Dark Secrets (Dark Secrets #1)(142)
Author: A.M. Hudson

Mike bent and grabbed his suitcase, then shouldered his backpack swiftly, wrapped his arm around my neck, and we wandered slowly out to the parking bay where I left Dad.

“Mr Thompson. Good to see you again.” Mike shook Dad’s hand firmly.

“Yes, yes, it’s good to have you here.” Dad cupped his other hand over Mike’s in the ‘double’ handshake. “We’ve been hearing a lot about you these past few months.”

“Really,” Mike asked in a leading tone. “Ara talks about me?”

“Yes.” Dad grinned. “I started to wonder if you were my daughter’s only friend.”

“Ha!” Mike looked at me with that cheeky, cocky grin. “I am.”

“Are not.” I punched him in the arm.

He leaned away, rubbing off my pathetic effort at violence.

When we pulled into the driveway at home, Mike turned in his seat and smiled at me. “You never told me how beautiful this place is, Ara.”

“It’s all right, I guess.” I shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

Each tree had turned a different colour with the near-autumn air, and as the leaves fell from the branches one by one, they gathered in piles or floated down the curve of the road, leaving a wash of yellows and reds and oranges all over Maple Terrace. But my fairy-tale timeline meant that for every leaf that fell away, so too did the days I had left with David.

Sure, it was pretty, but all that beauty was slowly and surely delivering me to heartbreak.

“Ara would prefer it if they were Gum Trees, I think,” Dad said and hopped out of the car, laughing to himself.

“What’s up, Ara?” Mike asked. “You sulked the whole way home.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I climbed out, too, slamming the car door behind me.

I was sure Mike groaned to himself, but he arrived at the trunk with a smile on his face. “I’ll take that.”

“Boy, that’s heavy.” Dad nearly dropped Mike’s bag as he passed it to him. “I must be getting old.”

“Nah. You’re not old, Mr Thompson. I’m just bloody strong,” Mike said. “I’d have to be to keep up with this one.” He ruffled my hair.

“Hey, get off.” I patted it back into place.

“Please, call me Greg, Mike—you’re like one of the family. And who knows—” Dad winked at me, “—with the way my daughter talks about you, maybe one day you will be.”

“Daaa-aad.” I buried my face in my hand.

Mike chuckled. “Not likely, sir, unless you have another daughter I don’t know about.”

Ouch.

“I have a son,” he suggested then frowned.

“Hm. Yeah, not really on that side of the fence,” Mike said.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to adopt you, then.” Dad patted Mike on the back as they headed inside, leaving me, shouldering a rise of hurt, to trail behind them.

“When did he become the favourite?” I muttered under my breath.

The warm smell of bacon and toast wafted into the entranceway, with the sweet aroma of sugared coffee lingering in a pleasant layer over the top. I stepped in and closed the door, smiling at Sam as he ran upstairs carrying—or dragging—Mike’s suitcase.

“Sure you don’t want me to take that, Sam?” Mike said.

“Now, now, you just let the boy worry about that,” Dad said, leading Mike into the dining area. “I think I smell breakfast.”

“I think I smell heaven,” Mike added.

I rolled my eyes and pushed past him and Dad to sit at the table and watch them all play ‘happy families’. Mike was such a suck-up. He knew exactly how to get into oldies’ good books and he was holding no bars back. It was also one of the things I really loved about him.

“Mike, good to finally meet you.” Vicki left her practically permanent kitchen position to hug him. “How have you been?”

“Good, Vicki. Really good,” Mike said softly. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice.”

Great, so Vicki had been talking to him on the phone, too. Just bury me now.

Vicki smiled. “I’ve made you some breakfast—figured you’d be hungry after all that travelling.”

“Yeah, great,” Mike said and sat at the table next to me. “The airport food was pretty average.”

“So, Ara tells us you’ve been accepted into the ah—what was that called again?” Vicki asked, fussing over the plates.

“Vicki,” I moaned. “Dad’s already interrogated him. Do you have to do it too?”

“I don’t mind an interrogation, Ara.” Mike elbowed me gently. “It’s uh—it’s called the Tactical Response Group. We get to use cool guns, basically.” He grinned at Sam as he sat down.

“Do you get to shoot people?” Sam asked, leaning right across the table to be in Mike’s bubble.

“Well,” Mike’s voice softened, “the only place I like to shoot people is on Halo. Other than that, we try to avoid it as much as possible. But I have a Taser?” he offered.

“Awesome. Hey, do you play on Live—” Sam’s voice became background noise while the boys talked video games and Vicki served breakfast around all the commotion, sitting quietly down after. Without touching my food, I leaned on my hand and listened to the sound of normal; how the laughter, forks clinking on plates, and cups resting with a clunk on wood could echo familiarity and content. Once upon a time, being normal meant having a life with two parents, no grief, and no scars. Now, normal meant I could sit in my kitchen, eat food with my family, and at the end of my life—die.

A few months ago, I didn’t know how much I had to be grateful for, but the hourglass of Fate could rock and tip everything out of balance at any time. I knew now that I had to take each breath of normal with a kind of appreciation I never understood before, because imagining, with David’s interpretation of eternity, if I didn’t have any of this—I looked at Dad and Vicki, leaning closer to each other as they laughed—I would miss it all terribly.

“Well, Vicki—” Mike wiped his mouth with a napkin and rested his arm on the table, “—that was the most amazing breakfast I’ve had in a long time. Ara’s right, you are a good cook.”

“Ara said that?” Vicki’s wide eyes landed on me. I wanted to brush them off. “Well, thank you, Ara, and thank you, Mike. I really enjoy cooking—especially for people who eat it without salt.” She glared at Dad.