Thirty Days: Part One (17 page)

“Why can’t you go? Or one of the other personal assistants?” My fingers press hard into my sudden pulsing temples. Ones that now threaten a killer headache.

“Because we are needed here. Look, you will do fine. I’ll give you a folder with all your duties for the week and the case notes before you leave. You can take tomorrow off to prepare and to look through the documentation. On Sunday afternoon you will catch the flight. Your food and accommodation are paid for and everything you will need is provided. Mr. Klein will meet you on the plane. You will be seated with him and can run through the week’s itinerary.” Jasmine takes a needy breath as hope fills her gaze. Hope that I just do as I’m told, I’m sure.

“Fine,” I scoff.

“Good. Now finish up what you’re doing and then come by my office. Everything you need is there.”

“Right.” The door closes softly before my head drops to the table. “Why me?” I whine.

At the end of the day, I greet Bertha with tired eyes and a massive binder. The drive home is so slow I take micro sleeps at the traffic lights. Mum is home when I finally get through the door, and she looks pleased to see me.

“Abigail, good you’re home. Do you want to come for a walk with me?” She’s dressed in workout gear and sneakers. I’m guessing she wants to go soon rather than later.

“Walking is exercise. I don’t exercise.” I roll my eyes, placing my bag, including the binder, onto the table.

“The fresh air will do you good, petal. We can talk.”

“No, I’m good, Mum. I need sleep.”

“Are you going to at least eat dinner tonight?”

“Pass.”

“You have to eat.” Her expression fills with worry.

Why is Mum worrying so much lately?

“I ate lasagne and salad at work. I’ll nibble later. Sleep is so much more important.”

“If that’s what you want.” She sounds disappointed.

“Mum, I promise I’ll go for a walk tomorrow. Night, Mum.”

She kisses my forehand. “Night, petal.”

My eyes close the moment my head hits the pillow. Drifting into sleep, I think of Marcus and for some reason these thoughts take me into a peaceful dream. The memories that normally haunt me give me some time off as I rest comfortably for the first time in a long time.

Bon Voyage

The last two days I’ve washed, packed, eaten, watched movies, and sulked.

Mum…Sammy, well, everybody thinks it’s great I’m being forced to travel for work. “Time away will be good for you. You’ll be busy and away from this place you so desperately want to leave anyway.”

I strongly disagree, not with the leaving this crap-hole of bad memories, but with the having to work away shit. I mean, it’s not a vacation, people. It’s work. I’ll be spending time with some up himself solicitor with a big stressful case. Real fun.

Sunday goes so slowly, I want to rip my hair out just to pass the time.

“For fuck’s sake! Hurry up so I can get this over with,” I yell in frustration, while watching mindless television, lying across the couch.

“What’s wrong, petal?” Mum calls from the laundry room.

“Nothing, Mum, I’m cursing at the television.”

“Okay.”

Not able to take the boredom a second longer, I leap from the couch and begin ripping through my bedroom wardrobe like a whirlwind with a mission, a mission to locate my sneakers. “When was the last time I wore them?”

Shifting boxes from inside the wardrobe into the middle of the room, I finally locate them in a shoe box, which is right at the back of the cupboard. Of course it’s in the farthest corner. “Shit! They still look brand new.” I’m shocked at their lack of scuff marks upon opening the box.
That’s probably because they are still new, Abi
. I bought the shoes a week before my life became a bigger mess than it already was. Determined at the time to get fit, an entire wardrobe full of gym gear was charged to my credit card. A debt I’m still paying off.

Squeezing my body into a pair of yoga pants and a tight singlet takes way too much effort. Enough to think a walk now is not necessary.

“Fuck it!” I huff, stomping through the door. Fresh air will do me good, hopefully.

It is as hot as shit outside, and this was one hundred percent a stupid idea. My feet, however, without my consent, continue to stride along the never-ending footpath as I break into a full sweat. Something about each foot landing and then breaking contact brings clarity. The sound of cars cruising by and the world moving at a similar pace helps to settle my nerves.

“Sydney will be fun,” I tell myself between long puffs.
Life goes on, right?

The streets look the same as I make my return journey.

“At least I didn’t get lost, yay me.” I applaud, entering the gate, exhausted and smelly. But then I see Mum waiting by the door that is flung wide open.

“Where have you been?”
She’s pissed.

“Went for a walk?” I push past her and head for the kitchen.

Irritated mother is hot on my heels. “In the middle of the day?”

“Apparently.”

“Did you take any water with you?”

“Nope.”

“Abigail!”

“What? I’m a big girl, Mummy.” I giggle before gulping from a cold bottle of water.

As I turn to face her, she exaggerates an eye roll.

“Go shower. Lunch is almost ready.”

“What did you make?”

“Egg, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.” As soon as she says it, thoughts of Marcus pop back into my head. Leyton’s and my attempted disappearing act play like a television show.

“I’m going for a shower. I’ll be out soon.”

“Next time tell me you’re going out.”

I shake my head as distance falls between us. “Whatever, Mum.”

***

The afternoon flies by, thankfully. Before long, Mum is driving us to Maroochydore for my flight out. A week away from the Coast will probably do me good. Mum definitely needs a break from me, and I could use some space as well.

“Did you get everything?”

