The Last Goodbye (16 page)

“Doesn’t sound as though anyone cut you much slack,” Tyler said carefully.

Maybe he was misinterpreting Ally’s words, putting a too-dark slant on them, but the childhood she was describing sounded far from ideal, being shunted from pillar to post, palmed off from mother to grandmother to aunt.

“Well, my mother was too self-interested to cut any one but herself any slack. And Aunt Phyllis did her best with what she had. Which wasn’t a lot, because I’m pretty sure my mother didn’t send child support payments from whichever villa or loft or atelier she was crashing in.”

She smoothed her thumb back and forth over the braid she’d made.

“It was better the second time around, though. I made friends with the houses we stayed in the
moment we arrived, so the nightmares weren’t a problem anymore.”

“How do you make friends with a house?”

“It’s very simple. You do a tour, and you find the door that groans and the window that rattles and the stair that creaks. Then, on the first night, when you’re lying in bed and the house starts making its nightly settling noises, you tell yourself ‘that’s the window in the second bedroom’ or ‘that’s the third stair from the bottom’ or whatever. Works a treat. Comes in handy when you’re house-sitting, too. I can get the lowdown on a new place in half an hour these days, no problems.”

Her tone was light, her expression untroubled, but Tyler felt a stab of empathy for a little girl who’d been so afraid of being left behind again that she’d forced herself to stare down her fear in order to overcome it.

“How did your mother die?”

Ally’s expression became sad. “She was staying at a friend’s place in Spain. They were renovating, and some of the electrical work wasn’t up to standard. There was a fire. The coroner said she’d been drinking, which was probably why she didn’t make it out.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Ten years this June. I was backpacking in America when I got the news.”

She was quiet for a moment, then she threw the
bluebell braid into the long grass and pushed herself to her feet.

“Enough sad stories. Come on, rudey-nudey man, you promised you were going to teach me to jump off the tire swing properly.”

She tossed him his cutoff jeans, then started across the grass toward the tire swing.

He stared after her, still processing everything she’d told him, trying to reconcile what he’d learned with what he already knew of her. He thought about the stash of home decorating magazines she had hidden under her bed and the advice column she wrote and her inexhaustible supply of pajamas. Then he remembered the way she’d warned him that first night he’d kissed her.
I’m a girl who leaves,
she’d said.

“Are you coming or not?” she called, squinting her eyes against the sun.

Tyler rose and wrapped one of the towels around his waist.

“Try and stop me,” he said.

Then he went to teach Ally how to jump.

T
HE NEXT TWO WEEKS SLIPPED
through Ally’s fingers like water. Apart from three occasions when Tyler had to return to town to take care of business matters, he slept in her bed by night and worked in her study by day, occasionally disappearing into Bob’s shed to work on his table. Between the two of them they cared for his father, preparing his meals and cleaning
the house. Bob held on to his sullen defensiveness for longer than she would have thought possible, but eventually they all settled into a routine of sorts and she found herself exploring a new kind of happiness and contentment with Tyler by her side.

He was a wonderful lover, selfless and sensual and insatiable. He was also a wonderful conversationalist—not chatty, by any means, because he would never be a garrulous man, but when he chose to say something, it was always smart and witty and to the point. He made her laugh a lot, and he made her think. Most of all, he made her feel complete, in a way she had never experienced before.

Quite simply, she felt as though she’d come home. Which was crazy since Tyler was only in Woodend for as long as his father needed him and she had no idea where she was going once Wendy reclaimed her home. Her life was as up in the air and temporary as it had ever been. And yet it had never felt more solid, more grounded.

Sitting in the living room on a sunny afternoon, Ally doodled on her notepad as she allowed herself to imagine what might happen next. She’d stuck staunchly to her live for the moment rule most of the time over the past weeks, but with Wendy due home soon she figured it would be smart to put some thought into her immediate future.

