn’t I? Maybe because if he’d asked me how things went an hour ago I wouldn’t have been able to string a sentence together without bursting into tears? I pull the sun visor down and check out my eyes in the small mirror on the back. They’re a little puffy, but the dark eyeshadow and liner that I swear could withstand nuclear fusion have done a great job.

“I just needed a moment to work through it before I lumped it all on you again.”

“I’d take whatever you gave, babe.”

“I know,” I say, putting the visor up again. “That’s the problem.”

He grumbles something I don’t quite catch, and pulls out into the street. “How was the service though?”

“As far as the ceremony went? Good. I think Den would have liked it. But as far as family?” I sigh, picking at the peanuts. “Things didn’t exactly go swimmingly.”

He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eye. “To be honest, I didn’t really expect them to.”

“Neither.” I down a handful of peanuts. “Where we going?”

His fingers drum on the steering wheel, drawing my focus to them and the small tattoos between each knuckle. “I’ve got a plan,” is all he says.

I finish the small bag of nuts and screw the plastic up, shoving it in the pocket of the door panel. Carver flicks the heater on as I reach over the seat to snag one of my hoodies—or should I say, one of Den’s that I managed to hold on to with all my belongings. Dad threw it in one of the bags, presumably because it was in my room, and I bet he never realised that it wasn’t mine. I shake off the too-pretty-for-me cropped cardigan I have on, and tug the black Metallica hoodie on over my head, feeling instantly more at home. Carver chuckles as I change my new shoes for my comfy boots that were also in the back seat.

“Did you put these in here?” I swear I left them at the motel.

“Yeah. Figured you might want something more comfy.”

I scoot across the seat to lean my head on his shoulder, legs tucked up on the vinyl, and take notes on which way we’re headed. The school flashes past, as does the shopping precinct. We pass through the semi-rural residential area before the road opens out into the highway south. All that’s out this way is—

“Are we going to the Scout camp?”

That gut-warming smirk returns. “Clever, aren’t you?”

I snort a laugh and roll my eyes, still smiling though. “It’s not exactly rocket science. There’s not much else out here, and I doubt you’d want to drive two hours until we reach the next town.

“Don’t know,” he teases. “I might do it yet.”

Why does that sound like heaven? “What are we doing there? At the camp?”

“Patience, Meg. We’re almost there.” He reaches down and puts his hand in my lap, palm up.

I place my hand on top of his. The simple gesture is comforting, reassuring me that it’s okay to want to feel this: happy. His grip relaxes the further we drive, and by the time we pull onto the gravel access road that leads into the back of the camp, his fingers are firmly entwined with mine.