Page 19 of The Version You Hide

“Why? How late is it?” I ask, picking up my phone to check the time. “Oh, shit! It’s eleven thirty already?”

That was the other thing about the river. It was a time-warp. I so often became immersed in its tranquillity, my sketchbook transporting me to a better place, and I’d lose myself to it all.

I hastily shut the sketchbook and slide the pencil box containing my graphite pencils into my pyjama pants pocket, before running back up the jetty and into the house, leaving Henley to make his own way back.

I shower quickly, then slip on a cropped tee and a pair of cargo pants. Swiping on a light CC cream and a hint of lip gloss, I allow my blonde waves to cascade down my shoulders. I always kept a hair tie around my wrist for when my hair’s unruliness got to me, and I know it will be swept up into a messy bun before the day is done.

Henley has already left to go for his surf by the time I start making the short walk to the boulevard that runs the length of town.

When I step into the bustling tavern, a quick scan of the open plan bar and bistro lets me know that Harper is yet to arrive. This doesn’t really surprise me, given the sleepless nights little Noah has been imposing on her lately.

I take a seat over by the window, looking up just in time to see Dylan arriving for his shift, once again with Jade in tow. He heads straight behind the bar, seemingly unaware of my presence, but Jade gives me a friendly wave before settling on her usual barstool.

I pick up the menu and peruse the lunchtime specials, despite already knowing what I’m going to order. I hear Harper coming before I see her. Or rather, I hear Noah.

I glance up to find her barrelling toward me, flustered as all hell, a screaming baby perched on her left hip. She tries her hardest to manoeuvre his pram through the sea of tables, her right shoulder weighted by the largest nappy bag I’ve ever seen. I stand up, ready to go to her aid, when Dylan swoops in to save the day.

Of course, he does. Because he’s that quintessential nice guy.

“Harper, are you okay?” he asks, holding his arms out to baby Noah.

Harper practically throws her son at Dylan, ready to take all the help she can get. “I’m so sorry for the noise, Dylan. He’s teething and it’s a complete nightmare. I’m at my wits end.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Dylan admits. “But obviously no judgment here. It must be tough.”

“Sorry I’m late, Mackenzie,” she says breathlessly. “I’m running on pure adrenaline at this point.”

“Are you kidding? Please don’t apologise,” I say, waving off her apology. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

The giant nappy bag falls to the floor with a thud as she flops down into the chair across from me. “I’m wrecked.”

I nod in sympathy and it’s then that I see her. Like, really see her. The dark circles that underline her eyes, the unkempt strands of auburn hair that haven’t quite made it into her ponytail. Her expression is one of pure exhaustion and frustration. Motherhood must be a real bitch.

“You look…” I begin searching for a compliment. Her eyebrows lift in hopeful anticipation, but I decide to be honest instead. “Wrecked.”

Harper squeezes her eyes shut, her face scrunching as if she’s about to cry, but then suddenly her attention is shifted back to Noah. Her jaw drops, her eyes widening in awe. When I follow her line of sight, it’s not hard to understand why.

Baby Noah is soundless as he bounces up and down in Dylan’s arms, apparently fixated on the beaded bracelet he wears around his left wrist. He reaches for it, a cherubic smile forming as he stares up at him in wonder.

“Hey, little man,” Dylan says gently as he removes the bracelet, rattling it in front of him. Noah’s big, blue eyes track the beads as Dylan swings them from side to side. He’s completely mesmerised.

“Oh my god,” Harper practically sobs. “Miracles happen.”

“Shhh,” I hiss cautiously, warning Harper not to break the spell. “Don’t speak too soon.”

“You like these, little dude?” Dylan allows baby Noah to safely grip the beads in his chubby little fingers, which seems to work in settling him down completely.

We watch as he slowly places Noah in the pram, the beads still curled up in his tiny fist as he rests back against the quilted lining, completely content.

“What the hell are you? A fucking baby whisperer?” I ask.

“Mackenzie!” Harper whisper-yells. “Don’t disturb the peace. Look. He’s asleep!” She lays her palms over her heart in relief.

We all gaze down at baby Noah, snuggled up in his pram, silent and finally sleeping.

Dylan folds his arms smugly across his chest. “My work here is done,” he says, turning on his heel toward the kitchen. He only takes a few steps before he turns back to us. “Obviously, don’t let him choke on those. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

“Obviously,” we both reply in unison.

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