Normally she would have another house-sitting job lined up by now, but she hadn’t so much as taken a second look at the two prospects she’d bookmarked
at the beginning of the month. It felt wrong to think of moving on when Tyler still needed her.

She made a rude noise at her self-deception. She was so pitiful, so terrified of what was happening between them that she couldn’t even admit it to herself.

Grow a set, Bishop.

She took a deep breath. Then she finally acknowledged the truth to herself: she’d fallen in love with Tyler. And she suspected—no, she knew, in her gut and in her heart—that he loved her, too. It had been the elephant in the room for the past week, the topic they danced around every time they lay in each other’s arms or caught each other’s hands when they walked down the street or simply made eye contact unexpectedly.

But she had a feeling the elephant’s days were numbered. She sensed there was a conversation on the horizon—and she had no idea how she was going to handle it when it finally arrived, what she was going to say if Tyler said the things she thought he was going to say and asked the things she thought he would.

Panic tightened her chest as her mind ran over the options open to her—stay or go. She wasn’t sure which terrified her more.

She heard the sound of the front door opening and put down her pad and pen, very deliberately pushing the whole mess to the back of her mind. Wendy wasn’t due for two more weeks, after all. There was
no reason for her to start manning the lifeboats prematurely.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” she called down the hall.

Tyler had disappeared next door after lunch and told her not to expect him until dinnertime, a pretty common occurrence the past few days as work intensified on the table.

She waited for him to respond, but he didn’t. Curious, she went in search of him. She found him in the bedroom, his back to the door as he bent over something. He was wearing his cutoff jeans again, and she spared an appreciative glance for the way the worn denim showcased his backside and thighs.

“Thought I wasn’t going to see you until dinner?”

“Yeah. I finished early.” He straightened, turning to face her. Then he took a step to one side and she saw what his body had been shielding.

He’d finished the table. She took a step forward.

“When…?”

“A few days ago. But it takes a few passes to get the polish right.”

She reached out a hand but stopped short of touching it. The finish was too perfect, too fine. “Tyler. It’s
stunning.
”

And it was. He’d replaced the ruined marquetry with a new design, a many-pointed star made up of a myriad of red-hued woods. The top tapered to a simple bevel on the rim, and he’d honed the legs and
reeded them, making the table appear more delicate and refined.

“It’s okay, you can touch it. It’s meant to be used,” he said, an amused glint in his eyes.

She ran her fingers over the central star, unsurprised to find it silky smooth beneath her hands.

“I didn’t know there were so many different shades of red.”

He moved closer. “This is Jarrah, and that’s redgum. And this is red cedar. There’s a lot of variation within each species, but I had some good off-cuts at the workshop to play with.”

“Tyler, it’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it, because it’s yours.”

She stilled, her gaze flying to his face. He was watching her carefully, a small, slightly nervous smile on his lips.

“You’re giving this to me?” she asked, her voice rising to an incredulous squeak.

“I’d like you to have it. If you’d like it.”

She lay her hand on the table. She couldn’t believe he was serious. “Are you nuts? I’d love to have something so beautiful. It’s…God, it’s breathtaking. I don’t know what to say.”

She could see he was pleased that she liked his gift. She looked at him, her chest aching with emotion.

“Tyler.” But she couldn’t find the words to express what she was feeling and she shook her head, angry with herself for being so inarticulate.

The doorbell sounded. Ally frowned.

“I’ll get it,” Tyler said.

She caught his arm as he brushed past her. “Tyler.

It’s beautiful. I love it. I’ll cherish it forever,” she said.

For God’s sake, say it. Tell him you love him. Tell him you’re crazy about him.

But the words got caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out. Tyler gazed into her eyes for a moment, then he leaned close and kissed her briefly on the mouth.

“I’m glad.”

He left the room. She stared after him for a beat, angry with herself for choking.

You’re a chicken, Bishop. A big old yellow-belly.

It was absolutely true.

