She looks from Darcy to me and smiles.I don’t know what she sees – ‘cool, calm, collected’ Jamie, or ‘I’m about to do something stupid’ Jamie, or some washed-up version of the old Jamie, the one who danced barefoot at our graduation party with a vodka cruiser in hand.Either way, she lets me hold on to her baby and that’s all the trust and love I need.For the first time since arriving, I don’t feel as if I’m trespassing.
I feel like maybe I can … stay.At least for now.
The sun is almost gone, bleeding low behind the trees in streaks of burnt orange and pink.The air is cooler now; even the heat has left everyone alone in their grief.
Luke’s still outside, talking to a man who, predictably, is wearing work boots.Their conversation is low, private.Luke’s shoulders are squared, head bowed, eyes closed.
Sophia and James say their farewells before I follow Ella and Darcy into the house.I know that if I’m left alone – even for a second – I might do or say something stupid.
Inside, half-empty teacups sit abandoned on every available surface, and scraps of food wilt on platters among crumpled napkins.I start cleaning up around the piles of stacked lasagnes and sympathy brownies in plastic containers.The air smells of rosemary and dish soap.
Ella glances at me.‘Have you eaten?’
I nod too fast.‘Yeah, I had something earlier.’
She gives me a look, then reaches into the fridge and pulls out a cold finger sandwich, handing it over without comment.
I take it.
It’s not about the sandwich.It’s that she knew I was lying and didn’t make it a thing.She handed me food like it was a lifeline, not a challenge.A small kindness, no ceremony.I chew slowly, watching her move around the kitchen, topping up water bottles and folding Daisy’s tiny socks into a corner of her overnight bag.She’s a natural, like Issy, and my heart swells to see her lean into motherhood with that soft, certain devotion – the kind that not every child gets.It’s beautiful to watch, and even more awe-inspiring to witness from the sidelines.
I can feel her hovering.Not in an overbearing way – more like a safety net.She’s the buffer I need to save myself from feeling like an intruder.
Oblivious to my gratitude, Ella yawns, soft and unfiltered.‘We’re gonna crash in the spare room,’ she says.‘We’re exhausted.’
Darcy lifts a sleeping Daisy from her carrier.‘She’s done for.’
‘I think I’m going to clean up some more,’ I offer.
Ella waves a hand.‘Relax.We’ll do it in the morning.You must be tired too.’She glances over her shoulder at the living room.‘I packed bedsheets for you.The fold-out couch by the window is the comfiest one.’
Now that she’s said it, I realise I am tired – in that weird, vibrating way where my body’s still moving even though I’ve stopped.Ella gives me one last look, the kind that says,Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.
I nod like I can promise that.Like I’m not a certified expert in messing things up.Darcy offers me a crooked smile as he passes me a pile of sheets.‘Well, you survived your first country funeral.’
I snort softly.‘The night’s still young.’
And before I know it, they’re gone.The house feels bigger without them.Still – not empty.Just … waiting to see what I’ll do next.
I drop the linens on the couch and continue cleaning up, putting lids back on containers, rinsing mugs.I wipe down the kitchen counter and fold the tea towel over the oven handle.
I glance outside.Luke’s alone now, eyes looking up to the star- studded sky, cradling an empty beer bottle in one hand.The porch light casts a soft glow across his back.He hasn’t moved in minutes – just sitting there on a weathered bench, silent, staring out into the dark.
It makes me hesitate.I don’t know if I should go to him or leave him alone.If he wants company or if silence is the only thing holding him together.It feels awkward to fall asleep on his couch without talking to him first.But going outside to join him feels like I’d be intruding on something deeply personal, a silence someone like me has no business interrupting.
Before I can decide, the screen door creaks again.
Lauren steps inside with a stack of empty platters in one hand and her car keys in the other.Her make-up is slightly smudged.Her smile even more so.
She spots me and pauses.‘Hey,’ she says gently.
‘Hey.’My reply is just as soft.
She places the platters on the kitchen counter and straightens one absentmindedly, fingers brushing away invisible crumbs.She eyes my neatly stacked containers.‘Don’t let Darcy get his hands on that slice tomorrow.Mrs Teakle gave me strict instructions that the leftovers are only for Luke.’
I smile faintly.‘I wouldn’t blame him.It was a good slice.’
‘The best slice in the state according to the NT baking society,’ Lauren corrects with a tired kind of grin.‘Apparently she’srevolutionisedthe condensed-milk-to-coconut ratio.’
