The Lawson Boys: Alex (11 page)

Harly looked at
him expressionlessly.

“Afterwards?
Once the shock died down?”

“No.”

“Your dad?” His
heart sunk a little.

“No.”

“You’re their
daughter, Harly. Regardless of what happened, you were still their
daughter.”

“I was a
disappointment to them, Alex. They were disappointed and furious,
and when I got home from hospital they sat me down in Dad’s home
office and told me…” Voice trailing off, she stared distantly at
the wall behind Alex.

After several
seconds, he quietly prodded, “Told you what, Harly?”

“I was a
disappointment to them. I was never to speak of the incident ever
again; it was now the family’s secret shame.” Her eyes refocussed
on him.

“And you say
they
love
you?” He was incredulous.

“In their own
way.”

Draining the
glass of Coke, he placed it back on the table, trying to quell the
spark of anger that fired to life inside him. It wasn’t as though
Harly had been a wild teenager, sleeping around with anyone and
everyone. They should have realised it had been an accident and -
another thought struck him. “Surely they asked who the father
was?”

“No. It was
made perfectly clear that they didn’t want to know. Ever.” She
angled her head down a little as she smoothed her finger along a
small gouge in the wooden table. A long lock of dark hair slipped
free from behind her ear to brush across her cheek. “It was
over.”

He had to fight
the unexpected urge to lean forward and push the silken strands
back behind her small ear. “You never told anyone?”

“No.”

“You were
scared and alone. You could have rung me.”

“I told
you-”

“Yes,” he cut
in, a little impatiently. “You didn’t want to ruin my life.”

“Yes.” The
agreement was so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

Those thick
eyelashes lifted again and she looked at him.

The knowledge
he’d gained from the story, of how her parents had reacted,
suddenly jolted him with clarity, with new knowledge that was both
unwelcome and enlightening. It was like a rock smacking into the
side of his head.

“Jesus,” he
whispered in soft astonishment.

Startled, she
blinked.

“Jesus,” he
repeated. “What an idiot.”

She stiffened
and started to sit back.

“No.” Reaching
out, he grabbed her hand, refusing to let go when she tugged. “Not
you, Harly. Me. I’m the idiot.”

“Huh?” She
stared at him in equal astonishment.

“You didn’t
just want to set me free,” he stated. “You were also scared to tell
me.”

The answer was
in the way she bit her lip.

“You were
scared to let your parents know because you knew what the response
would be. You thought I’d react the same way.”

“I…I just…” A
flush building in her cheeks, she glanced away.

“You thought
I’d get mad, be disgusted like your parents. Harly, you were afraid
to tell me because you were afraid
of
me.”

“Oh, Alex, I
didn’t - I wouldn’t-”

He squeezed her
hand firmly, stopping her words. “Look at me.” When she didn’t
comply straight away, he repeated with more firmness, “Look at
me.”

Shoulders
slumping, she obeyed with a sigh. “You’re right
.
Part of the reason was because I was afraid.”

“But why?” He
couldn’t understand it. “I’d never been mean to you, never hurt
you. Why were you afraid?”

“You had a
temper back then. You were mad last night.”

“Because I had
no idea that you were too afraid to tell me.” He shook her hand a
little in frustration. “I still deserved to know, but I had no idea
that you were afraid of me. I’d never have laid a finger on you.
I…” It was his turn to stop talking.

Was she still
afraid of him? The wariness in her eyes was of him.

That bloody
hurt. It also made him bloody mad, but no way could he let her see
that, so he took a deep breath to steady himself, forcing the anger
back, bringing in the composure he’d worked so hard at to control
his temper.

Yeah, he’d had
a bad temper when younger, but maturity had taught him a lot, as
had the war and being a Sergeant in the Australian Army. Life had a
way of retraining a person and making them realise what was
important.

Harly was
watching him guardedly.

Alex managed a
small smile. “Stop sweating, Harly. I’m not going to leap over the
table and strangle you.”

“Saving that
for another day?”

