Page 20 of Repluse

“Mila? What’s wrong?” He actually sounds panicked.

“I’ve had an accident, but I’m okay. Can you come get me and bring someone with you to drive my car?”

“I’m coming. Keep talking. Tell me what happened. Are you hurt?”

“I’m on the Yira Road. I just turned off the highway when a roo came out of nowhere. I was driving slow because of the time of day, so was able to miss it…”

“Fuck’s sake, Mila, I’ve told you a million times, your car’s built like a tank. You have roo bars. Just hit the cunts if they come at you. Is the car damaged?”

“What? No. I don’t know…” I lay on more tears.

“Dad, can you come with me? Mila’s run off the road dodging a roo,” I hear him say.

“Why didn’t she just hit the cunt? Plenty more where that come from,” I hear Scott reply.

“It’s dark. I can’t see if there’s any damage. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was concentrating so hard on not hitting one, I jumped when he appeared and just swerved off the road.”

“No point crying over it now. It’s done. I’m on my way.”

I don’t know if he meant to hang up then, if he thought he had, or if his dad just didn’t realise I could hear, but I heard it, and that’s when I knew I wasn’t being paranoid and had absolutely done the right thing when I left my car and phone in our apartment’s parking garage all weekend.

“Did you pull up her location?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, she’s only five K from the highway exit.”

I end the call.

Should I be angry? Appalled? Devasted? I’m all of those things. The one thing I’m not is shocked. Around eight years ago, not long after we married, Logan slipped up by mentioning a purchase I’d made that day from a store over the border in New South Wales.

I hadn’t told him I’d been out; I hadn’t told him I’d bought anything.

He quickly covered himself by saying he’d been doing some online banking and had noticed the transaction. I acted like the entire conversation had gone right over my head—it hadn’t—butit got me thinking, was he having me followed, tracking my car, my phone?

A few days later, I searched my car for a tracking device, but had no idea what I was looking for. After a quick Google search, I discovered tracking a phone is easy. There are apps and sites where you just type the number in, pay a fee, and the phone the number belongs to can be geolocated.

As part of my planning and preparation for this weekend, I assumed my car was being tracked, which was why I parked it at our apartment and not at Frankie’s. I also purchased a second phone, had all my calls and messages redirected to it, and took that with me, leaving my ‘real’ phone in the car parked at the apartment.

By the timeheadlights appear at the side of the road behind me, I’ve calmed myself down somewhat. I mean, do I really have the right to be pissed off my husband has a tracker on my car when I’ve spent the weekend doing what I’ve been doing? Have Inotjust proved him right and done exactly what he’s suspected me of doing all these years? Or is it his constant mistrust that’s driven me to be unfaithful to this extreme?

Letting out something between a huff and a sigh, I move towards the truck Logan and his dad are climbing out of. A second vehicle pulls up behind it.

It started raining earlier, so I deliberately waited next to my car, not in it. With rain pouring down my face, at least I don’t have to worry about faking my tears.

After throwing myself against my husband’s chest, I let out a loud sob.

“You’re soaked. Why didn’t you wait in the car?” Logan asks as he sets me aside.

“I was scared it might slide into the ditch. I tried to reverse, but the wheels just spun. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry. . .” I trail off as I watch his retreating back heading towards my car.

He and his dad are both carrying torches, and I watch on as they shine them all around my Cruiser looking for damage. Not once do they look at me or ask me if I’m okay.

“Here, Mrs Walsh. Put this on.” I jump when Shane, one of our truck drivers, appears beside me, handing me a North Face jacket. “You doing okay?”

“Thanks, Shane. I’m okay, just a little shook up.”

“I bet. Why don’t you go wait in Logan’s truck while we get the Cruiser hooked up and towed out of here?”

With a nod and a small smile, I do as he suggests and make my way to the truck. The engine’s still running, so I turn the heat up and get myself warm.

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