Her hearty chuckle threw me straight back to my childhood. “I heard you were shacking up with Jasmine and Wade. That house is like a circus.”
I grinned. “I’m hoping to make other arrangements soon.”
I didn’t sound anywhere near as desperate as I was.
“I might have an idea,” she replied.
Floss turned around, and nearly ran into the bloke who was heading out the door. Far from apologetic, she collared him. “Adam, you remember Mitchell Tate?”
“Long time no see,” he replied, extending his hand.
The gesture of shaking hands with Adam Décarie felt odd. It was fair to assume that we’d both done some serious growing up over the years, but the pointless juvenile tension was still there.
“Mitchell is looking for somewhere new to lay his hat,” announced Floss. “I thought you might to be able to help him out.”
Floss Davis had always been a little on the eccentric side, but if she was suggesting that I shack up with Adam and Charli, she was certifiably insane.
“It’s fine,” I quickly replied. “I’ve got it sorted.”
I doubt she believed me, but she moved on. “Did you get your paint, Adam?”
“Norm is mixing it for me now.”
“I’d better go and check on him,” she said, shuffling toward the door. “He’s a menace with a colour chart.”
With Floss gone, the awkwardness intensified. I had no idea what to say, but Adam was a little more sociable. “If you are looking for somewhere to stay, I do have a place,” he offered. “I’m renovating the shop next door to the old bank into a flat. It’s not finished, but it’s liveable.”
The place he was talking about was just a few hundred metres further down the road. I didn’t know if it would be suitable, but beggars can’t be choosers. I thanked him and asked if I could check it out.
“Sure,” he replied. “I was heading there anyway.”
***
It didn’t take me long to realise that the preconceived opinion I had of Adam was wrong. He wasn’t arrogant like I expected him to be, and he wasn’t stuck-up. He probably felt just as uncomfortable as I did, but he was the one who kept the conversation alive until we reached the shop.
“Charli is expecting you,” he said. “Jasmine called her last night to let her know you were back in town.”
“I can’t wait to catch up. I’ve really missed her.” The thoughtless comment was cringeworthy. “That didn’t sound right at all, did it?”
“Relax, Mitchell.” Adam laughed. “We’re good.”
“That’s a relief.” I looked at him and grinned. “I was worried you might think I’d come home to make a play for your wife.”
“You’d be brave to try,” he replied. “She’s seven months pregnant. My house is a whole world of crazy at the moment.”
I directed my laugh at the pavement. “Charli’s always been crazy.”
“I know,” he agreed, jamming the key into the lock. “Luckily for me, I’ve always had a thing for crazy.”
***
From the outside the old stone building was fairly non-descript, but the inside was a different story. The oak floor was polished, a brand new kitchen was in the process of being built, and the addition of a bedroom and bathroom had transformed an abandoned old shopfront into a neat little flat.
“You did this?” I asked, genuinely impressed.
Adam ran his hand down the nearest unpainted wall. “Yeah,” he casually replied. “I’m halfway through restoring a boat, but took a break to work on this.”
Construction wasn’t Adam’s trained profession. I was curious to know how a lawyer from New York had come to make such a wild career change.
He shrugged. “Sometimes you’ve just got to change course and choose the things that make you happy.”
I wasn’t in the right company to be having such a deep conversation, and Adam seemed to pick up on the fact that he’d touched on a raw nerve. He walked to the centre of the room. “It should be ready in a week or two if you’re interested in renting it.”
I glanced around the unfinished space, settling my attention on the half built kitchen. “That soon?” I asked.
“I’m keen to get it done and move on,” he replied.
“To what?”
He picked up a broom off the floor and leaned it against the wall. “I’ll probably finish the boat, but what I’d really like to get my hands on is the old brewery.”
The brewery was a majestic old building located on the outskirts of town. After being vacant for more than fifty years, it cut an imposing figure. As a kid, I was terrified of the place, but I’d spent many Friday nights there as a teen getting smashed on cheap booze and partying with my mates.
“You can see the whole cove from the second floor of that joint,” I remembered.
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “I haven’t been able to get in there.”
“I have.” I grinned at him. “I lost my virginity on the second floor balcony.”
He smirked. “Classy.”
“Trust me, there was nothing classy about two-can Fran.”
Adam punched out a hard laugh. “Well, it’d make a fantastic restaurant or bar, but so far it’s a no-go,” he explained. “Your dad refuses to sell it to me.”
“That’s because he doesn’t own it.”
My father owned a lot of real estate in Pipers Cove, but the Brewery wasn’t part of his portfolio.
“But I did a title search,” he said. “It’s definitely Tate property.”
I swept a sheet of plastic aside and peered out the window. “But you’ve been schmoozing the wrong Tate,” I replied. “I own the brewery.”
When my grandfather passed, he generously willed my sisters and I property. The girls got vacant farmland and I inherited a creepy old building.
“No kidding,” he drawled in a serious New York twang. “I don’t suppose you want to sell it to me?”
I might’ve been down on my luck and desperate, but I wasn’t broke and desperate. “No,” I replied. “But I also think it’d make a great pub. If you’re interested in renovating it, I’d consider a joint venture.”
