‘You climb into bed and I’ll bring in some food,’ Willow says.
I walk through the house and straight to her bedroom. Willow’s room is large with a queen bed that we share. My parents are strict, but they let me stay here whenever I want, and Willow is always welcome at our house.
I realise that I’m still thinking of Mum in the present tense. It doesn’t feel real that she’s gone. I have to keep reminding myself it happened, that it wasn’t a nightmare. She is actually gone.
Willow comes in with a cheese toastie and hot Milo. This is my favourite comfort food at Willow’s place. I love that meals don’t focus on protein here. I can eat whatever I want regardless of carbs and fats. They even have a jar in their pantry full of mixed lollies that I dive into whenever I’m over.
I take off my watch and put it on the bedside table next to a photo frame resting facedown. I pick it up. It’s a photo of Willow and Sam. I’d forgotten she was going to break up with him. I haven’t even asked her about it.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘How’d it go?’
Willow glances at the picture. ‘Oh, it’s done. We’re both sad. Him more than me, though, and I feel awful about that – but please, this doesn’t even rate compared to what’s happened to you in the past twenty-four hours. I mean, everything seems like a big deal until something really important happens. Then it’s put into perspective.’
Something about what Willow just said doesn’t feel right. ‘You can’t be like that,’ I say. ‘It is important. How you feel is important to me. I’m sad about you and Sam too.’
Willow’s eyes well up. She shakes her head. ‘There are too many sad things right now.’
I take off my jeans, climb into bed and pull up the covers. Willow climbs in too and lies on her side to face me.
‘I’ll stay here until you go to sleep,’ she says. ‘If I’m not here when you wake up I’ll be in the house somewhere.’
‘I’m not scared,’ I say, but it’s a lie. I’m terrified. I’m scared to think about what my life is now, to figure out who I am, to live without Mum. I’m scared of what life will be like with Dad, my uncle. What is he to me now? I’m scared of being without him, of being an orphan. Most of all I’m scared of being Kennedy Jane when I was happy being Beth Miller. As much as I want to push Kennedy away and stay Beth, I feel compelled to search for my truth. I feel compelled to be her.
‘Really?’ Willow’s eyes widen. ‘Aren’t you worried that that guy is still out there somewhere?’
‘I probably should be, but I don’t feel threatened this very minute. There’s just so much else to think about.’
Willow’s eyes well up again. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum.’ Tears stream down her face. ‘Lucy was like a second mum to me. I’m going to miss her so much.’
I nod and roll onto my back to stare at the ceiling. A numbness fills my chest, making me feel strange and detached inside.
‘Dad’s not my real dad.’
‘What?’ Willow dabs at her eyes.
I turn to her. ‘Bear’s my uncle.’
Willow stares at me.
‘My biological father was killed during the police operation that put us into witness protection. Dad placed himself with Mum to help raise me because it was his brother’s dying wish.’
Willow is silent for a while.
‘Sorry … It’s just …’ She brings her hand to her head, spreads her fingers and makes an explosion noise. ‘Mind. Blown.’
‘Mmm, mine too.’
‘I don’t even know what to say.’
‘Me neither.’ I turn my gaze back to the ceiling. ‘I’m going to be Kennedy,’ I say.
‘Won’t that be weird?’
‘Totally,’ I say.
Willow exhales a laugh. I laugh too. It’s a short but welcome relief.
‘Kennedy Jane,’ Willow says. ‘I like it. You could be a stunt woman with that name.’
‘What if you don’t like her?’ I ask.
‘Well, if she says mean things or kicks puppies I won’t like her. But if she’s anything like Beth Miller, I think I’ll like her just fine.’
I laugh again.
‘But seriously,’ Willow says. ‘How will Kennedy Jane be different to Elizabeth Miller?’
I don’t answer. I need to hold that question up to the light and examine it myself. Will she be different? And if so, how and why?
‘I’m not the same person I was yesterday,’ I whisper.
‘Yeah, but even if you were still Beth you wouldn’t be the same person you were yesterday.’
‘True,’ I say. ‘It hurts my brain thinking about it.’
