She grimaced, pressing a hand to her forehead as Dani continued raving about the new man in her life. Bea stumbled to a chair and lowered herself into it, then told her daughter goodbye in the most chipper, sing-song voice she could muster and hung up the phone. Her head fell into her hands, and she stared at the tabletop.
This couldn’t be happening. Her beautiful twenty-one-year-old daughter was in love with a thirty-six-year-old professor who was clearly taking advantage of his position to influence her. She’d raised her daughter better than that.
Dani knew all about female oppression—Bea had made sure of it. She’d given her lectures about predators and taking care of herself, looking out for people who might take advantage, not making life decisions based on a boyfriend. If only she’d had someone tell her the same when she was young, her life might’ve turned out very differently. Sometimes she felt as though she’d harped on about it far too often and that her children might never trust anyone in their entire lives.
And now this.
It wasn’t likely this man was serious about Dani. She’d never witnessed a relationship between a professor and a student personally. All she knew was that a thirty-six-year-old man was making her daughter fall in love with him and encouraging her to adopt major changes in her life. Beatrice was no longer her main influencer, and she felt completely out of control and as though she might hyperventilate at any moment.
“One last table to go.” Aidan stopped beside her, waiting. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “Dani called. She’s met a thirty-six-year-old professor who smokes drugs and lives on cushions. They’re dating, and now she wants to switch her studies to an architecture major.”
Aidan’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot to take in. But perhaps you shouldn’t get too worked up over it. Don’t you remember being twenty-one? We all had at least one crazy relationship and did things we’re not proud of, thinking back. At least, I know I did.”
She regarded at him with horror. “I had a terrible crush on a narcissistic jerk… and by twenty-one, I was married to him.”
“Good point.” He sat beside her and took her hand in his. “You’re upset over someone you don’t know a lot about. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems in your head right now. Dani’s a sensible girl. She’ll come around.”
“I’m her mother…” She almost choked on the words.
“I know you are. And you’re a wonderful mother. But she’s an adult, and she has to make her own choices.”
“I never thought letting go would be so hard.”
“Let’s sleep on it, and you can talk to her tomorrow. I’m sure everything will be okay.”
Three
OPENINGthe shop was easy enough for Charmaine. In fact, she’d already fallen in love with the picturesque shop and the cramped, narrow apartment above it. She popped the last bite of toast into her mouth and chewed as she tied on her shoes. Then she pulled a hat onto her head and trotted down the winding staircase. The building was old, the walls newly painted. Her footsteps echoed on the timber stairs. She pushed open the door that led into the shop, then went to the front to unlock the main entrance.
The street outside was mostly empty apart from several clusters of schoolchildren walking together to the nearby state school. They giggled and chatted, their high-pitched voices ringing out through the still, cool morning air. She moved about the shop setting up clean vases ready for flowers to be added, sweeping the floor clear of any leaves that’d fallen the previous day, and dusting the already clean ledges that held their most popular arrangements.
She loved the community feel of this place. It was so different to the city. Everyone seemed to know and care about each other. There were hardly any cars at this time of morning, with most of the locals preferring to walk or ride their bikes to get around town. That suited her fine. She’d never gotten her driver’s license since in the city, she could manage using buses and trains. One day, she’d have to take the time to get her license, but for now, a bike would be the perfect solution to her transportation problem.
As soon as Betsy arrived at the shop, Charmaine asked if she could take a walk, and Betsy said it was fine since they had nothing much to do until later in the morning when there were several appointments booked. Charmaine tied her hair in a ponytail and looped it through the back of her cap. Then she stepped outside into the bright sunshine. Her treasured easel and paints were tucked safely into a bag upstairs and she’d brought her camera with her to capture still-frames of life on the island. She loved creating art. It was her one true passion in life.
She tried to get out and about whenever she was in a new place and take photos — it gave her a chance to get to know the area in a way she usually wouldn’t. She spent most of her life walking with her head down trying to avoid eye contact with strangers, ignoring the lives going on around her. But with a camera in her hands, she faced everything head-on, looking for the best shot, finding ways to open herself up to the world. Then she could take the photos back to her flat, set up her easel and paint. The hours would pass in a flash — she never kept track of time when she was creating.
There was a turtle swimming by when she sat down on the dock. She snapped a few images as best she could, of its shell as it surfaced, its head popping up and then disappearing once again into the clear blue waters of the Coral Sea. Next, she found a patch of yellow wildflowers on the dunes, followed by some particularly colourful shells. There were several children playing at the water’s edge, digging up pippies with their toes when the water receded, then splashing each other in fits of giggles. She took photographs of it all.
When she returned to the flower shop, she saw that Betsy had company.
There was a man with a small girl, maybe ten years old, standing close to Betsy by the counter. He was shouting and waving his arms around. Charmaine paused with her hand on the doorknob, unsure if she should go in and rescue her boss or if the exchange was private and she should leave. In the end, her concern for Betsy’s safety pushed her forwards, her stomach tying itself into knots the moment she opened the door and the sound of his raised voice hit her like a slap to the face.
“Too many lies. It’s enough already. You have to tell the truth.”
The man spun about as she entered. He glared at her, then stalked from the shop, leaving the girl behind. Betsy’s face was red. She inhaled a slow breath as Charmaine approached.
“Are you all right?” Charmaine asked.
Betsy pushed a smile across her face. “I’m fine. This is my granddaughter, Samantha. She comes to visit me most mornings before school so I can walk with her. She’ll be back this afternoon to do her homework in the shop with us. Won’t you, honey?”
Sam offered her a wobbly grin. Her eyes were wet. “Yep. Hi.”
Charmaine crouched down in front of her. “Hi, Samantha. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Chaz. Do you mind if I call you Sam? I’ll be here when you finish school. I’d love to see what you’re working on.”
The girl’s face brightened. “You can call me Sam, I don’t mind.” She set her backpack on the floor and began digging through it. “I’ve done all my homework for today.”