It wasn’t the sort of deal that could be brokered on the spot, but for the first time in days I felt a glimmer of hope that I could make things work if I stayed.
“Let me think about it and get back to you,” Adam suggested. “In the mean time, maybe you should give two-can Fran a call and let her know you’re back in town.”
***
When it came to piecing my life back together, I was on a roll. I spent the rest of the day with Lily, who graciously offered to drive me to Hobart so I could buy a car. I settled on a red jeep, just like the one I’d recently gifted to Mimi – except this one was twenty years younger and nowhere near as lethal when the windows were wound up.
“Are you sure you can afford it?” asked Lily, shamelessly kicking the front tyre. “It’s a lot of money.”
I was by no means rich, but I’d saved a decent nest egg over the years. It was hard to waste money in Kaimte because there was nothing there to spend it on. Most of the time we couldn’t even buy decent food.
“I’ve got it covered, Lil,” I assured her. “It’s all about contingency.”
She broke into a fit of giggles. “Yeah, you’ve got to be contingent.”
***
By the time I finally made it to Charli’s place, I’d been in town for three days. I wasn’t expecting a hostile reception but the little girl who greeted me at the front step did her best to menace me. “Hark!” She threw out her hand, stopping me in my tracks. “Who goes there?”
“I’m Mitchell,” I replied, pointing at the door. “Are you going to let me past?”
“Not yet.” She wildly shook her head. “I have some questions for you.”
I had some questions for her too. First, I wanted to know what hark meant.
“It means lovely things,” she replied. “Are you ready for the other questions?”
“Go for it.”
“Do you like golf?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never played golf.”
Bridget clearly had. When Adam strolled out of the shed with a club in each hand, she leapt off the step and ran to him.
The club he gave her was almost taller than she was, but the little girl had no problem swinging it through the air like a baton.
“Lower your weapon, Bridget Décarie,” her father ordered. “No swinging it around.”
“I might not swing it,” she replied.
Her ambiguous answer didn’t cut it with Adam. “You raise that club above your head one more time and we’re not going anywhere.”
The kid must’ve really enjoyed golf. She lowered it to the ground in an instant. “But golf is lovely, Daddy. Sometimes you need to swing it.”
With the exception of her blonde hair, Bridget looked like a mini version of Adam, but there was no mistaking who her mum was. She was still arguing the point as he strapped her into the car.
Adam might’ve had his work cut out for him, but when Charli came to the door, I knew I did too. “Three days,” she grumbled. “You’ve been home three days and you’re only just visiting me now?”
“Look at you,” I crooned, cocking my head to the side. “Huffing and puffing like you’re five-feet-six.”
After a stiff slap on the arm, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me into a hug. “God, it’s good to see you.”
“You too, crazy weirdo.” I took a step back, looking her up and down. “And there’s plenty of you to see these days.”
It wasn’t a fair jibe. As little as Charli was, I might not have noticed the baby in her belly if I hadn’t already been told about it.
She rubbed her hand across her stomach. “Massive, aren’t I?”
I grinned at her. “The only thing massive about you is your mouth.”
***
The cottage was supremely quiet, and I got the impression that was a rarity. We sat at the small dining room table sharing a pot of tea that I had no interest in drinking. What did interest me was talking. Over the next hour, I laid out the whole sorry saga, beginning with Shiloh and ending with Shiloh.
Understandably, most of Charli’s curiosity centred on the diamond drama. She knew Melito and Vincent long before the mine was even open. “Do you think they were always crooked?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Who knows?”
“I’m sorry you went through that, Mitchell.”
When I told her I’d been through worse, I was telling the absolute truth. And when a tight frown crossed her forehead, I knew she understood exactly where I was coming from.
“So what’s your plan?” she asked. “How are you going to fix it?”
I almost smiled. “It’s fixable?”
“It is if you want it to be.”
“No, craziness, Charli,” I mumbled. “Just tell me how to get through it.”
She leaned across and flattened her palm against my chest. “You know that crushing feeling you have?”
“Yeah.”
“And the ache in your bones?”
“Yes,” I replied. “It’s constant.”
She pulled her hand away and straightened up. “Your brain thinks you’re in actual pain,” she said. “Only love can hurt like that.”
It wasn’t the deep and meaningful chat I was hoping for. As far as advice goes, she’d given me none – and her diagnosis sucked.
“You love her, Mitchell,” she added. “And I can guarantee it’s not because of any lie she told you. You weren’t duped into feeling that way.”
“Of course I was,” I complained. “Everything she ever told me was a lie – even her name.”
She reached for the teapot and refilled her cup. “So let me understand,” she replied. “You love her because she spun a good story?”
Heartbreak wasn’t the only pain I had going on at that moment. Frustration was rising. “No,” I grumbled. “I love her because she smells like the ocean, and she’s unbelievably sweet.”
Charli smiled. “Those are good reasons.”
“She stayed awake all night when I was hurt, just to keep an eye on me,” I added. “And she encouraged me to come home and reconnect with my family. That’s why I love her.”
