“I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off you.”
She laughed quietly. “You know, two years ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that. You would still be hung up on how wrong it was to want me.”
“That’s true.” Looking down the road with only a few more steps separating us from the Wilson’s driveway, I murmured, “But life is too short. Patricia just showed us exactly how short.”
Della’s shoulders rolled in grief. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Me neither.”
“Cassie said the funeral is today.”
I sighed, rubbing the grit from my eyes and exhaustion from my mind. “It’s dawn. We have time to have a quick shower and dress appropriately.”
Not that we had anything appropriate to wear. I didn’t own anything black that wasn’t riddled with holes, and the closest thing Della had to a somber dress was her charcoal-flowered one.
I coughed a little as we traded public road for private driveway. It ought to feel different, stepping back into a place where we’d grown up, but nothing happened.
No bells.
No fanfare.
Just a farm that I knew so well with tractors tucked up in bed and paddocks I’d explored a thousand times before.
The familiar blue and black letterbox proudly stated the Wilsons lived here. A manila envelope wedged in the slot, delivered by a postman who didn’t know the tragedy that’d happened inside.
Della let out a heavy sigh as we crunched on gravel and moved toward the barn where we’d lived for so many years. The barn where I’d had my first blowjob, lost my virginity, talked about sex with Della, and every other nonsensical moment in between.
“Ren?” Della tugged on my hand, removing her fingers from mine. “I didn’t finish saying what I wanted on the bus, but…I don’t think we should tell anyone about us. Not yet.”
I scowled. “It doesn’t matter if we tell anyone or not. They’ll know.”
“How will they know?” The farmhouse came into view with its beautiful gardens and flowers that would no longer be tended to by Patricia. “People are used to us being affectionate. Nothing has changed in that regard.”
“Oh, they’ll know, Della.” I rolled my eyes at her naïvety. “The way you look at me, and the way I look at you? That isn’t something that can be ignored. It’s obvious we’re not just brother and sister. And besides, I’m not going to hide that I’m in love with—”
“Oh, my God!” a familiar, husky voice cried as the front door slammed open.
Cassie gawked at us for a second, her hair still the same colour of her bay horse, messy and long. Her figure was trim and toned, encased in cream silk pyjamas.
She was older than before.
Time worn, just like me.
“I can’t believe it.” Shadows etched her pretty face and grief gnawed her body. “Ren? Della? You’re truly here.”
Charging from the doorway, she winced and hobbled as her bare feet danced over gravel, then she threw herself at us. “You’re both so much bigger than I remember!”
She clutched us in a three-way hug, both Della and I soothing the girl from our past. The girl who’d made our worlds difficult and taught us so much.
“Cas!” Della hugged her back.
My arms wrapped tight, breathing in a foreign smell of a woman I no longer had any feelings for apart from sadness for her mother and gratefulness for her friendship. “I’m so sorry, Cassie.”
She squeezed us tight, her body quaking as she fought tears. A few seconds passed before she composed herself enough to pull away and smile fake-bright. “I couldn’t sleep. There I was, staring out the window and thought I was dreaming when you guys appeared. At first, I didn’t recognise you.” She nudged Della. “You’ve grown so much.” Her eyes landed on me with a flash of history and heat. “And, wow, Ren. Age has been kind to you.”
I stiffened, but her quick assessment vanished as another tear welled and rolled down her cheek. “I’m so sorry for dragging you back here. I just…I really needed to see you both.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Della shook her head. “We want to be here. We loved Pat so much.”
Cassie’s bottom lip wobbled. “I know. She was the glue of this family. I don’t know how Dad is going to cope.” Waving that concern away as if we were strangers to entertain and not family who understood, she looped her arm through Della’s. “We have so much to catch up on. Any guys on the scene? What happened to that last one? David, was it?”
Her voice was too jovial and forced, hiding just how much she was hurting. “Wait, where have you come from? You’re filthy. You been on vacation during school holidays or something?” She looked us up and down, growing suspicious.
Right there.
This was the moment to tell her.
To admit the truth that Della and I were in love, that I’d gotten her pregnant and almost killed her, that I was seeking a future that was everything she deserved.