From Here to There

FROM HERE

TO THERE

K L GRIFFIN

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147

Hazelbrook NSW 2779

indiemosh.com.au

Copyright 2017 © K L Griffin

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

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Disclaimer

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

To my husband,

for his never ending patience and support.

This book would have not been completed without you.

Chapter One

Eva

~ The Calm Before the Storm ~

Through my ear buds, the radio announcer cheerily informed me – most likely from his air-conditioned studio, I noted remorsefully – that today was the third day of the heatwave. Summer was upon us early. The air was sticky; a bead of sweat trickled down my neck. To combat the heat, I was putting my hair up into a messy bun as I looked out the kitchen window. A faint haze had settled on the ground from a distant bushfire.

My ears pricked as I heard the truck hit the cattle grid at the exit of the driveway. I had to pause in my preening for a moment. Was I expecting a delivery to the cafe? How did I not hear them coming up the driveway? I blushed as I remembered I’d put my headphones in to listen to the music.

I leaned across the kitchen sink to see out the window. It was then I spotted the problem. A grand reveal, if you will, waiting for me to see what I didn’t hear over the radio and the constant lurching hum of the fans in the cafe.

‘No, no, no!’ I whispered loudly under my breath as I pushed open the heavy patio door and bolted out into the carpark. I stopped quickly, my feet pushing the gravel up into small mounds at the tips of my shoes. My eyes darted everywhere. I didn’t know where to start.

Deep breaths, Eva, I reminded myself, just in case I was seeing things. I didn’t order these. Where have they come from? Why do I have, (I did a quick count of the delivery under my breath, and again for good measure), hundreds of potted waratah seedlings filling up the carpark?

My apron vibrated, alerting me to a call in my pockets. I put my panic attack on hold as I fished the phone out.

‘Hello?’ I queried, seeing the number came up as ‘Caller ID Blocked’.

A burst of a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time pierced through the phone. ‘Hey! Eva, it’s me. Just letting you know I’m coming home. I’ll be there in about an hour or so.’

‘What, what? Hold on – you’re coming home?’ I spluttered.

‘Yea! Isn’t that great? I’ll talk to you soon! Much love!’

She hung up on me. The prodigal sister, Mae, was coming home. I ran my hands through my hair and looked up to the sky. Was someone up there pulling some strings to make things harder today? What next? I needed to chill. First things first: the seedlings. I’d have to deal with Mae later.

‘Isn’t this great?’ Dad said as he came up behind me, beaming with pride. I should have known he was the culprit – his face said it all. He was over the moon about his purchase. I was close to hyperventilating, I had to bend down for a moment and try to rein in my emotions. Dad was oblivious to my panic attack and continued to ramble on about how wonderful the waratahs were. ‘This is going to be the season’s bestseller, you just watch.’

This season’s bestseller? We were in summer. No one plants in summer – it’s too hot. The plants hate it, and with the heatwave and lack of rain in recent months, we were on water restrictions. No one would be standing outside to water their waratahs to keep them alive. Dad had spoken with such conviction, though, that a beginner gardener would have taken his statement as gospel.

I was still speechless and doubled over. I put my hands on my head and tried to comprehend all this. Were these plants still ‘in’ these days? Our biggest sellers were the two dollar potted plants people could throw out when they died. Succulents were in. Hard to kill. Those went fine without weeks of watering. Dad didn’t seem fazed by my lack of words. He was bouncing with excitement as if he’d received the best Christmas present in a long time.

‘I’m off to get a coffee. Coming?’ He patted my shoulder and walked towards the cafe, jolting me out of my panic attack.

I needed to be switched on for Dad. I forced myself to put the seedlings and Mae’s imminent arrival to the back of my mind. I’d figure them out when Dad was all settled again. He’d done enough damage this morning and I didn’t plan on letting him loose in the kitchen.

‘Sure, Dad,’ I croaked, clearing my throat. ‘Let me make it, okay?’ He nodded and I took his arm at the crook of his elbow.

I wanted to kill Lisa. Speaking of Lisa, I checked around the nursery trying to spot her. If she was out here, she was hiding well. I let out a string of curses under my breath while Dad hummed out a tune.

