Page 11 of The Vanishing Place
Effie turned at the sound of Greg’s voice. He held out a pile of waterproof clothing with a chocolate Bounty bar on top: Effie’s favorite.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She took the pile of clothes without meeting his eye. “You didn’t need to come out in this.”
“Keith needed a twelfth person. For lifting.”
“Oh.”
They stood in silence for a moment, barely a meter apart, as the rain battered the mountain. A gust of wind caught the emergency bag that was still wrapped around Effie’s legs, and she staggered forward. Greg caught her in his arms and held her for a moment, her face pressed into the familiar warmth of his chest. Then, unable to look at him, she pulled back.
“I should get changed,” she said. “And check on Blair.”
“Thank you,” said Greg. “For asking for help.” His eyes filled with genuine relief. “I know that can’t have been easy.”
Effie managed a small smile, the ache pulsing beneath her ribs, then she turned away.
“Wait.” He reached for her arm.
“Don’t.” Effie blinked her eyes free of water, the dampness no longer just rain. “Please, not here.”
“It’s not…” He glanced at his shoes. “It’s something else.”
She frowned.
“Some guy’s been trying to contact you.” There was a trace of hurt in his voice. “He’s called the base station like five times. Left multiple messages.”
“What did he want?”
“I’m not sure exactly.” A formality had returned to Greg’s tone. “He said his name was Lewis.”
Effie’s heart missed a beat.
“And he mentioned something about a girl.” He turned his head away from the wind. “I don’t know, he sounded pretty desperate.”
Lewis. Her Lewis. Effie pressed a hand to her stomach.
“Effie,” said Greg. “Are you okay?”
“I…” She let out a breath. “I don’t know.”
November 2001
“Why won’t it drink?”
“Tia, stop.” Effie slapped her sister’s hand away. “You’re dirty.”
“It’s not opening its eyes.”
“He’s tired.” Effie touched the end of Aiden’s milk bottle to the baby’s lips, but he didn’t do anything. She frowned. “Maybe the bottle’s too big.”
Aiden always clutched at the bottle with his chubby hands and the milk sloshed into him.
“Why doesn’t Mum feed it?” asked Tia. “Aiden can share. He only has a little bit of milk from Mum now.”
“Mum’s resting,” Effie snapped, her throat tight.
Just that morning, before the screaming and the bleeding had started, Mum had stoked the fire and baked raisin cookies in the big metal pot. Then, smiling her big sunshine smile, Mum had lifted Tia onto her hip and they’d twirled around, laughing and singing, as the room filled with the warm smell of cookie dough. But that mum was gone. She was still in her bed—Effie had checked when they got back from the river—but her smile and laugh weren’t there. Effie had covered her with a clean blanket and left a cookie by her bed before tiptoeing out—letting her rest.