“Well, hopefully. It’s a bit late now, if I didn’t.”

“True.” She smirks. “So what do you know about this solicitor you’ll be working for?”

“Absolutely nothing. I’ll meet him for the first time on the plane. Apparently, he was in meetings all afternoon Thursday, so I didn’t have an opportunity then. Asher says he’s nice, a little smug at times, but he’ll treat me well. So that’s something. Maybe he will be like a father figure. That would be refreshing.”

“You miss your dad, don’t you?”

“Every day.” I sigh.

“Me too, petal, me too.” Instant sadness crosses her face.

The silence resumes. It’s a welcome quiet because I’m guessing this week will be crazy as shit.

“Have a good time, petal. Answer my calls and don’t drink alcohol. No alcohol,” she scolds as we pull up outside the departure doors.

“Almost twenty-five—big girl—capable of taking care of myself,” I reply slowly and clearly upon exiting the car.

“Well, prove it.”

“Mum, it will be fine. Stop.”

She smiles sweetly. “Love you, Abigail.”

“Heart you, too, Mum.”

There’s a quick wave goodbye before I’m standing alone just outside the doors. Mum did offer to wait with me, but let’s face it, I’m not bloody twelve. It’s funny, though, because I know I’m going to miss her while I’m away and she’ll miss me, too. I guess since Dad passed, I’m the only one she has left, and she’s a natural born carer, so amplifying her love for me is probably how she copes.

Entering the airport, I head straight for a little coffee shop and purchase a bottle of juice. Today’s newspaper gets my attention with the headline, ‘Bad luck for Jessy-Mae.’ I grab a copy, needing to know how unlucky this Jessy-Mae is and if we are secretly soul sisters. My mobile begins vibrating in my jeans pocket just as I take a seat in the check-in area.

“Hey, babe, you ready for your big week away?” Sammy asks excitedly.

“I’m only going to Sydney, for starters. It’s not like I’m backpacking through Europe. Do you people realise that this is for work?”

She doesn’t reply.

“No, Ginger, I’m not excited.”

“Come on, it will be fun. You’ll learn heaps, meet new people, and eat great food. Just enjoy it, will you?” Her encouragement is so annoying.

“I love how you look at things, which are not great, and try and make them pleasurable.”

“You’ll see. It will be fun, so stop being so sarcastic.”

“Sure, if blistered feet, extra sore legs, dehydration, and being bossed around nonstop is your definition of fun?”

“You’re a negative Nancy, aren’t you?”

“I prefer realistic Rachael.”

She laughs. “Okay, Dorothy, don’t forget to call and I’ll be picking you up when you land next Sunday at seven p.m. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yep, hopefully we’ll get home earlier, though. I’ve been informed I have Monday and Tuesday off next week. If you can swing it, we could spend some time together?”

“I’ll get onto that. Have a safe flight. I have to go.”

“Righto.”

“Dorothy?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Ditto.”

With that, the line goes dead. I resume reading the latest news in the paper lying across my lap. I can’t remember the last time I read a newspaper. This will either be Depressionville or eye-opening.

Enthralled in a story about a woman who saved a toddler at a local swimming pool, I get a sense someone is watching me. Allowing the pages to slip below my sight, I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

His reaction tells me he knows I’m not pleased. I think I made that pretty obvious. “Catching a plane,” he replies snidely.

“Where?” My voice is full of accusation.

“Sydney, and you?”

“Sydney.”

His Hollywood smile beams at me, yet I’m too upset to let it distract me from my planned interrogation.

“I thought you were sick?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Well, you don’t look sick now.” He actually looks amazing. Dark jeans, navy polo shirt, messy hair.
Fuckable!

“I’m fine.” He folds out the pages of a newspaper he had placed on his lap, lifting it high enough that I can no longer see him.

I clear my throat. “Excuse me, Marcus.”

He begins lowering it again, and I notice the corner of his mouth is curled as it passes his mouth.

Why is he smiling?

“Yes, Abigail?”

My name from his lips and those alluring dark eyes staring at me make my legs cross. “Why are you going to Sydney?”

“Is it hot in here?” he retorts, still smiling.

Oh God, no.
“Not at all.”

“You’re flushed.”

My lip finds its way between my teeth.

His smile disappears and hunger fills his eyes.

Oh God, please don’t be going there for work. I can’t be around this man or my panties will never stay on.
Talk, Abigail.
“Why are you going to Sydney?” I repeat with a sudden chalky mouth.

“For work?”

What the actual fuck.
“Oh.”

“Are you disappointed that you have to go?”

“Confused that I’m even needed now that you’re here.”

“Why?”

“I thought I was the only one going.”

“I’m pretty sure they needed me.” The way he says that rings strangely, but I dismiss it.

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay, I’ll leave you alone. Look, I’m sorry you got so upset the other night. Nothing will happen between us. I got your message loud and clear.” Sudden sadness washes over his expression.

“Okay.”
Why do those words cut like glass through my heart?

I’m so uncomfortable being in his presence, space is urgently needed between us. Standing, I place the strap of my carry-on over my shoulder, adjust my low-rider jeans, and inspect my white top for any stains, since spilling liquids on myself is another talent I seem to possess.
All good.
Pulling my suitcase behind me, the waiting area is now at my rear.