A guide to falling off t.., p.18
A Guide to Falling Off the Map, page 18
I have no idea where she’s gone. My call goes straight to her voicemail.
I weave through the rain across the street and back again. The only place open is the supermarket, which I have already been through three times, up and down aisles. I asked several of the staff if they’d seen a beautiful girl in a green hoodie. Her long hair is probably wet, I said. They said they weren’t sure. Good luck finding her.
I’ve checked the van. Joy’s still there, but Vinnie isn’t. I checked the pubs. The restaurants. She’s nowhere.
I imagine her body, lifeless, in an alleyway. She’s collapsed, I think. Blacked out and now has pneumonia because I have taken too long to find her. Or she’s been found by the EMTs and is in the hospital.
I check my phone to see if I can walk to the hospital from here because Vin has the van keys with her.
I’m halfway there and drenched to the bone, when I see a few people in costume, gathered under the striped awning of a small hall, smoking. I hear singing inside. On a normal night, this is a place I’d cross the road to get away from. But tonight, I approach.
The singing is off-key. But I ignore it, thinking of the job at hand. Sure enough, there she is, sitting with her back to the wall, her knees pressed against her chest.
“Why’d you disappear like that?” I say. My voice is sharper than I intended. Her head snaps up. She frowns.
“Hang on. Why are you mad?”
“I was worried. I looked everywhere!” She wipes her cheek. Her face is puffy and raw, her hair slicked to her skin like she’s a seal. I knew she wasn’t right. I knew it, and I let her go anyway.
“You didn’t need to be worried. You’re meant to be having fun!” I go to sit next to her, but she’s already up. “Why aren’t you off having fun?”
“You’re so bossy,” I say. “You can’t make me go have fun, especially without you.”
This time, her frown is spiteful. A man in an undershirt looks over at us and lifts a caterpillar-shaped eyebrow. Vinnie grabs my wet coat sleeve and drags me from the hall.
“Did you just call me bossy?” she says.
“Yeah, I did. You keep telling me to be with Maeve. Have fun!” I mimic in a high-pitched voice. “I keep telling you—I don’t want to!”
She sighs, all put out or something, and marches away.
“Why are you so cross?” I call after her.
“I’m not!” she throws back, without turning. “You are!”
I jog to catch up. “Me? I’m not cross! I’m worried!”
“You’re mad at me. You called me bossy.”
“But you are! You’re making me do an exhibition I don’t want to do. You even direct all the photos you want me to take. Now, you’re forcing me onto some twentysomething-year-old girl. You dragged me on this trip, and you don’t even want to hang out!”
She turns, her face crumpled and rain streaked. She pushes hair from her eyes. The moments beat past us.
“Now I know how you really feel.” She strides away.
“Wait, Vin! I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to say that. I love the trip and everything. It’s just—argh, you can’t force me to be someone I’m not.”
“I’m not forcing you!” She stops and turns to face me. “You’re self-sabotaging. Again. You don’t believe you deserve Maeve. Or your own exhibition. Or a decent future. So you’re mucking it all up.”
“I’m not self-sabotaging! It’s just not my choice. I’m not into Maeve because I’m into you!”
She blinks. Wipes her face with her sopping sleeve.
“What did you say?”
“I fucking love you, Vinnie Smith. That’s what I said.”
The next moment, we’re closer than we’ve ever been before, practically one body. She kisses me. Our wet faces press together, her lips on mine. My hands cup her face. They’re in her hair. I can’t pull her close enough.
Roo smells like butterscotch and tastes like home. I want to kiss him forever. I press into his body so fiercely I may disappear. I don’t care that we’re drenched.
He loves me. I love him.
I pull away, remembering that I’m not meant to do this, as much as I desperately want to. Loving Roo is letting him go. He can’t love me. He doesn’t really know what he’s loving.
“What is it?” he says, his head tipped slightly, his lips soft.
“Sorry.” I squeeze my eyes tight. When I open them, he’s still gazing at me through fogged lenses.