The unexpected
wry answer elicited a brief laugh from him. “No. Never.”

“Okay.” She
looked down at their hands.

Following her
gaze, he saw that somehow his hand had turned beneath hers and now
their fingers were entwined. He certainly didn’t remember doing
it.

Several things
registered at once. Her hands were soft, her fingers pale against
his tanned skin, and she had little calluses that brushed against
his much larger ones.

In an odd way,
their clasped hands also felt very right.

The realisation
was unsettling, so he released her hand and sat back, gesturing to
the barmaid. She came across and he ordered another Coke for
himself and Lemonade for Harly. They sat in contemplative silence
the drinks were delivered.

“So.” Harly
looked at him. “Now what?”

Now what
indeed. He’d come to Whicha breathing fire and suddenly all that
was left were smouldering ashes.

“I guess I have
my answers,” he replied slowly.

“So now you’re
going?”

“No.”

Surprise lit
her face. “Why?”

“I’m still on
leave. I’m staying a few weeks to help Paul out.” He took a
mouthful of the Coke, welcoming the chill that slid down his
throat.

“Okay.”
Reaching out, she took a chip from the bowl and bit into it,
chewing thoughtfully. “Who told you, Alex? And when? It must have
been recently or you would have been here sooner.”

“I got a letter
five months ago.” On the worse day ever. Not a day he wanted to
remember.

“From who?”

“Your
grandmother.”

Harly looked
blankly at him. “She’s been dead for a couple of years. You had the
letter the whole time?”

“No. My
brother, Marty, had shifted some of the old furniture in the
hallway of our house. The table we used to put mail on had a false
backing and when he shifted the table it fell open and the letter
fell out. It must have gotten stuck in there somehow and no one
noticed for several years. He forwarded it on to me.”

“So he
knows?”

“He forwarded
it unopened.”

“Oh.” Relieved,
she took another chip. “Somehow my Grandmother knew. So who told
her?” Harly’s eyes widened. “My mother? I doubt it. Besides, she
didn’t know you were the father, so how could Grandma know?”

“Who knows how
your Grandma knew? And as for your mother, maybe she had to tell
someone. Who can you trust if not your own mother?” At Harly’s
slightly cynical expression, he cleared his throat. “Forget I said
that. Whatever, your Grandmother found out and sent me a letter
that I never got.”

“But you were
so young.”

“The letter was
dated two years ago.”

“Really?”
Frowning, Harly grabbed hold of her glass and angling it, she
rolled the bottom edge on the table. “What was the date on the
letter?”

“Second
January, 2010.”

“She died on
the twenty fifth of heart failure. She’d been in hospital for
awhile.” Harly stilled the glass. “A deathbed confession?”

“Was she close
to you?”

“Pretty much.
As close as my family gets, anyway.”

“Which doesn’t
sound very close.”

Harly
shrugged.

“So somehow
your Grandmother found out and decided to let me know before she
died.”

Silence fell
between them. The lights overhead mellowed and several couples came
into the privacy of the booths. Soft music started out the back and
the smell of food cooking drifted through the room.

“It’s getting
late.” Leaning down, Harly retrieved her small shoulder bag. “I
should go. That is, if we’re finished?”

There really
wasn’t anymore to be said. “I guess we are.” Standing, he waited
until she got out of the booth. “Wait at the door and I’ll pay our
bill.”

“I can pay for
mine.” She reached for her bag.

“I invited you,
Harly, I’ll pay the bill.” Without waiting for her to reply, he
strode across the room to pay the bill before following her through
the pub and out to the Jeep, holding both the pub door and Jeep
door open for her as he’d always been taught by his parents.

‘Good manners
never failed a person’ was his mother’s mantra. Amongst many
others.

The drive back
to Harly’s house was done in silence, but it was a more comfortable
silence. The heater spilled warmth into the car and he caught the
scent of her perfume, dim now after the hours at work but still
audible.

Turning into
her driveway, her made her stay inside the car while he opened the
gate and drove through, pulling up outside her house.

