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Martin eventually emerged from George’s room, deep lines around his eyes.
“How is he?” Christie was the only person left in the waiting room.
“Where is everyone?”
“Thomas took off somewhere. Martha was upset so Elizabeth drove her home. How’s George?”
“Asleep.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He is wired up to all sorts of things, but said he was comfortable. He knew me, knew where he was, so I don’t know what happened earlier.”
“Asking for Frannie?”
“He didn’t mention her again. But he wants to see Thomas.”
“Will the doctor let Thomas go in?”
With a shake of his head, Martin led the way to the elevator. “Not yet, but it doesn’t matter anyway if he’s not here.”
Inside the elevator, Martin pulled Christie into his arms. “You should have gone home, sweetheart. Or back to work.”
“Belinda and Lana have rescheduled a couple of clients. I’ll do an evening later this week.”
After kissing the top of Christie’s head, Martin sighed. “Where’s Thomas?”
“Last seen he was driving in the direction of River’s End.” Christie explained how Thomas drove off, although she’d pleaded with him to wait for Martha. “She’s so hurt, Martin. But once she stopped crying, all I saw was anger in her eyes.”
“They’ll sort it out. Thomas said he needed to do something. He’s probably back at the cottage by now. I’ll call once we’re on the way.”
A few moments later, as Christie drove out of Green Bay, Martin hung up from leaving a voice mail for Thomas. “Tell me what you and Martha have been doing, please.”
“There’s not a lot to tell.” Christie glanced at Martin’s stern expression. “Martha is looking for closure. Finding out how the trunk got to the cottage might help, so she’s been reading Dorothy’s diary—”
“And this was worth George having a heart attack?”
Christie touched the brakes. “Don’t.”
“He’s an old man. Being interrogated—”
“Martin! Nobody did such a thing!” Breathe, Christie. Martin was exhausted. Worried. “We all love George, and the doctor said he hadn’t been taking his medication. It isn’t fair to blame Martha. Or me.”
She drove for a few moments with no response from Martin, and she wasn’t about to argue with him. Or even look at him. They needed to work together to support George, and be there for Thomas and Martha, not make things worse.
Martin’s phone rang. “Thomas? Where are you?” He put it on speaker.
“Almost at River’s End. Coming to the hospital.”
“Well, there’s no point, because the doctor said no more visitors today.”
“But I’ve got something for him.”
“Tomorrow. Have you been at the cabin?”
Christie shot a curious look at Martin. Why would he go there when his best friend was in hospital?
“Where’s Martha? Is she with you?”
“Thomas, Martha went home. She was terribly upset by the way you left.” Christie sped up a little. “You only had to a wait another minute and tell her what you were doing.”
“And she’d have wanted to come with me. It wasn’t her concern and it certainly isn’t yours.”
“Okay, Thomas. There’s been enough upset for one day.” Martin reached across and squeezed Christie’s leg, leaving his hand there. “We’ll meet you at the cottage in a few moments and I’ll update you on George.” He hung up.
“Did you just—”
“No point talking to him on the phone when he’s in a mood.” Martin put his phone in a pocket. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you, Christie. Sorry.”
“I love you.” She smiled at Martin and his own lips flickered up for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back.
When Christie drove down her old road a short while later, he opened them again with a start, then straightened. Outside the cottage, Angus’ black Range Rover was on the grass verge. Christie parked behind it, leaving the driveway for Thomas once he arrived.
Angus was in the lounge room with Martha, Jag sitting at her side. She put her hand on his head as Christie and Martin came in. “He likes me.”
“He does.” Christie patted Jag and crouched beside Martha. “Have you spoken to Thomas yet?”
Martha’s face hardened, only the flash in her eyes giving away deep emotions which Christie knew must be churning inside. “He seems to have better things to do than speak with me.”
“Not true.” Thomas stood at the doorway, holding the shoebox. “Had to go to the cabin.”
Jags ears shot up and he stood, sniffing the air.
“Who’s this?” Thomas’ voice softened. Jag went to him, circled him once, and then leaned against his legs, staring up with an adoring gaze. Thomas scratched behind his ears. “Handsome boy.”
“This is Jag,” Angus said. “Found him the other day and he’s staying with me until Trev finds out if he needs a home.”
Martha pushed herself to her feet. “Whilst I appreciate you all dropping by, I’d like to speak to my husband now. I don’t mean to sound rude.”
“Of course.” Angus got up. “Please update me on George’s progress.” He patted Thomas’ shoulder on the way past. “Coming, Jag?” He headed down the hallway and, after licking Thomas’ hand, the dog followed.
“Are you sure, Auntie?” Christie stood. Martha nodded. Martin held his hand out and she took it. “We’re only a call away. Both of you.” She levelled a look at Thomas but his eyes were on Martha.
***
Martha stared at Thomas until the back door closed. She glanced at the shoebox he still held, curious but overcome with confusing feelings of anger and something else she couldn’t quite identify.
“Do you know how George is?” Thomas finally asked.
“After you drove off like that, I couldn’t even go back upstairs. Christie asked Elizabeth to bring me home because she needed to stay with Martin. Like we should have.”
“I needed to get this.”
“A shoebox, Thomas?”
“It was Frannie’s.”
