Page 30 of The Beach Cottage
Bea got everyone a drink and sat again. The cool evening breeze lifted her hair from her sweaty neck. She looked out at the setting sun and listened to the cacophony of birds as they settled in the trees around the property for the night.
“I love it here,” she said.
Harry spoke around a mouthful of chips. “It’s the best. Can we go snorkelling tomorrow?”
“Maybe not tomorrow,” Bea replied, “but soon.”
Dad joined them on the deck, his face pinched. He sat with a glass of water and stared down at his hands.
Bea leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
He looked up at her, his eyebrows drawn together. “I got my test results back.”
Bea’s stomach churned, and her heart rate accelerated. “What did the doctor say?”
“I have to go in tomorrow to talk about it, but it looks like I may have had a stroke.”
His words sucked the air from Bea’s lungs. Everyone fell silent. After a pause, Bradford spoke first.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad. You’re a fighter.”
Dad offered him a wan smile. “You’re right, of course. And it was a mild one, obviously.”
“We’ll all help,” Bea said, reaching for his hand to squeeze it even as her eyes filled with tears. “Whatever you need. I can’t believe we didn’t know.”
“I had my suspicions. But I seemed to recover, so I thought maybe I was wrong.” Dad ran a hand through his grey hair, standing it on end. “They’re concerned I might have another one, a worse one, so there’ll be medication.”
“That’s good — I mean, that they have something you can take,” Dani said, her voice small.
Dad offered both children a look of confidence. “They’ll take care of it—don’t you worry. I’m going to be just fine.”
But Bea knew his words echoed hollow because his hands were clenched into fists, one around her own. He’d stay strong; she knew him well enough to understand that. But she was afraid. She didn’t want to lose him or for him to suffer long-term health complications. Anxiety fluttered in her chest.
Fourteen
The issue of bills sat heavy on Penny’s mind. Bills to pay. Bills on her desk at home. Bills in her email inbox. Running an animal refuge was expensive, and she still hadn’t heard back about the government grant. She should’ve applied for it months earlier, but she’d been so busy. And now, the process was slow, and she would fall behind on her payments and who knew what might happen? Once again, she cursed her own lack of organisational skills. If only she had someone else to do the things she was terrible at managing.
She turned the wheel of the car, downshifted to go up a rise and then coasted along the downhill slope past a neighbourhood of small, squat homes. Up ahead, a girl played in the dirt on the side of the road. Her long brown unkempt hair gave her away. It was Sam, the little girl who’d helped feed the wombats a few days earlier. She was all alone again, and a little too close to a road for Penny’s comfort.
She pulled over and climbed out. The heat of midmorning was like a slap in the face as she walked through the wispy sea grass and sand to where Sam stood, peering at her like she knew she was in trouble.
“I stayed home sick,” Sam said, her eyes darting from Penny’s face to the ground and back again.
“I hope you feel better soon.” Penny crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s your dad?”
“Work.”
“Who’s taking care of you?”
The girl didn’t answer.
“Where do you live?”
She pointed over her shoulder at the neighbourhood behind them.
“Come on. I’ll take you home and we can call your father.”
She followed Penny to the car and climbed inside. The air-conditioning was a welcome relief. Penny leaned back, eyes closed for a moment to soak it in.
