Page 23 of The Meaning Of You

Gazza clapped me on the back. “Atta boy.”

Findingout where Nick lived wasn’t as difficult as I’d thought. Lizzie sounded almost relieved to get my call, then surprised me by handing over his address without batting an eyelid. Although Nick had introduced us at Golden Oaks and we’d talked a couple of times since then, including at Davis’s funeral, it wasn’t like Lizzie really knew me.

For a ridiculous heart-fluttering moment, I wondered if Nick had maybe talked about me, and that’s why she felt comfortable giving me his details. Then I realised how fucked up that idea was and buried it where it belonged. Nick Fisher didn’t need me. I’d been a convenient, neutral ear at a difficult time, and I could live with that. There were a lot worse things to be.

“I really hope he talks to you,” Lizzie said. “But don’t take it personally if he sends you packing. You won’t be the first. None of us have broken through those concrete walls since Davis died. I’ve had calls from all their friends. People are worried. Then again, you were doing better than the rest of us before Davis died, so who knows?”

“I doubt that’s true,” I argued. “I think I was just a neutral voice. He didn’t care what I thought, not really, so I was a safe space, I suppose. Besides, he didn’t really speak about anything of importance. Mostly we just chatted.”

She gave a soft huff. “Don’t undersell yourself, Madigan. Nick’s never given a damn whatanybodythought except Davis, sometimes me, and apparently...you, it seems.”

“Me?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice. “But we hardly know each other.”

Lizzie chuckled. “I don’t pretend to know what goes through that man’s head but I do know Nick paid attention to whatever you two did talk about. I know this because he was different afterward. I want to say easier, but the better word is probably steadier, especially when Davis started to deteriorate.”

I didn’t know what to say to that so I settled for, “I’m happy if you thought I helped in any way but I didn’t really do anything except listen.”

Lizzie hummed, shaking her head in disagreement. “Did Nick mention that the day Davis died, I wanted him to call and let you know? But he was such a mess at the time, he wouldn’t, insisting he didn’t want to disturb you. Then lo and behold, you turn up anyway, exactly when he needs you. And when I saw you two talking in the courtyard, Nick looked... relieved. I don’t know any other way to describe it. How about that for good timing? Personally, I think it was more than that.”

Synchronicity.The word rattled to the front of my brain and my cheeks blew hot, my hands sweaty. “There was never anything between Nick and me except friendship, Lizzie, you have to believe me.”

She shushed me loudly. “Of course there wasn’t. Nick isn’t built that way.” Then she chuckled. “Although God knows that poor boy deserved some comfort. I would’ve understood and forgiven him, you know. Davis too.”

“But I wouldn’t have forgiven myself,” I softly disagreed. “That’s not who I am either, Lizzie.”

She went quiet for a long moment before whispering, “I know, Madigan. And the fact you know that about Nick says a great deal about how much he let his guard down with you. Let me know how it goes, but like I said, don’t be surprised if he doesn’t even open the door.”

I didn’t callNick first to ask if I could visit, I simply typed his address into the map on my phone and headed out. His townhouse sat in a desirable eastern bay suburb an easy ten-minute walk from the beach. And as I drove the streets of the attractive leafy neighbourhood with its high privacy walls and fancy houses, I figured either Nick’s business or Davis’s writing career was a bigger deal than I’d imagined.

A part of me hoped Lizzie was right about Nick not opening the door, because pulling into the driveway of his townhouse, I was having a whole lot of second thoughts. Based on Nick’s behaviour at the funeral and his clear ghosting of my texts and calls, I was almost positive he was going to be less than happy to see me actually standing on his doorstep. Possibly even angry. And rightly so. We barely knew each other beyond a few weeks of random conversations at Golden Oaks. What right did I have to bowl up in the middle of the man’s grieving and think I could offer him anything?

The answer was easy and uncomfortable. No right at all.

The sensible decision would have been to turn around and leave before I embarrassed the both of us. After all, sensiblewasmy middle name.

But I didn’t.

Because when I replayed our brief friendship over and over in my head, there was no denying the strange connection we’d had right from the start. And I couldn’t ignore the niggling idea that Nick was avoiding me precisely because of that connection. Like he wasn’t sure he could keep up the pretence if he and I talked.

Maybe he was right to be worried. Maybe he needed that wall right then.

But maybe he didn’t. I had to at least try.

I switched off the engine and stared up at the modern black-and-white townhouse—smaller than its neighbours by a fair bit but still classy. It was a three-storey affair, two floors of living above a large double garage. The windows on the first floor were closed, as were the ranch sliders, which opened onto a spacious balcony, and every blind was shut. To all intents and purposes, the townhouse looked... empty.

One could only hope. Because then I could pop a note into his letterbox and leave knowing I’d tried, right?

Wrong.

I grabbed the key fob and a first-edition book I’d taken from my collection as a talking point, in case Nick actually invited me in. I figured it might offer a distraction if nothing else, since Nick had asked me a million times to show him an example of what I did. The timing was completely off, of course, but Nick was unpredictable like that.

I climbed out of the car, stared at the black-and-white facade, and took a deep breath.Here goes nothing.

Following Lizzie’s sneaky suggestion, I ignored the flight of steps to the front door in favour of a path that skirted the side of the house to the back. She’d said that’s how family and friends arrived, and it was my best chance of getting Nick to actually answer the door.

I followed the narrow path sandwiched between the garage’s concrete block wall and a semi-tropical garden bed until I reached a pocket-sized backyard, containing an empty clothesline and a small vegetable patch overrun with weeds. The lawn hadn’t seen a blade in months, but a healthy-looking lemon tree groaned under the weight of a bumper crop that would’ve kept a gin palace happy for a year.

I was almost at the back door before I realised it was hanging wide open. The sight slowed me to a stop, my heartrate kicking up. Nick wasn’t the kind of guy to forget to close a door. A couple more steps and the jimmy marks on the frame came into view, along with a spray of black paint over the security camera.

---