Page 78 of Tough Love
“Awesome. Bring it over and we’ll pack your bag.”
I catch myself some days, marvelling at how easily he and I have slipped into a comfortable routine. Lucky for Briar, his school isn’t too far of a drive out of town, so I’m happy to waste the extra fifteen minutes getting there and back to be assured he feels comfortable and welcome. Not that a new school closer to my work wouldn’t make him feel that way, more that if he can keep that one piece of his old routine, then it has to help, surely.
With my coffee in one hand, his bag looped over the other, and an excited Briar dashing for the door, I do a visual sweep of the apartment, making sure everything’s turned off and all the breakfast things were put away.
“Come on, Aunty.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m coming.” I balance the coffee in my other hand, pulling the door closed behind us.
Briar does his hop shuffle down the stairs, leading us down to the car. I take a sip of the black gold in my travel mug, and promptly spit it out as I see the message scrawled over the side of my car in what appears to be fluorescent spray paint.
Found you, peaches.
Fuck no.
Nuh-uh.
I scan the parking lot, wondering how in the hell he got in here when the place is locked up tight.
“What does it say?” Briar asks, tipping his head to the side as he quietly sounds out the words.
“Nothing important,” I fib, hitting the remote to unlock the doors.
He watches me intently as I open the vehicle and check every damn seat before letting him in. Satisfied there’s no risk of us suffering some Jack-in-the-box episode from a hidden Tristan, I usher Briar into his car seat.
“See if you can click the seat belt yourself today, huh?”
It’s our game some days, testing how independent he is, but this morning I just need him distracted for five minutes.
He wrestles with the buckle as I step back and sag against the wall of my carport, pulling my phone from my bag. Mum picks up on the third ring.
“It must be early for you over there?”
“Yeah, we’re heading out to work,” I say. “But I need to shoot you some rapid-fire questions while Briar’s busy with his seat belt.”
“Okay.” The curiosity in her voice is clear.
“Does Tristan know Kath died?”
“I don’t know.” The panic rises in the cadence of her words.
“Has he been in touch lately?”
“I think he tried visiting her about a fortnight before her accident. Why?”
“So, would he have some way of knowing I have Briar?”
“What’s going on, Amelia?”
“Finished, Aunty!”
I sigh, when all I really want to do is scream. “He’s been at my apartment overnight, but I have to go. I’ll call you later and fill you in on the rest.”
“You’ve got me worried, darling.”
“Yeah, well, try being here right now.” I hang up on her, knowing I shouldn’t take my frustration out on somebody who has nothing to do with this. But fuck it … she kind of does.
She knew the connection, and she hid it, hid the risk from me.