Ramble over, Charli stood up and carried the teapot to the sink. “No one is perfect, Mitchell,” she said gently. “And when you stop expecting them to be, love is a much easier game to play.”
“I wanted her to be perfect,” I muttered. “I thought she was the one.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter as she asked a random question. “Do you know why your pub was called the Crown and Pav?”
I had no clue. I’d never even wondered.
She slipped her wedding ring off and held it to the light. “It’s short for Crown and Pavilion – the angles of a cut diamond,” she explained. “The crown is the top part.” Charli put the ring back on and held out her hand. “The pavilion is the pointy lower half.”
“Make your point, Blake.”
“Raw diamonds are nothing special. They’re just ugly rocks,” she replied. “But once they’re cut, they become interesting and lovely.” The visual prop on her finger shimmered as she rolled her wrist. “People are the same, Mitchell. Perfection doesn’t exist. We need the angles.”
Charli’s take on the world was so left of centre that only she understood it. Fortunately her brilliant storytelling made it possible for idiots like me to learn a thing or two.
“Thank you for dazzling me with magic.” I dipped my head at her. “I needed it today.”
“That wasn’t magic,” she replied, smiling. “That was me being scientific and logical.”
“Well, it was perfect.”
“So you’re going to go and find her?” she asked hopefully.
“I don’t even know where she lives,” I replied. “I barely know her name.”
“I know where she is.” Charli walked to the couch and rifled through her handbag. “I got a parcel in the mail yesterday.” She dropped an envelope down in front of me.
“What is it?”
She nudged my arm. “Have a look, stupid.”
When I upended it, Charli’s black opal necklace tumbled onto the table. I blinked a hundred times, stunned. “I haven’t seen this in years.”
“Me neither,” she replied, nudging me again. “Read the letter.”
A one-line note could hardly be called a letter. In true Shiloh style, it was short and to the point:
Paying forward the good juju.
Shiloh
My eyes drifted to the pendant on the table. “I’m glad you got it back, Charli.”
“Me too.” She slapped my shoulder. “And you can thank Shiloh for me when you go and get her.”
“I told you, I don’t know where she is.”
She had the nerve to slap me again, harder this time. I whipped my head around to look at her. “You’re very violent when you’re knocked up,” I complained. “Stop hitting me.”
“And you’re an idiot when you’re sad and heartbroken,” she replied. “Stop being an idiot.”
Charli turned the envelope over and thumped it down on the table. “Look at the postmark. She’s in a place called Lawler. Google it, find out where it is and go there.”
I deliberated for too long, which pissed Charli off. “You’re still looking for a reason to go?” she asked incredulously.
“Maybe.”
I wasn’t sure why I was dragging my feet. The fear of the unknown is a powerful beast.
“Let’s go,” she ordered. “Logic didn’t work, I’m going to give you magic.”
I was almost scared of her by that point. Without a single word of protest I followed the grumpy pregnant woman out to her car.
***
When we were kids, the brewery wasn’t the scariest place in town. It was trumped by a derelict little cottage that stood four doors down from the supermarket. When Charli pulled up in
front of it, I was convinced she’d lost her mind.
“Crazy Edna’s house?” I choked. “You’re off your rocker if you think I’m going in there.”
She undid her seatbelt and then made a grab for mine. “I can do it,” I snapped.
She pulled a face. “So do it.”
I leaned closer to her and put on my best creepy voice. “I hope she cuts off your hair and boils your bones, Charlotte.”
“She won’t,” she insisted. “Edna’s retiring. That’s why we’re here.”
“You can’t retire crazy.”
“She’s not crazy, Mitchell,” she replied. “She’s magic. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
As antsy as Charli was to get out of the car, I managed to hold her back until she told me the reason for our impromptu visit, and it had nothing to do with magic. “She’s having a garage sale,” she explained. “Poor Edna can’t live in this shabby old house any more. Her sons have arranged for her to move into a nursing home.”
I shrugged. “What does that have to do with us?”
“Well, you’re moving into your own place soon.”
I could feel the frown creeping across my face. Something awful was on the way.
“You need furniture.” She threw open her door. “And Edna’s selling everything.”
There was nothing appealing about furnishing a house with a creepy old lady’s hand-me-downs, but Charli didn’t see a problem with it.
“We’re not buying a thing,” I warned, trailing behind her. When we stepped onto the porch, I repeated the declaration. “Nothing, Charli.”
She lifted the brass knocker and rapped on the door. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “We’re just window shopping.”
I’d dealt with Mimi’s witchy nonsense for years, but she’d never instilled the same level of fear that Edna Wilson did. Even as a grown man, my heart was thumping when she opened the door.
“Hi, Mrs Wilson.” Charli’s sickly sweet tone didn’t suit her one bit. “We’re here for the garage sale.”
“It doesn’t start until tomorrow, dear.” Edna’s voice was shaky, but very kind for someone who’d made a career of eating small children. “Come in, anyway,” she added.
Edna showed us through to the front room. “Everything has to go,” she said, waving a shaky hand through the air. “Pick what you like. I’ll leave you alone to browse.”