I’d hired her to keep a close eye on Dad while I managed the day-to-day running of the cafe. All she had to do was make sure he didn’t give plants away for nothing and stop him from ordering things. How hard was that? It was supposed to be the easiest job in the world. I blamed the smartphone she’d received as a gift from her grandkids. I remembered the day she came in, gushing about her new phone. ‘And you can video call whoever you want! Can you believe how far technology has come? I’ve had to make sure I’m dressed perfectly in case they call.’ This came out of the mouth of previously proud technophobe Lisa. I’d specifically sought out someone closer to Dad’s age than mine, partly because I expected they’d be wiser, more settled and mature. But in Lisa’s case, since getting her new smartphone a few weeks ago, it was like she’d reverted back to being a teenager – giddy and distracted every time a call came in. And loud. Really loud. She’d walk around chatting on her phone in the nursery garden, loud enough for the conversation to carry to the kitchen window. For example, I now knew that her best friend, Glenda, was experiencing menopause and loving every minute of her hot flushes. I gritted my teeth and tried to tune out when I heard that. At first, I thought it was a phase, a new toy, and that she’d be over it in a few days. Overwhelmed by the complexity of it, it would disappear deep into her handbag. I’d been proven wrong.

I wished Mum was still around. Mum and Dad had started up a cafe-slash-garden shop long before we were around, naming the place ‘Eats and Leaves’. It was something they loved dearly. Mum would have had this disastrous morning sorted out and forgotten before the lunchtime rush. Eight years of looking after Dad, and I still couldn’t get used to being the parent to my own parent. It wasn’t Dad’s fault, or mine. It wasn’t anyone’s, really.

Mae was sixteen, me, twenty years old. I was living it up in the city, enjoying my creative arts degree. I barely came home. I remember the day Dad told us. I’m not sure why he picked Father’s Day to do it. Possibly because it was the only time he got us together long enough. I tried to keep to the city, distancing myself from home. Home was full of sad memories. I wanted a new life. One that didn’t make me feel guilty all the time.

‘I have dementia.’

He said it so clearly. Right after we finished our lunch. We couldn’t have missed that sentence. We stood there, stunned. Dad just looked, final. Can someone look final? You know, I felt like that moment in my mind was the last time I saw Dad as ‘Dad’. From then on he deteriorated from ‘Dad with a sometimes forgetful memory’ to ‘Dad with the memory of a fish’ in the space of eight years. It had been slow, but progressive.

He wanted me to come home, help look after Mae. Much to her protest she that could look after herself just fine, I nodded, knowing I didn’t have a choice. He needed us. He needed me. It wouldn’t make up for my past mistakes, but it didn’t matter – I had to try.

I settled Dad down in his favourite corner of the cafe. It nestled between two bi-fold windows I’d added some years ago to try and open up the space some more. The left side looked over the bushland while the right looked over the garden nursery. His newspaper was already laid out for him. I tried to keep his routine as predictable as possible: newspaper and coffee with a bowl of muesli and a jug of milk, which I’d bring out with the coffee. The less change in routine for Dad, the better.

‘Oi! What’s this?’ He pointed down to the bowl of muesli in front of him.

‘Your breakfast, Dad.’

‘I’m not eating this,’ he bristled.

‘Yes, you are. It’s good for you.’

He shook his head petulantly. ‘I ordered bacon and eggs.’

I sighed and sat down in the chair opposite him. Here we go again. I plastered on my best poker face. ‘We’re out of bacon and eggs. That’s all I’ve got.’

‘What kind of place are you running? Where’s your Grace? She always has bacon and eggs aside for me.’

I bit the inside of my cheek. ‘Mum, I mean Grace, is out today, Dad.’ I know I could have told him Mum was gone. She’d been gone for fifteen years. It didn’t do any good to tell Dad this when he was in one of his moments. It would just upset him more. Then we’d be comforting him again until he forgot what just happened.

‘What are you talking about, Evie? Your mother has been dead for fifteen years. And it’s Mum to you, not Grace. Be nice to Mum.’ He gave me the trademark pointed look over his half-moon spectacles that he delivered whenever I was in trouble.