She surveyed the table again. She hadn’t owned a piece of furniture for nearly four years, and she’d never, ever owned something this precious. All her stuff had always been cheap and disposable, designed to be temporary. This piece was an heirloom. A small, perfect masterpiece that should be enjoyed for generations.

She could hear Tyler talking to whoever was at the front door. She registered that the other voice was vaguely familiar. She listened for a moment and realized it sounded like Belinda, Bob’s nurse.

A trickle of unease ran down her spine. She stepped into the hall. Tyler was standing on the front porch,
his face creased with concern as Belinda talked. He seemed to sense her presence and he glanced at her. She knew immediately that something was wrong and she hastened to join him.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing drastic,” Belinda said. “I was just explaining to Tyler that I’ve noticed Bob’s been using more of his painkillers lately. So I had a little chat with him, and he’s been experiencing back pain.”

They’d been waiting for this, so it wasn’t exactly a shock. But it was still grim news.

“I think we should get him into hospital for some tests, so we know what we’re dealing with and how best to make him comfortable,” Belinda said.

“When?” Tyler asked.

“I can make a call now, see what’s available. To morrow, if possible.”

Tyler nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

They waited while Belinda moved off to make her call, watching the other woman pace the sidewalk as she talked and listened. Ally squeezed Tyler’s hand.

“You okay?”

He shrugged. “Had to happen, right?”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No.”

Belinda ended her call and rejoined them on the porch.

“9:30 a.m. tomorrow.”

“Great. Thanks for that, we appreciate it,” Tyler said.

They ate dinner with Bob that night, enduring the blare of the television to keep him company. Not that he’d requested it—he would prefer to cut his tongue out, Ally suspected—but it felt like the right thing to do.

She watched Bob eat his meal, thinking about all the things he’d denied himself with his refusal to engage with his son.

But Bob’s journey wasn’t over yet.

She sent a little prayer out into the universe that Bob would find a moment of truth and clarity to offer his son before it was too late. For Tyler’s sake, if not his own.

T
HE NEXT DAY, SHE WAITED
with Tyler while Bob was scanned and his blood was taken, then she waited some more when Tyler and Bob met with the oncologist to hear the results of the tests.

Tyler’s expression was flat, utterly unreadable as they exited the consultant’s rooms. Bob kept his gaze on the floor, but she could see he was fighting to control himself.

Later, after they’d driven home and settled Bob in his armchair with his puzzle books, she and Tyler sat on the deck next door and he told her that the doctor had confirmed that Bob’s cancer had spread.

“Soon his liver function is going to drop. And then it’s going to be pretty fast, the doctor said.”

Ally blinked away tears. “Has Bob said anything?”

Tyler shook his head. “You know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Tyler sighed. “I need to call Jon, let him know what’s going on.”

“Sure.”

He went into the house. Her gaze moved over the fence. What must Bob be feeling right now? Was he scared? Relieved? Resigned? Angry?

She drew her knees into her chest and rested her cheek on her knees.

Over the past weeks she had found an uneasy middle ground within herself where Bob was concerned. She would never feel the same warm affection for him that she once had—she couldn’t, not when she knew what he’d done to Tyler—but the initial burning outrage she’d felt had been tempered by the sheer mundanity of caring for him. It went against her nature to deny someone in need. It was as simple as that. Despite his many, many failings and cruelties, she had it in her to feel pity for Bob.

Tyler exited the house and sat beside her. She looked at him in silent question and he nodded.

“He’s coming. Catching the first flight out tomorrow. I’ll drive into the city and pick him up.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t know. Eight years, maybe nine.”

“What’s he like?”

Tyler thought for a minute. “You know, I really have no idea.”

“Maybe you two can get something out of this after all.”

“Maybe.”

She poked him with her finger. “Don’t go all silent and manly on me. This is important. You two got through your childhood by battening down the hatches and enduring. I get that, but things are different now. Take it from someone who has no one, a brother is a precious thing.”

Tyler looked at her, then he reached for her hand. “You don’t have no one, Ally. You have me.”