I close my eyes and it feels so good I leave them closed. The darkness seeps into my brain and eventually I sleep.
When I wake it’s dark. For a moment I’m confused and then I realise where I am and why. Everything rushes back and just about winds me.
Mum is gone. My tears rise up and flow out of me like rivers. I yearn for her, for Jonah and for Dad too … I yearn for them and yet I hate them. All of them. I yearn for my life two days ago. Ignorance was bliss. But now I know the truth and I’m shattered. I blame them. Mum and Dad, even Jonah. I try not to, but deep inside I resent him for the part he played in us being found. It’s a bitter pill.
But we can’t turn back time. We can’t fix these mistakes. It’s final, etched in stone. The damage can’t be undone. My heart pounds in protest and frustration, in rage. Sobs rise inside me and release but the pressure doesn’t change. My pain is all consuming: physical, mental, emotional. How will I do this? How do I go on with this raging inside me?
The darkness folds around me and I’m thankful for it. The soft, rhythmic sound of Willow breathing in bed beside me brings me some comfort. She’s always there, as sure and as constant as the sun rising.
I roll my shoulders, trying to open my lungs. I hate the restriction I’m feeling, the tightness in my chest that has moved in like bad weather refusing to lift. Willow rolls onto her side. Her breathing is no longer slow and deep. I stay still, hoping I don’t wake her.
‘Kennedy, are you awake?’
My stomach lurches at the sound of that name. My real name. It’s the first time I’ve been called by it.
‘Yeah,’ I whisper.
‘Do I really call you that? It feels so weird.’
‘So weird.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Can I help?’
‘You are just by being here.’
‘Always,’ Willow says.
‘Are you okay about Sam?’ It’s obvious I’m diverting the conversation away from myself, but Willow allows it.
‘I think I feel relieved. He’s really nice and a lot of fun, but something was missing. That magic you and Jonah have … When I saw that I realised Sam and I didn’t have it.’
I close my eyes at hearing Jonah’s name. I’m not sure I can be with him anymore. Not without being reminded of Mum getting shot, of being trapped in the bunker, of kicking through freezing water – my lungs burning, panic rising. Of Mum dying. Of us being found. Our relationship feels heavy and water-logged – dysfunctional, like the bunker. I try to remember him before this, to remember us, that magic. It comes to me in patches – disjointed visions and feelings. The tingling of my lips after a kiss, the laughter, my heart racing at his touch, my breathlessness when our eyes met …
‘What did you see exactly?’ I ask.
Willow laughs. ‘It was written all over you. The way you said his name, how your lips curled up at the corners when he was near, the flush in your cheeks … that last kiss you gave him. I’ve never kissed Sam like that. Sam’s never kissed me like that. I’m sorry to break it to you, but your magic is as blatant as the moon is bright.’
‘Is there anyone else? Someone you think about?’
Willow pauses. ‘Mmm …’ she says, like she’s thinking.
‘I know who it is,’ I say, to put her out of her misery.
‘You do?’
‘Of course. Warra. It’s so obvious. He’s got it for you too.’
‘I think I’ve always had a crush on him.’ Willow sighs. ‘Oh my God, those eyes.’
We both giggle and then fall quiet for a moment. ‘I’m not sure I can be with Jonah now,’ I say, my voice breaking. ‘After everything that’s happened.’
‘Why?’ asks Willow, shuffling over to me. ‘What’s changed?’
‘I think I blame him.’
‘For what?’
‘Everything,’ I say.
Willow pauses. I can tell she’s thinking of how to say she disagrees with me.
‘You don’t have to agree,’ I say. ‘Please treat me the same as you did before Mum died. You can say whatever.’
‘I know about the Instagram photo, but how was he to know?’
‘I’m not saying he did anything on purpose, but the result was the same. He’s the reason we were found.’
‘Yeah, and your parents were the reason you were hiding.’
‘I blame them too,’ I say.
‘What should they have done differently?’
‘They should have told me.’
‘And what would you have done?’
This questions burns in my chest like indigestion. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. More tears flood my face.
Willow puts her arm around me. ‘It’s going to be hell for a while, but you’re going to get through this. You’re going to be okay.’