I blinked and nodded. I couldn’t get used to the whiplash of his train of thoughts. He was lucid. Then he wasn’t. Then he was. It was disconcerting at times.

‘Of course, Dad. Silly me!’ I patted his hand. ‘I’ll bring the milk over in a minute with the coffee.’

He bobbed his head, seemingly having accepted the breakfast I’d given him. I was quick to get the coffee and milk over to him before he could forget what had just transpired between us.

In the midst of looking after Dad and the seedling drama, the morning rush disappeared out the door. Some of the long term staff knew to take over any duties I hadn’t had a chance to finish. I could see Sarah in the kitchen finishing off the prep I’d started. Grateful, I decided to take a chance and have a coffee before everyone came in for lunch.

I placed the two coffees on the table. Dad gave a distasteful look to the milk I poured into his bowl before ignoring it. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Sometimes, it was not worth the fight.

I sat back down and was met with a horrible scraping noise on the floor as I pulled the chair in. I winced and looked down at the damage. The floor protector must have come off. A long, thin, pale line sat in contrast against the dark red timber floors. The third time this month. I knew I’d used up the last of the floor protectors. I hadn’t been bothered to duck into the hardware store and get more. Pulling out my phone I went to add it to my list, only to see it was already there with several exclamation marks next to it. Did I have time to go to the hardware store today? Maybe, if I could track down the supplier for the waratahs. I wished I’d made note of the name on the truck before it disappeared out the driveway.

‘Dad, who did you use to order the plants?’

‘What plants?’

‘The waratah seedlings; the ones in the carpark.’

‘I didn’t order those.’

My lips turned into a thin line as I raised my hands in defeat. This was hopeless. I was sure the paper was somewhere at the register in the garden shed. And there was something else I needed to do, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

That’s when the ominous feeling came back. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. In the midst of all the drama: Mae. Finishing up my coffee quickly, I left Dad to finish his breakfast. The ball of stress in my stomach was growing by the minute. Does the cafe look okay? I started to see things that could be fixed, should have been fixed, ages ago: the flaking paint on the walls, the chairs which needed replacing – some too creaky, some needing their rattan backs replaced. Tables were not as level as they could have been. Cardboard under the feet wasn’t going to cut it.

I spotted fingerprints on the tables, too. How does no one see them? I dashed over to wipe them away, glancing at the clock. She’d be here soon. Mae was going to comment on things like this. I knew it. She couldn’t help it, was in her nature to find a fault in everything I did. I heard a customer open the sliding door of our patio – it squeaked with protest at being opened. I need to oil the door. Banging emitted from the kitchen. Someone must be trying to get the dishwasher to become unstuck. The list was growing, the stress ball was growing just as fast, and time was getting short.

I shook my hands hoping to expel the stress out. It all just ended up feeling like my fingers had the weight of the world at the ends of them. I kept my head down as I walked into the kitchen.

The kitchen didn’t look too bad. Most of the food had been put back into the fridge. Washing up needed to be done, though. On my second glance, I swore things turned up I hadn’t seen the first time. Flecks of carrots on the prepping counter, a waylaid lettuce leaf, and … Is that mouse poop on the floor? No, just dirt. Calm down, Eva. Deep breaths. You’re overreacting. It’s your sister who’s coming home. Not the Queen of England.

I loved my sister, Mae. I did, but she rubbed me the wrong way. Especially the way she just left me to look after Dad on my own. There was no discussion, no goodbye. Just a text message: Melbourne’s calling. I’ll be back soon as I can. xoxo

At first, I thought she just needed a break from the intensity of Dad’s dementia. It wasn’t bad initially. A couple of forgets here and there, but we’d agreed we’d take turns keeping an eye on him. Now? Now Dad needed someone with him all the time. Could I blame Mae for leaving me to look after our increasingly stubborn, forgetful Dad? After all, she was only eighteen when she left to see the world. Why would she want to look after a parent who didn’t know who he was some days?

I don’t think she ever regretted leaving us. Her phone calls, emails, showed no hint of remorse. I hated to say the first thing I felt was towards her was envy. She got to leave. Right after envy, I felt guilt. What kind of child doesn’t want to repay their parents with kindness by looking after them, in return for the care they gave them all those years growing up?