“You kept this? Even after—”
“After what, Martha?” Thomas took a step toward Martha, who didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her feet were frozen in place.
“Us.”
“Us? This isn’t about us.”
“We married and you kept Frannie’s things. Her mementos? Pictures of you both?” As her voice raised, she saw the warning glint in Thomas’ eyes but ignored it. “You won’t even talk about her. About what happened to make you want to marry her, and now I see this?”
“Stop, Martha. Stop before we both say things we shouldn’t.”
“What? That I ruined everything by running away in the first place? It was all my fault? Or how it took less than a few months for—”
“No more. This isn’t about you.”
Before Martha could say another word, he was gone. Storming out through the front door. She realised what the feeling was from before. It was betrayal.
***
At the gate, Christie, Martin, and Angus talked, the black kelpie standing nearby. They all looked at Thomas as he closed the door in his wake and strode past, clutching the shoebox.
“Thomas?”
“Going for a walk, son.”
“Granddad—”
“Stay out of it.” He didn’t intend to sound abrupt. Martin wasn’t the problem, nor the others, but he wasn’t about to stop for chit-chat. He realised the dog was beside him. Jag. “Go on, back to Angus.”
“I’ll pick him up later,” Angus called from the gate.
“Fine, but don’t expect conversation,” Thomas told Jag, who didn’t appear concerned.
His heart told him to stop, take a few deep breaths, and turn around. He loved Martha beyond life. But his head sent him away. How could she say those things? Did she really believe he’d chosen Frannie over her? Kept this... this box of hers to remember a woman who tricked him into marriage?
At the end of the street, Thomas stopped only long enough to check for traffic, then crossed, Jag still at his side. It was late in the day and the air was finally cooling. He went through the graveyard, winding his way to the stone steps to avoid passing the three gravestones of his family. He paused at the top of the steps to stare at the horizon. Martha misses Ireland. What if she goes back? Jag went on ahead, and he followed.
On the beach, he kicked off his shoes and went to the tideline. Jag had already run to the waves and was chasing them, then running back to Thomas as they swept toward him.
As always, the jetty drew him and as he’d done so many times, for so many years, he trod its creaky old boards to the very end, where he lowered himself, feet dangling. The sea was too low to dip his feet in, but a fresh breeze was welcome. Jag lay at his side, staring down into the water, eyes darting around at the fish below.
“Where do you belong?” Thomas asked him, getting a wag of his tail in response. He took a good look at the dog. Too thin. Needed a few good meals and lots of brushing. But a fine dog, no doubt. Angus said he’d found him. He’d ask where. Another time.
Thomas put the shoebox down. Now it was more than the last of Frannie’s secrets. It was the reason he was sitting here and not with his wife and family. All his suspicions about his friend’s closely kept feelings for Frannie were true. He’d never stopped caring for her. And perhaps something inside this box would mean something.
Bit by bit, the anger and disappointment drained away. The shock of George’s heart attack still coursed through him, but Thomas now recognised it played a large part of his earlier behaviour. Of course Martha would be hurt, him leaving the way he had at the hospital. Soon he’d go and see if he could repair the mess he’d made.
***
He was there. Martha had taken a chance Thomas would go to his special place, their special place, but all the way here she’d second guessed herself. It was almost dusk, just light enough to see the stone steps as she took her time going down them. Her old ankle injury still made the steps a challenge, but nothing would stop her putting things right.
She made it as far as the beach end of the jetty before stopping for a rest. Jag noticed her and trotted over, interested in the picnic basket she’d put down. Thomas wasn’t far behind.
Martha stood as straight as she could, her head high. No matter what he said, she’d stay strong and make sure he understood no disagreement would come between them again. His face was so stern. Have I gone too far? Thomas stopped beside the picnic basket, expression unchanging. Her heart pounded as he leaned down and picked up the basket.
He held out his other hand and she grabbed hold. By the time they reached the far end of the jetty, tears streamed down her face. Once he’d put the basket down, he turned to her, eyes narrowing as he saw her crying so silently.
“I promised you I’d help you learn how to control this temper of yours. Remember, we were up at the lookout and a night bird startled you?”
“Yes. And... and I remember you wanted to elope. We should have, Tom.” A sob escaped her and he found a handkerchief, tenderly dabbing her eyes and cheeks, which only made the tears flow faster.
“If we’d eloped, there’d be no Martin. Nobody to marry Christie. No-one to care for Randall. Well, maybe me.”
The sense of his words cut through the longing for a different past, and she nodded, forcing the tears to slow.
“And before you say it, I was wrong to take off to the cabin without a word but I wasn’t even sure at first where I was going. I knew in the back of my mind there was something I could do to help George, but it wasn’t until I was halfway there I realised why. I’d like to open this with you.” He gestured to the shoebox, on the jetty beside the picnic basket.
“It is private.”
“Secrets only hurt, my darling. No more, not if I can help it.” Thomas wrapped his arms around Martha until she almost couldn’t breathe. His familiar, beloved scent enveloped her and for the first time in hours, she was alive again. “No more raised voices. Okay?” Once she’d nodded, he released her.
Jag sniffed around the basket again.
“I’m thinking we should be opening this first. After all, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”
“And a picnic is your favourite meal of the day?”
“Any meal with you is my favourite.”