He presses his forefinger to my lips. “Don’t be sorry. It was amazing.” But when he leans toward me, I pull away. Hurt crosses his face.
“I see,” he says. “I’m sorry, Vin. I shouldn’t have said that. Done that.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and marches up the street, toward the guesthouse.
“Roo!” I chase after him. My balance is off. It’s dark, so I miss the side of the path. My knee buckles, and I land in the grass. Roo’s too far ahead to realize.
Water seeps through my jeans. I push myself to standing and hurry after him, trying to keep my footsteps certain.
He gets to the guesthouse before me and yanks a blanket from the double bed.
“I’ll sleep in the Kombi. I just need this,” he says, holding it up. “So sorry, Vin. I’m the worst.”
“Stop, Roo.” I hold both his arms to pin him there. “Please, stop. Listen, okay?”
“I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Because it’s not true?”
He’s quiet. All I want to do is kiss him again and let him hold me, his body wrapped around mine so perfectly. I exhale, long and hard.
“I love you, Roo. I guess I always have.” I push aside his wet hair, which is draped across his glasses. His eyes are distorted through the droplets that gather on each lens. “That’s what this trip’s all about. I’m sorry I’m so bossy about it. I just … I just want you to be happy. And I thought photography made you happy.”
“You … love me?” His mouth lifts at the side.
I nod, smiling. I should let him go. I need to let him go. But when he drops the blanket on the bed, I can’t help falling into this.
We bump into Maeve and Sara at reception the next morning. Maeve drags her blue suitcase.
“There you guys are! You disappeared on me last night.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I say. Roo grins at me sheepishly. I wonder if Maeve notices.
“We’re heading back to Sydney today. I have an appointment with my supervisor first thing in the morning. E-mail me if you’re ever in the city.” She reaches for a pen on the reception desk and writes her e-mail on the back of a Belfry business card. “Oh, and send me those photos, will you? All of them?”
“Yeah, sure,” says Roo.
“You could come to Roo’s show,” I say. “We’ll have an opening night. Maybe there’ll be a photo of you in the exhibition, if you’re okay with that?”
I ignore Roo’s stern expression, the one he gets every time I mention the show.
She beams and nods. “Absolutely! More than okay! Though I don’t think I can be there in person. Good luck with it!” I flinch when she kisses Roo on the cheek.
“You coming, Maeve?” calls Sara from the gate. She waves at us, her other hand gripping the case.
“See ya,” says Maeve.
“I can’t believe you want me over her,” I say, watching her leave. “She’s a Woodstock goddess.”
“Are you crazy?” Roo pulls me against him.
Vinnie can’t stop smiling. Neither can I. She leans against me, and even lets me put on my playlist, cleverly titled: Roo’s Favorite Songs. The top favorite, “Bones,” by Telenova, reaches every nerve ending. Morning sun and blue sky. The thought of us huddled together in the middle of the bed. Bellingen will never feel the same again.
We stop for donuts and coffee on the side of the road. I buy her a packet of raspberries because they’re her favorite. She eats them in three fistfuls. She still has berry smudges on her cheek. I want to kiss them off, but I also want to leave them there because they make me happy. She makes me happy.
Unlike the two of us, Joy’s cranky today. She had a cold, wet night, so her exhaust has taken a while to warm up and she’s got a lot of complaining to do. Halfway down the highway toward Woody Head, she coughs ferociously then staggers to a stop by the side of the road.
Vin’s eyes are closed. She’s fallen asleep against the window, but she wakes when I poke her arm softly.
“We’re here?”
“We’ve broken down.”
“Damn.”
We climb out to inspect the damage. Sure enough, Joy’s butt is smoking. It’s not a pretty nor a comforting sight.
“Should we give her some space, in case she blows?” asks Vinnie.
“I think we should.”
We walk as far up the shoulder as we can without getting back on the highway. Meanwhile, Joy puffs. From here, we hear a pathetic wheeze.