I cry on Willow’s shoulder until my tears run dry and my throat is raspy.
We lie in bed together until it’s light outside. It’s Saturday and Willow’s house is bustling with kids getting ready for sport. The mower roars on the front lawn and I can hear Willow’s mum, Jodie, yelling at the younger kids about losing their shoes. I love the commotion of Willow’s house. The chaos is warm and familiar.
Jodie knocks on the door and enters our room.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘I’m about to head out but just wanted to check in to see how you’re doing?’
‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘Thanks, Jodie.’
‘She’s not,’ says Willow.
Jodie sits on the side of the bed and squeezes my hand. ‘Well, with what you’ve been through I’m not surprised. You’re welcome to stay here whenever, your dad too. He’ll be over soon to pick you up.’
‘Thanks, Jodie,’ I say. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Well, I mean it.’ She looks at Willow. ‘Dad’s around all day today. I don’t want you home on your own either with that maniac still on the loose. Bear says they think he’s made a run for it, but they’re not taking any chances just yet.’
It suddenly hits me what it means for Willow’s family to have me here. I’m putting them all at risk. As soon as Jodie goes I sit up. It’s time for me to face the day. I should go, and not come back here until Carlos is captured.
‘You don’t have to get up. You don’t have to do anything,’ Willow says.
I pull on my jeans. ‘If I don’t force myself to move I’ll spend the rest of my life in here,’ I joke.
My head aches from crying. I need to go home, but when I think about going there I feel sick.
‘I wonder where Dad is,’ I say.
‘Mum said he’s been working with the police,’ Willow says. ‘He’s got his mobile phone back now. Yours is waiting to be picked up. Someone rang and left a message.’
We move to the kitchen. Willow puts on the kettle and drops four slices of bread into the toaster. While she finds condiments, I peer out the window and see my two guards in a black sedan out the front.
Willow’s dad, Frank, comes in from outside. He’s kicked his boots off, but his sock guards are covered in grass that’s dropping onto the floor as he walks into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Beth.’ He pats me on the shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum.’
‘Thanks, Frank.’ I don’t know where to look, so I keep watching the car out front.
He follows my gaze. ‘There’s another car with two more guards in the laneway out the back. They aren’t taking any chances.’
‘Really?’
‘Beth’s real name is Kennedy, Dad. Kennedy Jane.’
Frank looks at Willow and nods, understanding the message behind her words. His eyes come back to me. ‘Kennedy Jane is a good, strong name. If you decide to use it let me know so I know what to call you.’
I smile. ‘Thanks, Frank.’
‘So, you have family over in America?’ Frank sits down, leaning forward on his elbows.
‘Yeah, apparently Mum’s and Dad’s parents were still there when we left, but I’m still finding everything out.’
Holding back about Dad really being my uncle makes me feel deceitful, but I can’t say it to Frank. Not yet. Not when I haven’t accepted it myself. The betrayal of the whole thing still cuts like a knife in my heart. It makes me think of a kids’ book Mum used to read me called Who Sank the Boat? I never believed it was the mouse, not when the other animals were so much bigger. But now I see how it might have been. Finding out that Dad is my uncle is not the biggest or worst thing that has happened to me in the past forty-eight hours, but on top of everything else, it might be what I am struggling with the most. Whoever said the truth will set you free didn’t know what they were talking about. The truth will bowl you over and kick you in the teeth. The truth is ruthless.
‘Will you go over to meet them?’
The question takes me by surprise. I hadn’t thought about this yet. ‘Yes, I hope so,’ I say. ‘But I don’t have a passport …’
I wonder if my name was changed legally. I have the sudden urge to go down to the police station to speak to someone who might know.
Willow plonks some toast and tea in front of me. I make myself eat even though I’m not hungry. There’s a knock at the door and Frank gets up to answer it.
The moment I hear Dad’s voice anger prickles my skin. He’s here to pick me up. I finish eating and take my plate and cup to the dishwasher. Willow disappears and comes back with my bag. We hug and it makes me want to cry. She is the only thing in my life that is the same as it was yesterday. I squeeze her tight but can’t form any words to thank her.
