I blink. ‘She wasn’t surfing.’
She makes a face. ‘Oh. I thought Andy offered to teach her.’
Now that she mentions it, there was a surfboard at the scene. My anger dissolves.
Sammy claps me on the arm. ‘I’ll catch a ride home with someone else later.’
I nod. ‘Yep.’
Annie didn’t bother waiting for me. I find her leaning against the ute, arms crossed. She steps aside when I unlock her door, careful not to make eye contact with me. She climbs in and pulls the door from my hands before I have a chance to close it. Drawing a long breath, I head for the driver side. Perhaps I should have gone with my original plan, but it’s too late now.
When I climb in, she has her head in her hands, and I’m fairly sure she’s crying. I grip the steering wheel, knowing I’m 100 percent responsible for these tears.
‘I thought you were going skinny-dipping,’ I say, as if that excuses my behaviour.
Her hands drop to her lap, and she leans her head back on the headrest, looking up at the roof. ‘I mentioned to Andy that I’d never surfed before. He was being kind.’
I swallow my guilt. ‘You were taking off your clothes…’
She meets my gaze. ‘So? I’m wearing bathers under my clothes. And even if I wasn’t, it’s nothing to do with you. I can surf or skinny-dip with whoever I like.’
I turn the key. ‘That’s fair.’
‘That’s fair?’ She shakes her head. ‘How about “I’m sorry”?’
‘You want me to apologise for looking out for you? I didn’t know if you’d been drinking—or if he had.’
She reaches back for her seat belt, but it keeps locking every time she pulls it. After releasing a frustrated groan, she pauses, breathes, and tries again. The second the seat belt clicks into place, she says, ‘Can we go please?’
I put the ute into gear and pull out onto the road. She doesn’t say a word as we head back to Chirnside, she simply stares out the window.
‘You going to ignore me the whole drive?’ I ask.
‘I’m not ignoring you. I just don’t have anything to say to you.’
We drive in silence for a few more minutes.
I glance sideways at her. ‘You pissed at me about today or the things I said last time?’
‘I’m not angry at you.’ Her voice is quiet. ‘I’m angry at me.’
I hate everything about that answer. ‘What does that mean?’
She shakes her head, clearly not wanting to elaborate. ‘I’m just so tired.’
I don’t know if she’s tired from exams, of life, or of me. And I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
‘I miss you,’ she says at the window. ‘Even after everything.’
I stare hard at the road ahead, palms heating the steering wheel. It takes me a moment to respond. ‘Like I said, you need to figure shit out, and I’m in the way.’
She turns her head and looks at me. ‘Do you miss me?’
More than anything. But it’s one thing to feel it and another to admit it aloud.
When I don’t respond, she reaches for the door latch. ‘Just let me out here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’
I don’t want to let her out, because once she leaves this car, there won’t be any more moments like this. ‘It’s dark.’