“That’s her all broken down, I’m guessing,” says Vinnie. “Don’t get too close, Roo.” She pulls me back.
We use my phone to call roadside assistance using her dad’s account. The guy tells us he’ll be here in half an hour. We sit on our suitcases by the side of the road, taking turns to give each other shade, while we play “What Am I?” Vin has me stumped on a human-made item, which turns out to be an RV. It’s surprisingly hard to guess, despite the four hundred RVs that pass us.
Ed the mechanic arrives nearly two hours later. The donuts have worn off. I’m famished. I feel the bridge of my nose peeling. Vinnie’s freckled nose is also crimson.
“I’m not hopeful,” says Ed, his face wizened with sun and age.
“Like, not hopeful at all? Or this is a good two grands’ worth of work?” says Vin.
“Like, she’s a goner. The engine’s overheated. I’ll have a proper look for you. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“I’ll call Mum to come get us,” I say.
Vinnie looks concerned. “And go home?”
“Yeah, what else?”
“Then it will be over.”
“Yeah.”
“You guys need a lift somewhere? I’m going to tow your van to Coffs Harbour. We can sort you out with a rental.”
“Let’s do that,” says Vinnie.
“We can’t afford a rental, Vinnie.” I’m imagining the giant pile of money I have to pay Vin back if and when I ever have a proper job.
“It’s fine, Roo! Trust me.” She stands on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. I sigh, thinking about the debt I’m incurring.
“We’ll take that lift,” Vinnie tells Ed.
Ed offers us a seven-seater Nissan X-Trail, which is all he has left. It’s $159 a day, which is a lot. I look up bus timetables on Roo’s phone but there’s nothing heading Murwillumbah direction until Saturday. X-Trail it is.
After paying him to tell us Joy’s a write-off, plus towing back to Murwillumbah, and two days with a rental, we’ve eaten so far into Carla’s money, I’m worried I’m not going to have enough to print Roo’s photos, let alone enough for the hall hire.
We take the cheapest cabin at Woody Head campsite. The afternoon’s cooled, which is a welcome relief after a day spent baking on the side of the road.
“I can’t believe Joy’s broken,” I say as we unpack our stuff. “I hope it doesn’t take too long for them to tow her home.”
“You’re keeping her? Why don’t you sell her to help pay for all this?”
“I can’t,” I say.
“Because she’s your mum’s, right?” He says it carefully.
I suck the inside of my cheek. “I guess.” Once Joy goes, there’s not a lot to hold on to. “Surely we’ll find someone around home who can fix her. I refuse to accept that she’s a write-off.”
“Your endless optimism.”
It looks like Roo wants to say more, and I’m scared he’s going to bring up Mum again. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about her. I just don’t know how.
“Should we go for a walk?” I say. “The sunset’s pretty beautiful on the north beach. You remember?”
Roo takes my hand. Tingles shoot up my arm.
We wade through the shallows. There’s not much beach left these days because the ocean is eating into the coast and eroding the shore. Melaleuca trees are fallen soldiers on the sand. We stumble over the giant trunks, getting caught on branches.
We give up climbing over them after a while and sit on a log facing the sunset. This point is pretty special because from here you can see the sunrise and the sunset. The bay is deep enough for whales to come close to shore.
Tonight, there seem to be loads of them. Roo says you call a group of whales a celebration of whales, which I love. A mama and her calf flap their fins against the surface.
“Apparently, that’s them telling other whales where they are,” says Roo.
“Or it feels good.” I trail my fingers along his palm.
Somehow my lips find his, and soon my hands move down his back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m strict with my brain, telling it to shut the hell up and not worry about the future for five whole seconds so I can just enjoy this. For once, it behaves itself in a way my hands will not. I slide off the log and onto the sand between the fallen trees.
“Come here.” I pull him down with me.
We lose track of time, skin pressing skin, moving without thought but making more sense than anything, ever. The sound of our breath is swallowed by the ocean heaving beside us. The sky glows marmalade and fades to violet.
