Page 39 of The Vanishing Place
A fire rose in her, her body hurting in a way that it shouldn’t.
You’d have to ask his wife.
“And I don’t need your permission,” she snapped.
He walked across the room, then turned back. “It’s my job to go out there. It’s not up to you this time, Effie. This is not your decision.” Something flashed across his face—hurt, regret—then it vanished. “What you’re doing is impeding an—”
“Then cuff me.” Effie held her hands out. “Arrest me, or let me go alone.”
The look that Lewis gave her cut her in two, and Effie bit into her tongue to stop herself from flinching, from reaching for him.
Lewis didn’t say anything, which hurt more somehow. He simply walked out, closing the door behind him, and Effie watched through the window as he got into his ute. It took her a moment to realize that her arms were still hung there, suspended in front of her.
“Well now,” said June, “the two of you handled that very well.”
Effie turned, disorientated, as June collected plates and mugs from the coffee table.
“Do you think I’m wrong?” she asked.
“I think,” replied June, balancing a tower of china, “that it’s possible to be both wrong and right at the same time.”
“I can’t take him out there.” Effie scratched at her wrists. “I’ve never taken anyone out there.”
The hut was a special place just for them, Dad said. A secret.
“What I do know,” said June, “is that boy cares for you very much.”
Effie shook her head. “It’s been seventeen years, June.” She paused. “He doesn’t even know me.”
June just smiled. “If you say so, dear.” Then she walked out.
Lewis’s ute turned the corner and drove out of sight. When Effie turned back, June was standing in the doorway with a radio tucked under her arm.
“I’m off to bed,” she said.
Effie frowned. “With the radio?”
“The TV I can live without. But not my morning dose of Corin and Ingrid.”
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” asked Effie. “The kid.”
“One day at a time.” June smiled. “That’s all we can do.”
—
Effie rolled over in bed and checked the time on her phone.
Five. Almost.
The blue hour. She turned to the window, the curtain left open, and stared out at the inky sky. Coming back had changed something in her. It had blotted and smudged her memories; things that she once thought to be true—to be unquestionable—had blurred. The smell of bush air and the warm salt breeze had made her memories harder to trust.
Effie unlocked her phone and swiped down to Blair’s name, then pressed the phone to her ear.
“You’re up early,” answered Blair.
“Jet lag.”
“Sure.” A kettle whistled somewhere behind Blair. “Absolutely nothing to do with the kid.”
