Page 44 of The Meaning Of You

I sighed and followed her in. “I blame your other daddy for spoiling you too much.”

She blinked back at me, her tail flicking back and forth.

“Little Miss Prissy Pants.” I filled her bowl and returned to the dining room.

I studied the table for a moment, then swept everything back into the box and headed out.

CHAPTER TEN

Nick

I parkedalongside the caravan but didn’t get out, frozen in place by a deluge of memories that threatened to break me apart. Davis and I had spent a lot of time at the caravan when we were first dating, taking advantage of the seclusion and quiet to get to know each other. As time passed, we came less often, caught up in our own busy schedules until it was only Davis who really spent any time there at all, opting to sleep over a night or two when he needed to focus on his writing or a deadline.

I stared across the water toward Manukau Heads, the sun painting the ripples on the incoming tide with brushstrokes of silver. It had been a mistake, letting those visits slide. My mistake.

I’d missed the place.

Would we have ever built a home there if Samuel had been right about Lizzie’s intentions? I wasn’t sure. Davis would have lived there in a heartbeat. It would have been me dragging my feet, complaining about the distance from the city, the fuel cost, the general inconvenience. I was pretty sure I’d have said no,the way I thought back then, and that would’ve been another mistake.

The land had been a steal when Lizzie bought it, even allowing for the fact it spilled onto its own small but perfectly formed little beach. The population of the tiny township had exploded over the years with city commuters spreading further and further into the suburbs, and the empty section had rocketed in value. The family never built on it, choosing to camp there instead, every summer until the boys had left home.

Davis had even proposed to me on the same tiny beach as we’d lain wrapped in a blanket under an autumn sky beside a sputtering bonfire. I’d said no, of course, and Davis had simply laughed. He’d known I would hold out even if I didn’t understand why. His solution was to roll me onto my back and fuck me silly until I got over myself and finally agreed. It worked.

I glanced at the box sitting in the footwell of the passenger seat, then climbed out of the car and shut the door. Then I closed my eyes and let the feel of the place sink back into my bones. It had been a long, long time.

The sharp tang of salt air slid over my tongue, unwrapping memories and snapping my senses to attention. I lifted my face to the burning sun, the peaceful flip-flop of wavelets slapping the sand a soothing balm to my soul. Heat prickled my skin and perspiration trickled down my back.

I groaned and opened my eyes, squinting into the searing sun. So many memories made in that place. So many reasons to stay away. But the sting of grief was fleeting, quickly subsiding to a melancholy thrum under my skin. A reminder of all the good things. I wasn’t sure what it meant but I was grateful.

I popped the boot and grabbed the empty cardboard box I’d brought to pack up Davis’s things. The closer I got to the caravan, the more my heart began to wobble in my chest. Thevan was as much Davis’s space as his office, or his place beside me in our bed. It was another holy grail.

I paused at the door and rummaged through my jeans pocket for the key. It turned easily enough, and a rush of hot sour air hit me in the face.

“Whoa. Damn, that’s hot.” I hooked the door back against the aluminium siding and stood back for a minute to let the super-heated air drain. Then I drew a deep breath and stepped inside, opening every curtain and window in the cramped place until the onshore breeze finally licked at my skin.

That done I stood in the middle of the relatively spacious interior and took a look around. It had been one of the larger caravans on the market in its day, with its own bathroom and shower, a compact but functional kitchen, a good-sized booth-style dining area that converted into two beds, and a permanent double bed with its own bedroom at the back.

My attention lingered on the small worktop next to the sink where two coffee mugs sat upended on a tea towel along with two dinner plates and two sets of cutlery. If Samuel and Lizzie hadn’t visited the van since the accident, the tableau had to be of Davis’s making. All of it. Everything the way it was when he last walked out of the place. The idea that he might’ve eaten his last meal off these sat weirdly in my heart, the question repeating in my brain.

Twosets?

I frowned at the small collection. Twosets of everything.

I checked my paranoia and took a look in the small rubbish bin next to the counter. An empty plastic salad container and a scrunched-up supermarket bag with a plastic wrap bearing the labelsliced ham. Another was labelledroast beef. There was also an empty sushi container, a flattened milk carton, and two empty juice bottles. It was a lot of food for one man’s lunch.

Two plates. Two lunches?

Stop it.

The fridge was next, which proved a huge error of judgement and answered any questions regarding the source of the rancid smell. It held another carton of what would once have been milk, a few cans of beer, a wheel of what looked like cheese—or at least it had been—and a couple of indeterminate food items, which had morphed into some unearthly vision from the seven circles of hell where black mould prevailed.

Well, fuck that.I slammed the door and dry retched into the sink, vowing to trash the entire fridge and its contents into the local refuse centre on my way home. There was no way I was leaving that for Lizzie to find.

I wiped my mouth and began a thorough search of the van starting in the bedroom—every cupboard, every drawer, every storage nook opened and checked. I found nothing apart from some spare toiletries, including a half-empty tube of lube, a few of Davis’s clothes, and more books than any one man could possibly need.

It wasn’t until I was almost done that I finally struck gold. The laptop. Stashed in a cupboard above the dining table along with Davis’s research folder, a desk calendar, notebooks, a stationery shop load of pens, and a selection of language and style books that he often used when he was writing.

I moved everything onto the table and then opened the laptop. It was dead, because of course it was. “For fuck’s sake.” I searched the overhead cupboard once again, locating the power cord stuffed right in the back. I plugged the laptop in to charge and began leafing through the other stuff while I waited.

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