“Why did we wait so long to do all this?” I ask Roo. I lie against his shoulder, no space between us, tracing my forefinger along his jawline toward his chin and back again.
“I have no idea.” He smiles gently, glasses askew and foggy. He draws small circles on my hips with his fingertips.
I grin back, then turn to face the sky and watch the stars come alive, one by one.
I could do this for the rest of my life—lie with Vinnie in my arms. It’s everything I ever allowed myself to imagine and more. I’m floating. Soaring. Elevating. Nothing can pin me to Earth. Nothing but her.
I get Roo-typical thoughts like, Why me? and Has Vinnie gone mad? But I let the thoughts trail into the void. Why not just enjoy this, while I can?
We must have fallen asleep, because I’m woken by waves licking my bare feet.
“Vin, get up. Or we’ll be in Ballina by morning.”
She murmurs. The whites of her eyes glisten with moonlight. She sits up, adjusting her top. She’s shivering.
We take our time, picking our way over logs, helping each other across. There’s movement in the bracken. I worry it’s a snake. But as my eyes adjust, I see it’s a turtle. It pushes itself back into the water and disappears.
Back at the cabin, I try to warm Vinnie’s body with mine like we did that night in the cave. She’s so cold. She tips out of bed, races to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet like she’s going to throw up. I follow her, pinning back her hair, which is wet and full of sand. Nothing comes up. She slumps against me, small and vulnerable, which I’m not used to.
“You’re not well, Vin,” I say, pulling her into me, my little bird. “Should I take you to the hospital?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
I walk her back to bed and fill a glass of water, which she sips tentatively, before lowering onto the mattress. I lie against her. The trembling has slowed, but her skin ripples intermittently.
“Vin, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem good.”
Her eyes are shut, but I can tell she’s still awake.
“Vin?”
She peers at me in the dark and strokes my cheek. “Shhh,” she says.
“I should take you to the hospital,” I say again. “They can run tests. See what’s up. Maybe you’ve got low iron or something. Or a virus?”
She shakes her head. “Please don’t,” she whispers.
I stroke her hair until she’s asleep. I, of course, can’t sleep. Images from the last week form a police lineup in my mind.
Her slipping on Bald Rock.
The coldness and clamminess of her skin as she shivers against me.
The fatigue.
Her unsteadiness on the path to Crystal Shower Falls.
Something vague whispers at the corner of my brain so faint, I barely hear it.
Aggie dealt with these kind of symptoms plenty. They came in bouts. Most of the time she was fine. But then, she’d have a flare. She’d lose her balance. Her vision would go. Multiple sclerosis isn’t hereditary, I don’t think. But what if there’s some familial connection? Have I been ignoring the signs, blinded by my feelings for Vinnie?
I know we should go straight home the next morning, get Vin to a doctor. But she’s dragging me onto the beach to take photos. She insists we still need more for the exhibition. I haven’t the heart to tell her I don’t want to do the show. It’s the last thing in the world I want right now.
“Try it from that angle,” she says, directing me onto the sand dunes.
A woman wearing stretch pants and a beanie plays trumpet on the dunes. We stand awkwardly. She stops until we pass.
“Nice playing!” says Vinnie. The woman smiles warmly and lifts the trumpet to her lips. The effect Vin has on people always amazes me. Even when she’s unwell, she’s luminescent and we all are drawn to her glow.
We head farther up the beach until we’re close enough to hear the woman play and far enough to not be weirdos. Vin drags me down to sit next to her on the dunes. We interlock fingers while we listen. I’m drawn to the way shadows and light make her almost abstract.
“I wonder if she’ll mind if I take her photo,” I say.
“You can always ask.”
Her name’s Meredith, and she doesn’t mind. I ask her to keep playing. Sun bounces off the trumpet, causing a glimmer I know will look amazing against the horizon.
Roo’s still asleep the next morning when I use one granule of reception on his phone to log on to the internet. We’re meant to go home today. I promised Roo. But I’m not ready. I don’t think I ever will be.