All this thinking of Mae was getting me riled up. I grabbed the spray bottle and started wiping down the benches. I spotted Anna’s bag on the end of the prep counter. For the love of all that is holy …

‘Anna! Your bag!’ She knew exactly what I was talking about. Prepping counters were not a dumping ground for bags. We had space under the front counter for that. She paused in frothing the milk, letting Joel, the lanky waiter, take over while she took her bag off the counter.

Rather than resume her duties, she pulled out a badly folded A4 sheet of paper and held it between her fingers. Part of me wanted to smooth the lines out, fold it up neater. I shook my head. I can’t tell people how to fold pieces of paper! Cool air lingered from the paper as she fanned it near my face, trying to get my attention. My resolve was starting to weaken. She could stand here all day and fan me if she wanted. I could think better when I was cool, not hot. It was far more effective than those fans we had out in the dining area. Even though they barely made a dent in cooling down the place, customers complained when they were off.

‘This is for you,’ she sang, excitement rolling off her.

Determined not to be swayed, I stood my ground. ‘Put it with the other mail over there.’ I gestured in the direction of my mail and bills folder.

‘I think you’d like to read it now.’

I let out a frustrated sigh, glaring at her. I tossed the cloth onto the counter and took the paper from her hand. Knowing Anna, she would have pestered me until I did anyway. Do this now, and she’d leave me alone sooner. Her face gleamed with excitement. ‘Open it, go on!’

I supposed this meant I could refold it back nicely. Unfolding it, I looked over the words. It was an email from an art gallery. I had to read it several times. It was as if I was reading some foreign language I didn’t understand. Who was this Henry? What was this about an art gallery? Why did they want to showcase my work? I hadn’t picked up a brush in years. Instinctively, my eyes searched for the studio beyond the patio doors. I’d let the ivy grow over it. Now that I stared at it, I could see some browning of the leaves around the door frame. Anna must have broken in at some point in the last few weeks without my knowledge. I bit my tongue. How dare she? Inside the studio sat my artworks. Forgotten, and rightly so. I didn’t have the time or luxury to waste on smearing paint onto a canvas. It was an unrealistic dream. I was sorry that it took a year before I realised I couldn’t maintain university, Dad and relationships as well as making art in my non-existent free time. Dad needed me in those times. He needed me 24/7. I leaned heavily on the kitchen table, re-reading the words on the paper again, a headache forming fast.

Ms Everton,

Thank you for your recent enquiry in showcasing your work at our gallery. We’re impressed with the sample of the images you sent with the last email. If you could contact us at your earliest convenience to arrange an appointment …

With my best restraint, I spoke slowly. ‘Anna, what is this? I didn’t send this.’

‘Duh! I did.’ Anna looked pleased with this. I was aghast. Who was this person in front of me? Why was Anna pushing me to do something she knew without a doubt I couldn’t do? I loved doing art. But I hadn’t picked up the paint brush in years. There was just no time for it.

She gripped me by the hands. ‘You need this. You were so close to finishing up your degree, so you could open up your gallery, you remember? The plans you made? I think if you did an hour or two of painting, or just something for yourself, you wouldn’t feel so stressed, or resentful about everything.’

I couldn’t process all this. It had to be the heat. I must be having a heatstroke. I rested my head on the cool metal counter. Coupled with Dad, and Mae, my mind had to be dreaming up vivid scenarios where everything hit me at once. I was completely delusional. I’ve lost the plot. I should have taken that weekend break Anna suggested months ago.

‘You’re not hallucinating.’ Anna nudged my arm.

I shot her a baleful look. ‘I am not Mae. I am not going to go waltzing off and forget I have a family and responsibilities here. Plus, do you not realise I can’t just pick up a brush and weave something in 10 minutes? It takes time, weeks, months!’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh on Mae,’ Anna stressed, ignoring my latter sentence. ‘You literally shoved her out the door.’

It was not how I recalled it, but okay. I decided to see where Anna was going with this. ‘No, I didn’t. I expected her to be able to make the right decision. It’s a shame she was blinded by Peter and his money.’

‘You’re mad she did what you couldn’t do: walk out that door and accept that your Dad needed more than just her.’