Dad and I haven’t spoken yet. Willow and Frank walk us out to the footpath but in a moment we’ll be in the car, just the two of us. In the distance I see Jonah hobbling down the street with Warra. I’m not ready for another conversation with him yet either. I pretend I don’t see them and get into the car. After waving goodbye to Willow and Frank we drive away. My phone is on the dash in a clear plastic bag. Mum’s too. I stare at it, then look away.
‘How are you doing?’ Dad says.
I shrug because there’s no easy answer. Grief comes in waves, my thoughts are spasmodic. There are too many visions, emotions, words and thoughts competing for air time, one shouting over the other. One minute I’m angry about my life being a big farce, then conversations with Jonah play over and over in my head. Next minute I see Mum’s face in the moonlight, pale blue and cold. I think about life without her and I can hardly breathe. Then there’s questions about my biological father. What was he like? I don’t know how I feel about him. My family in America, what are they like? And finally there’s life still rolling on – my English essay is due, I need to hand in my maths homework and I’m missing netball training this afternoon.
Meanwhile in my head I keep hearing I’m an orphan, I’m an orphan. How did this happen and where did my perfect, happy life go? I hate the bitterness. Then I’m angry about that hate. I feel mean and snarky towards Dad and this hurts us both when we’re already hurting enough. I have this awful feeling inside me, one that I can’t quite grasp. The feeling of living in lies and betrayal, yet I know there were reasons. It’s not rational to feel that way, but try telling a heart what to feel.
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
We head out of town towards the farm. My stomach churns at the thought of driving onto our property, the place where Mum was shot, where she died. I’m not ready. I’m not sure I can face it, or whether I want to live out there without her. It all seems too far away. Pointless.
Dad doesn’t push for conversation. I turn and look out the back window. The other police car is following us.
‘How long will those guys be with us?’ I ask.
‘Until we know where Carlos is. He’ll turn up somewhere. He can’t hide forever.’
‘We hid for seventeen years.’
I pick up my phone and turn it on. My phone beeps as messages come through. The most recent one is from Jonah.
Hey, saw you go past this morning. Hope you’re doing okay today. xx
When we pull into our property everything from that night comes back. Mum and I running from the white van, the first time I saw she was carrying her gun, watching Jonah come in this very gate on his bike, Mum being shot. I think of those men standing over her like proud hunters, telling me I’m next. Then everything gets rushed and dark and wet and cold. Endless angst and running and fighting and fire and screaming and crying.
Then it was all too late.
The damage was done.
And here we are, back on the farm, facing the aftermath. We’re together but I feel alone. It’s not just Mum we lost. We lost ourselves too.
I notice the front door has something wedged in it to keep it shut. The wood is pockmarked with bullet holes that go right through it. I pause on the doorstep and look around the yard. The branch that fell from the old tree when Mum rigged it up as a diversion lies on the lawn, half-tangled on the fence. My gaze rests on the place where Mum fell. When I close my eyes I see the flash from the gun, one, two, three, and Mum jolting with each impact. I turn and go inside.
The house has been dusted for fingerprints. I stand near the spot where Jonah lay and remember how hard my heart was thumping while I untied him. Then we leaped from the veranda and ran for our lives while Mum covered us.
Why didn’t I listen and turn right out of the shed? If I’d just turned right like I was supposed to, Mum might have got away.
Tears come but I blink them away.
Dad goes into his room and closes the door. I have questions but they can wait. I go to my bedroom. Time alone allows my thoughts to lengthen and slow down but I’m too restless to stay sitting on my bed. I walk around the house feeling discontented. I go outside and sit on the front step and look at the garden. The garden isn’t great, but Mum liked things to be green. My grief both fills and empties me; my heart, my gut, my chest, every limb. I’m filled with an insatiable void.
Another text comes through from Jonah and it feels like pressure, like he wants something from me that I just can’t give him right now. I put my phone aside without reading it. This in itself makes me feel bad. I know I shouldn’t blame him, but I don’t think I can be with him after all this. I can’t see him or think of him without thinking of everything else.
My phone rings. I switch it to silent and walk away so I can’t see it.