Silence.
I was raised in Kangaroo Bay. I—
You were what?
Raised there.
…You said you’re in the area?
Deb has a small voice, a tight jaw, and she taps her footrepeatedly. Her yellow T-shirt has a stain near her belly button, her silver bob windswept. Her house has floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a ceiling fan in each room I passed, and an aboveground pool.
“Thank you for seeing me.” I sip from the sweaty glass, rub the condensation on my jeans, hope she doesn’t notice. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She gives me an absent nod, eyes raking the pool. I inspect it, gripping the glass tighter, worried it’ll slip.
“She was a strong swimmer, Rach,” Deb mutters, hateful eyes on the pool. “The lake’s just down the road, too.”
Lake Hume is one of the largest in Australia. I passed it on the way through. Sunshine glittered off the surface as speedboats rocketed past, pulling inner tubes with squealing kids. Elderly couples lazed in the shade of towering ghost gums, and rowdy teens crowded the Bethanga Bridge, preparing to dive in.
“No sharks in the fucking lake.”
The rage in her voice silences me. Her spine’s rigid, eyes stormy. I get the feeling she’s keeping so much in when she really wants to howl in pain like a wolf.
A dull-eyed man shuffles into the kitchen, barefoot and silent. Absently, he flicks the kettle on, and I look to Deb, but she ignores him. I call out a soft hello that’s lost in the gurgle of the kettle boiling. He dumps a tea bag into a mug, trembles as he fills it. No milk. It steams on the counter, and he watches it silently like he’s too tired to hold it. Finally, he shuffles out.
“What was she doing in Kangaroo Bay?”
“Something bad.”
I blink, grip loosening. I fumble for the glass, clamping it in my hands. “What does that mean exactly?”
“You said you’re from Kangaroo Bay?”
I nod.
“There’s a lot of bad types down there.”
“Yes, there is,” I tell her. “How do you know that?”
Her breath stalls. “I don’t want you printing what I’m about to tell you,” she says, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s figured it out yet.”
I nod quickly, lean forward.
“We used to live in Kangaroo Bay.”
“When?”
“Late seventies to the late eighties. Rented a house on Jupiter Court with Rach’s dad.” She falls into heavy silence, lips pursed. “…He wasn’t a good man.”
“Violent?”
A door clicks closed, followed by the faint rustle of footsteps on carpet.
“Yeah.” Her jaw clenches tight. “I left him. Fled, actually. Went back to my maiden name.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You said your name was Greenwood?”