Since when did my best friend side with Mae? ‘No, I’m glad she left. It made things easier. For once, we had a routine. You know how Dad needs routine to keep things easy for him. Plus, it was exhausting listening to that blonde airhead. Did you know she ordered an alternative medicinal kit for Dad? She touted it as if it was going to cure him. And you know what was in it? Just vitamin B. And a couple of random herbs in a pill.’

If Anna wanted to say something then she couldn’t because I’d just been tackled by a loud, squealing, blonde airhead.

‘Eva! Oh. My. God. It has been so long since I’ve seen you!’ Mae pulled back to take in all of me. She struggled to compose her next sentence. ‘You’ve changed so … much!’

I looked down on myself. I couldn’t help feel insecure by her words. Mae was radiant, as if she’d stepped right off a TV commercial. Her long flowing locks curled up at the chest. Her outfit was ostentatious. If she was trying to draw attention to herself she was succeeding. She’d chosen something you’d wear in winter: orange leggings, black boots and a knee length jacket. It was nearly mid thirties in temp here. How was she not melting? She slipped an oversized white handbag off her shoulder and promptly placed it on the prepping counter, the very act I’d just told Anna off for. My eyes were starting to twitch. If Mae noticed she didn’t comment, but she looked at me, waiting for me to speak. I didn’t know what to say. For the second time today, I’d been rendered speechless.

‘Seven years, Mae. Your call this morning was out of the blue. How long are you staying?’ I asked as casually as I could. I failed miserably. While the words were meant to be light and friendly, my voice refused to disguise my emotions and came out cold and hard.

Mae laughed, ‘We’ll worry about those details later!’ She moved quickly towards Anna to envelop her into a hug. I studied her appearance as she chatted to Anna. My sister barely resembled the girl I remembered last seeing. She didn’t look worn down or stressed. I worried about her arrival here impacting on Dad. Okay, that was such a lie. I wasn’t worried about Dad. I was worried about what her being here meant. Dad and I had been doing just fine without her.

Dad sauntered into the room, his footsteps faltering when he saw her. A wide smile broke across his face and he stretched his arms out wide, gesturing to her to come closer.

‘Dad! Look at you! You look amazing! Not a day older than twenty.’

I snorted. So he got a compliment, yet Mae couldn’t muster one up for me? I couldn’t believe he remembered her. It’d been seven long years. He wasn’t the same person he was when she left. It broke him. He didn’t show it, but without a doubt, I knew it hurt. He was subdued for weeks. Eventually, she was never mentioned again.

‘So, who’s taking me up to the house? Looks like Dad’s busy with some customers.’ She looked at me expectantly; I hadn’t noticed the world move on while I stood there.

I blinked, then laughed nervously. ‘Things are a little busy here,’ I said, gesturing to the nearly empty cafe. Dammit, where is everyone? Why couldn’t it have been packed when she came in? The lunch rush usually starts about now. ‘You know where the house is, and your bedroom is still where it is.’ Keep digging that hole, Eva.

If Mae was upset by my comments, she chose not to show it. ‘Of course! Not a problem. See you later!’ She blew some air kisses. I nodded awkwardly, not returning her affection.

I picked up the cloth and spray and started cleaning the prepping bench for the second time. Resolute in pretending I was really quite busy with work, a shiny bright circle appeared on the bench. I’d been cleaning the spot too long. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I heard her farewell Anna, her sharp heels clicking away on the floor. I shifted a sideway glance, watching her retreating back. Anna’s frame came into view, forcing me to look up.

‘What is wrong with you?’ She slapped my shoulder. ‘You could have been nicer.’

‘Nothing. I’m busy.’ I moved towards the kitchen exit in search of customers to serve. Anna was really getting on my nerves today. She was far more meddling than she usually was. The day was surreal. And it wasn’t even nice surreal. Nothing made sense.

I kept my head down and tried to focus on the lunch rush which, naturally, appeared right after Mae left. The humidity of the day cranked up threefold. People came in droves seeking relief from the hot sun. Joel was quick to disappear as soon as the clock struck 1 pm indicating his shift was over. I suspected I wouldn’t be seeing