death, he didn't show it. He kicked a stone towards the water's edge, and it tripped along the beach before drowning. "It was horrible. Mum and Dad haven't been the same since. Afterwards, my parents just shut down."
"I know the feeling." I thought of my own family's demise. Even though Harrison had never lived long enough for them to know what he was truly like, it was as though my father had pinned all his hopes on him. He was the child he had always longed for, and even though my parents had never voiced it, I knew I was nothing but a mistake. A mistake they loved, but a mistake, nonetheless. Harrison was the one who died, but I was the one who disappeared.
Judah shrugged as if to jolt the memory from his mind. "So do you always go around talking to random people at the cemetery?" There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before.
I laughed. "Sometimes. Don't you?"
"Not personally, but each to their own."
"It's not often you see someone casually sitting on a headstone," I said. "I usually like to stay away from cemeteries. They kind of creep me out, all those bones decaying under your feet." I shuddered. "So many people mourning their loved ones, trapped at the cemetery instead of living the lives they should."
"I like to think it gives them some peace being able to visit a place to remember them by."
I snuck a glance. He was staring out over the water, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though he were reliving a memory. "Is that what it's like for you?" I asked.
"I guess." He threw a stone into the water. "I mean, it does give me a certain sort of peace. But you find that creepy?"
"Not when you put it that way. It just saddens me that Mum and Dad have never moved on. Well, I guess Dad has now."
We walked home, talking about our families and our losses and all too soon we reached my house. It was the smallest house on the street. Made from panels of darkly stained wood, it was basically a rectangle dumped in a small paddock of grass which was in desperate need of mowing. A small fence stained the same colour as the house, ran around the perimeter, and we had a neglected vegetable patch in the back beside the clothes line. That was one thing Mum and I shared in common, a hatred of gardening.
"Want to come in for a bit?" I didn't know whether I wanted him to say yes or no. What Sienna said kept running through my mind, but I was struggling to believe it, and it was probably nothing more than schoolyard gossip.
He tilted his head to one side and gave me a lopsided grin. "Do I get to meet your dysfunctional family?"
"No." I pulled a face. "Dad doesn't live here, of course, and Mum will still be wandering the forest for inspiration." I pulled my keys out of my bag, inserted them into the lock, and swung the door open.
"Would be rude not to, I guess." And he walked through the door.
Once inside, I was keenly aware of how strange it would appear to anyone who didn't actually know my mother. Each of the walls in the lounge was a painted mural. The north facing wall depicted a view of the lake, complete with real stones and driftwood Mum had collected from the beach. The other walls just had items painted in patches; a tightly wound koru fern, the stem of a foxglove, clouds, white and fluffy in a blue sky, and a paua shell reflecting the colours of the ocean.
Judah's brows lifted high as he looked around and he whistled low and long.
"Mum thinks she's an artist," I said.
"She's good."
"She's okay, I guess. After you live here for a bit you kind of switch off to it. I barely notice them anymore." I dumped my bag on the kitchen table. "You want something to eat or drink?" I opened the fridge and scanned the contents. There wasn't a lot to offer, unless he wanted lemon and ginger infused water.
"I'm good, thanks." His voice drifted through from the lounge where he stood, still transfixed by the paintings. I couldn't tell from his expression if he liked them or was appalled by
"I know the feeling." I thought of my own family's demise. Even though Harrison had never lived long enough for them to know what he was truly like, it was as though my father had pinned all his hopes on him. He was the child he had always longed for, and even though my parents had never voiced it, I knew I was nothing but a mistake. A mistake they loved, but a mistake, nonetheless. Harrison was the one who died, but I was the one who disappeared.
Judah shrugged as if to jolt the memory from his mind. "So do you always go around talking to random people at the cemetery?" There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before.
I laughed. "Sometimes. Don't you?"
"Not personally, but each to their own."
"It's not often you see someone casually sitting on a headstone," I said. "I usually like to stay away from cemeteries. They kind of creep me out, all those bones decaying under your feet." I shuddered. "So many people mourning their loved ones, trapped at the cemetery instead of living the lives they should."
"I like to think it gives them some peace being able to visit a place to remember them by."
I snuck a glance. He was staring out over the water, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though he were reliving a memory. "Is that what it's like for you?" I asked.
"I guess." He threw a stone into the water. "I mean, it does give me a certain sort of peace. But you find that creepy?"
"Not when you put it that way. It just saddens me that Mum and Dad have never moved on. Well, I guess Dad has now."
We walked home, talking about our families and our losses and all too soon we reached my house. It was the smallest house on the street. Made from panels of darkly stained wood, it was basically a rectangle dumped in a small paddock of grass which was in desperate need of mowing. A small fence stained the same colour as the house, ran around the perimeter, and we had a neglected vegetable patch in the back beside the clothes line. That was one thing Mum and I shared in common, a hatred of gardening.
"Want to come in for a bit?" I didn't know whether I wanted him to say yes or no. What Sienna said kept running through my mind, but I was struggling to believe it, and it was probably nothing more than schoolyard gossip.
He tilted his head to one side and gave me a lopsided grin. "Do I get to meet your dysfunctional family?"
"No." I pulled a face. "Dad doesn't live here, of course, and Mum will still be wandering the forest for inspiration." I pulled my keys out of my bag, inserted them into the lock, and swung the door open.
"Would be rude not to, I guess." And he walked through the door.
Once inside, I was keenly aware of how strange it would appear to anyone who didn't actually know my mother. Each of the walls in the lounge was a painted mural. The north facing wall depicted a view of the lake, complete with real stones and driftwood Mum had collected from the beach. The other walls just had items painted in patches; a tightly wound koru fern, the stem of a foxglove, clouds, white and fluffy in a blue sky, and a paua shell reflecting the colours of the ocean.
Judah's brows lifted high as he looked around and he whistled low and long.
"Mum thinks she's an artist," I said.
"She's good."
"She's okay, I guess. After you live here for a bit you kind of switch off to it. I barely notice them anymore." I dumped my bag on the kitchen table. "You want something to eat or drink?" I opened the fridge and scanned the contents. There wasn't a lot to offer, unless he wanted lemon and ginger infused water.
"I'm good, thanks." His voice drifted through from the lounge where he stood, still transfixed by the paintings. I couldn't tell from his expression if he liked them or was appalled by
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