Why’d you stab Amy?
Why’d you leave her to bleed out in the woods?
But I know why he did it. I just want to hear him say it.
His eyes flick to the back of my right hand. When he sees the tattoo there, he pauses, curious. It’s a tiny anglerfish, jaws open, its fins like torn sails.
Trav looks away, hiding a smile. “Nice tat.”
I stare down at his hands. Every knuckle, every finger, even the spaces between his thumb and wrist are buried in tattoos. Painful looking, lived-in. A compass spans the back of his right hand, its points clean and sharp. On his left, a Bell Miner bird, tail vanishing up his forearm. Compared with his tattoos, my anglerfish looks puny, juvenile. But he seems to like it.
He leans against the van, half smile still on his lips. I nod at the logo and phone numbers stretching across the sliding door, stenciled in faded navy:Titan Fishing Charters. Call Terry or Travis.“You work for Terry now?”
“Yeah,” he says with a hint of pride, “I’ve been skipperin’ theTitanfor a few years now. Terry wants to focus more on the pub. Can’t blame ’im,” he adds, nodding at the sea. “Gets rough out there.”
His voice is deeper now, fuller. Trav never talked much, not because he didn’t have anything to say but because he measured every word like they all mattered. He was always watching, listening, letting others fill the air while he sat back, collecting details. I liked that. Still do. His steadiness, purpose. It reminded me of my brother.
“I don’t need to ask what you’ve been up to. I heard,” he says, shielding the last of the sun from his face to study me again. “Showed your true colors in the end, didn’t ya?”
“We always do.”
We pass a glance like a whisper, and I know we’re both thinking about Amy.
Why’d you stab Amy?
Why’d you leave her to bleed out in the woods?
Just say it, Trav.
“Minnow!” My name comes drifting through the air. I pause, turning my head toward the sound. It’s coming from the beach. “Min!”
Heath. It doesn’t sound urgent, but it pulls at me all the same.
I say goodbye to Trav, and just as I turn to leave, he reaches out and gently touches my elbow. It’s nothing really, just a touch. But my whole body notices. My breath catches, my skin starts buzzing. I don’t want him to let go, but he does. Dropping his hand, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me. The silence after is thick, loaded. I don’t pull away, but he doesn’t push further.
The warmth of his breath grazes the back of my neck when he asks, “Did you see the attack, Min?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, “I saw it.”
He pauses. “Musta been awful.”
I fix my eyes on the ocean, but all I see are blackbirds clambering up and down the sweaty branches of a ghost gum. All I hear is something unholy shrieking through the woods as I shiver under the tree’s shadow. I’m hiding, mouthing a frantic prayer:Don’t let Dad see me. Please. He’ll kill me, too.
Quietly, I say, “I’ve seen worse.”
Chapter 7
Found you, ya bastard.
Audi. White. Missing four hubcaps. I squint in the sun, peering at the motel car park.
Pine Bay Motel. Fifteen minutes from Kangaroo Bay. It’s 2p.m.,Heath’s on sentry duty at the beach. Jessie is lying on our cracked porch in the full sun.
It’s fine. It’s all fine.
Except I can’t breathe. I rub my chest in soft circles. I’m not doing anything wrong, I tell myself. Chris wants a story, and I want a job.
I keep my head down as I creep across the lot, hands shoved in my pockets, shoulders forward, eyes down. Other than me, there’s only one woman in the lot, sitting at the circular table outside her door, smoking a cigarette and staring intently at her phone.
