Page 22 of Between Two Shores

“Not likely.” Lachlan held back a bark. Wally spreading rumors about him—he’d have words with him soon. “Beth’s a sweet girl. She’s not like that. And neither am I.”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it. So much self-control.”

“Working out helps. Lots of focus and determination. And treat women with respect, at all times.” Lachlan grunted as he pushed past a count of thirty. He let the weights smash back into place.

He got up and moved to the rowing machine, far away from Mike. He needed to snap out of his mood. A counselor shouldn’t act like this. When he’d been in a long-distance relationship with Laura, the first six months of phone calls and emails had only wasted his time. She met someone else back home. That’d probably happen with Beth. He’d continue to be polite and email her on occasion, but keep them strictly friends. No emotional talk, just surface conversation, and let Beth fade out of the picture.

Chapter Nine

BETH

Twenty-One Months Later

The Fremantle Herald office buzzed with activity. The scuttle of tapping keyboards mixed with the hum of multiple phone conversations as the editorial team raced to make the deadline. Beth peered over the cubicle divider. “I’ve finished my jobs. Do you need me to help with anything? I can hear you huffing and puffing from here.”

Melanie smiled through the loose strands dangling over her shiny forehead, the rest of her hair in a tight ponytail. “Yes, please. I’m not going to make it otherwise.”

“What do you need?”

“We have a small space left on page sixteen. Can you do a quick article for me?”

Beth blinked. “An article? In thirty minutes? You’ve really left things to the last minute. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“I had plans on what to write, and it’s only two hundred words.” She blew the wispy ringlets away from her face. “Time got away from me.”

“Okay. What do I write about?” Any chance for an article was an opportunity Beth would take. Sub-copying had long fallen into drudgery.

“Just an announcement about the U.S Navy ship coming into port this weekend.” Melanie handed over a yellow post-it sticky note. “Here’s the name of the ship, and the basic schedule.”

Beth took the paper between her forefinger and thumb, holding it out like it was covered in contagious germs. Melanie angled her screen and got back to work.

What was Beth’s problem? Lachlan wouldn’t be on board. She’d received one of his newsletter emails a few months ago. The one where she’d been blind carbon copied like the rest of his family and friends.

Beth lowered herself into the cushioned chair. Oh, Lachlan had proved to be such a disappointment. Just the thought of him stirred anger within her. She’d poured out her soul about losing the Quokka story, and his cold response had infuriated her. Some counselor. No validation, no empathy for her. She ground her teeth.

She had explained in detail how the suspect developers diverted their interest into upgrading Christmas Island instead. The health of the Quokkas had improved dramatically since the investigation started. The link seemed obvious to her. Pacific Master Builders must’ve realized they were being observed and focused on other developments.

Lachlan had responded with one line. One. Line. At least the Quokkas are okay.

She growled under her breath as she tapped her keyboard to wake her computer.

Of course, she wanted the Quokkas safe. What did he take her for? Did he think she was just about getting a big story? Becoming a famous journalist? Ridiculous. Readers hardly glanced at the author’s name. She had only wanted to report important news that exposed the truth. Those developers should have been brought to justice. Over four hundred Quokkas had died. The possibility that Sergeant Andrews had taken a bribe still irked her. Why else would he drop the case so easily? No evidence, he’d said. Unlikely.

She pounded Lachlan’s name into her email search bar. Where was he now? Nowhere near Australia, but she wanted to double-check.

For a year, she received an occasional email from him. Usually monthly, with a few questions pertaining to how she was, how the charity was doing. Chris’s family. Her work. He had nothing much to say. Maybe his job didn’t allow for much detail. As a counselor, he wouldn’t share counseling information, and the Navy might require him to keep things vague as far as their location and projects.

Beth scrolled through the list of emails from Lachlan. The second year of their communication, he’d converted to a general newsletter. She had still replied with some chit-chat of what was happening in her part of the world, but usually, he responded with no more than two sentences. The last email was dated several months ago. It didn’t state his whereabouts. Anyway, what did she care? Her heart had kept Lachlan Peters at bay, far away, so he couldn’t disappoint her.

Beth read the sticky note. USS Independence II arriving Saturday. Two weeks in Fremantle. Four weeks at Exmouth Naval Base for training.

She googled for more information and gave the article her best effort. Once it left her workstation, it would go to press.

On Saturday, Beth placed an AA brochure on every third seat while the homeless stumbled into the building.

That morning they had a small band as light entertainment. The band would be busking in Fremantle later that day, but Dad had convinced them to drop in for a small donation.

The guitarist tuned his strings, and the keyboardist set up his amplifier.

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