Page 39 of Lime Tree Hill

SHARING SPACES

Maintaininga long-held belief about someone when their actions have you questioning everything about that belief was not an easy task. As a teenager, Tayla had been scared stiff of Mitch after his accusation. Every time she saw him that summer, her stomach tied itself in knots. Now, the more she got to know him, the more his persona softened that memory.

After a large breakfast, Mitch left the loft, Edward lagging behind. When she’d thanked him for the surfboard and wetsuit, he’d looked genuinely pleased with himself, as if he wanted to please her as well.

Tayla studied the space. A large sectional sofa flanked by two leather chairs dominated one end of the room, and against the back wall, a dartboard waited for someone to hit the bullseye.

Mitch had told her to make herself at home, so she opened the fridge to look for juice. There was none, but it was full to the brim, and the pantry was the same. Jars of nuts and seeds and interesting grains lined the shelves, along with olive oils and an incredible array of spices. It seemed Mitch was quite the home chef.

She opened the door to his office and peeked inside. Full of books and files, it was much bigger than she’d expected, with twocomputers on the desk and a large leather sofa against one wall. She wondered if he ever snoozed there on a sunny afternoon. It looked so comfortable, she wanted to lie down herself. But she should unpack and box up her dress for the dry cleaners.

Back in her room, Tayla checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall. She ran her fingers through her hair, untangling a few knots at the ends as she contemplated getting it cut—nothing drastic, just to shoulder length. Hayden had loved her hair. He’d wrapped his hands around it when they kissed. And she’d reveled in that feeling of being held so tightly that he’d never let her go. Never let her fall.

Funny how the mind can play elaborate tricks when you want something badly enough.

She made a mental note to check out the salons in town.

Later, as Tayla walked through the packing shed,past a young man standing at the conveyer belt grading fruit, she thought of Norman. How proud he would’ve been of Mitch and Lime Tree Hill’s transformation. ‘The boy’ was now a man, leaving his mark on the world with a gentle hand.

They’d arranged to meet at two, so Mitch could take her to the cemetery. True to his word, he pulled up right on the dot. When she climbed into the Hilux, she was impressed by how spotless he kept it for a work vehicle. But everything about him was meticulous. From his well-pressed jeans and shirts to his home and office, it was clear her new husband liked order. Just like his late grandfather.

“How’s your morning been?” he asked as he drove down the driveway.

Surreal.“Good.” She turned to him and smiled. “Thanks for doing this…coming with me.”

“No problem.” Mitch made a left at the highway. “Ned and Maggie want us to call in for a drink around five.”

“Both of us?”

“Yes, both of us. We’re a couple now.”

“Well, not really, but…”

He chuckled. “Did you give this any thought before you decided to marry me, or did you think life would carry on regardless?”

“Of course. I know what I have to do.”

Mitch glanced her way. “Good.”

The small cemetery was less than a hundred yards from the chapel Mitch had suggested as their wedding venue. He stopped in a deserted parking spot overshadowed by a row of blue gums. Despite the warm autumn day, the sky was overcast, with sheets of misty rain blanketing the coast.

Tayla turned to fetch her bouquet from the back seat and was surprised when Mitch opened the door for her a few seconds later, offering his hand to help her down. His scent enveloped her—a mix of cologne and whatever he used to launder his clothes. Probably some kind of eco-friendly liquid with hints of lavender and tea tree.

They walked across the park-like grounds together, Mitch with his hands in his pockets, Tayla clutching her bouquet for dear life. Once again, she compared the neat little posy she held in Sydney and the wild, flamboyant arrangement Mitch had picked for her. Stopping when he did, she spied a small plaque in front of them.

“This is it.” He looked at her, his expression unusually solemn.

Tayla wanted to reach for him, to pull him into a hug. But instead, she crouched beside the grave and placed the wilted bouquet on the grass in front of the plaque. They stood in silence for a moment before she asked, “What sort of relationship did you have with Norman before he died?”

Mitch rubbed a hand over his chin. “Fractured, I guess. He was a control freak and the most narrow-minded man I’ve ever met.Once his depression took over, I hardly ever saw him out of that plaid dressing gown. Mum never warmed to him.”

“Why was that?”

“He treated her badly early on. Never thought she was good enough for his only child. Mum fell pregnant when she was barely nineteen. Norman refused to let them marry. They did anyway, but he never acknowledged her. He thought she’d trapped my father.”

“What happened to him…your dad?”

He indicated to the left. “He’s there, and that’s my grandmother’s grave to the right.”

---