She was already
out of the car by the time he got around to the other side, and he
almost said something before catching himself. His time with Harly
was over, there was no point in pushing something that shouldn’t
matter.

He held his
hand out for her house key.

“Really?” she
asked.

He waggled his
fingers.

With a sigh she
surrendered them, and he walked up the veranda and unlocked the
door, pushing it open and turning on the hallway and outside
light.

Buffy greeted
them enthusiastically and the cats appeared from various parts of
the house to meow their own greetings. Or complaints, seeing as it
was possibly later than their normal mealtime.

After patting
Buffy, Harly straightened to face him. “I hope you found your
peace, Alex.” There was sincerity in every thread of her words. “I
am sorry. I can’t redo anything, but I hope you understand.”

He studied her
for several seconds. Yes, he did feel a sense of peace, he did
understand, but there was still a tightness in him, one that should
have eased. It was a puzzle to mull over later when he was
alone.

Reaching out,
he laid his hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her cheek.
“I do understand, Harly. Thank you.” Stepping back, he added
honestly, “I regret last night, it should never have happened. But
as you said, it can’t be undone.”

They stood in
the doorway looking at each other. The light was bright in the
yard, the night chill, the house warm and welcoming.

But it was her
house, not his. He had his answers and that was the end of it. He
could have his two weeks holiday with Paul before heading back to
the city to his family, and from there back to the army base.

“Can I ask you
something?” she asked suddenly.

“Sure.”

“This happened
sixteen years ago. Some men would be angry, but it seems…” She
stopped.

“It seems?” he
asked curiously.

She searched
for the right words. “Fresh. No, not fresh. Ummm…it’s not an
overreaction, it’s…I can’t find the right words. Men would be
angry, annoyed, but you were furious last night. Really mad. More
than mad, if that makes sense.”

He stared down
at her.

Nervously, she
shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry. I can only go by my own
family’s reactions, so maybe your reaction is perfectly
normal.”

It was normal.
He had a right to be mad, especially when it came on top of…when it
happened right after…
Oh Jesus
. “I have to go.”

Without another
word he turned and strode away, getting into the Jeep and shoving
it into gear, driving down the driveway and out through the gate
without allowing his thoughts to progress further. Getting out, he
closed the gate, glancing briefly towards Harly’s house as he did
so. She was standing there in the glow of the house lights,
watching silently. She didn’t call out, or if she did, he didn’t
hear it. He waved once, curt and brief, then got into the jeep and
drove back towards Paul’s place.

Pushing away
his troubling thoughts, his sudden doubts, his disturbed
feelings.

Because Harly
had just prodded a wound he hadn’t realised was still very
sore.

And he was
starting to wonder… No, he couldn’t wonder, couldn’t think about
it, because it wasn’t possible.

It had nothing
to do with it, nothing.

Nothing
.

~*~

Sitting on the
sofa with her foot propped up on the foot rest, Harly carefully
stroked the lilac nail polish onto her toenails. The lounge was
cosy, one lamp near the sofa casting a pale glow, another lamp near
the doorway doing the same. The heavy brocade curtains were drawn
against the chill night air, the mantle clock ticked the minutes
away, and Buffy and the cats were sprawled in their usual sleeping
places, the cats over the furniture and Buffy on her cushion in
front of one half of the sofa. The TV played one of her favourite
British cop mysteries, she could smell the lavender scented body
talc she’d used after her shower, her flannel nightgown was
comfortable and warm against her skin, the little bar heater warmed
the immediate area, she had a hot Milo steaming on the coffee
table, and tomorrow she was working on her sewing orders and didn’t
have to go into the café.

Wiggling her
toes, Harly studied the colour approvingly.

For the first
time since Alex had come to town she felt light, as though a huge
load had been lifted from her shoulders. He knew about the
pregnancy, he accepted it, he wasn’t mad at her anymore…she
guessed. He’d seemed okay, understanding, and the shock on his face
when he’d realised that she’d been scared of him had warmed up a
little part of her heart.