10. Alicia

By midnight, Alicia was wishing she'd got up and left Jessica's house when Norah did. She was dog-tired, weary with emotion, aware that they were making the two-hour drive from Melbourne to Port Agatha early the next morning. And still her sister droned on. Jessica had prepared a list of possible questions, each one written in a different color, and she had been pacing the floor for hours, running through "parameters" around what they should say to "protect" themselves.

"But if we don't tell the cops everything," Alicia said, "how will they figure out who the bones belong to?"

Jessica threw up her hands. "I don't know. But with Norah's criminal record, I'm not prepared to take that chance. What if we become suspects? What if she does?"

Jessica was right to be cautious. Alicia was grateful for her caution, because it allowed her to think beyond it, safe in the knowledge that Jessica wouldn't let them do anything stupid. But the fact remained, there was more to what happened to them when they were children than even they knew. Alicia didn't want to do anything to put them in danger, but… what if this was their one chance to get to the bottom of it?

"Are you really ready to go back there, Al?" Jessica asked.

"What do you think?" Alicia said. In the twenty-five years since she'd left Port Agatha, Alicia hadn't gone anywhere near the place. She could barely bring herself to say its name aloud.

"I'm off to bed," Phil said, poking his head in.

"Good night," Jessica said, without looking at him.

"Why don't you go to bed with your husband, Jess?" Alicia said. "I'm calling it a night anyway."

"I think we should bring a lawyer with us," Jessica said.

Alicia sighed. Phil, who'd been waiting in the doorway hopefully, slunk away.

"Jess, no," Alicia said. "How will it look if we show up with a lawyer?"

"Smart," Jessica said. "It will look smart."

"Or guilty! Listen, we haven't been accused of anything. We're assisting. Showing up with a lawyer is going to give off the wrong vibe."

Jessica paused. "Maybe you're right."

It made Alicia nervous when Jessica accepted her counsel. After all, Alicia wasn't known for her wise, well-thought-out decisions. She was the one who threw caution to the wind, who took risks, who acted first and thought of the consequences later. An easy thing to do when you had so little regard for your own mortality. But Alicia had a very high regard for her sisters' mortality, not to mention their good health and happiness.

"Let's just play it by ear," she said. "We don't have to answer anything we don't want to. At the first hint of trouble, we'll get a lawyer."

"Okay," Jessica said. "Okay."

"Good." Alicia slung her handbag over her shoulder and walked toward the door. "So, you'll pick me up in the morning?"

"Eight o'clock," Jessica said.

Alicia had just started the car when her phone began to ring. The number came up as unknown, which, combined with the hour, meant it was work.

"Alicia Connelly," she said.

"You owe me ten bucks."

The voice sounded like it belonged to a child. Not a young child; more of an adolescent. It took her a moment to place him.

"It's Aaron," he said, registering her pause. "Trish's foster son."

Alicia kicked herself. She knew that to the kids she worked with, being remembered was significant. At the same time, she noted the hint of disdain, as if she were an idiot not to have realized, and it helped to ease her guilt.

"I know who you are, mate," she said, matching his tone.

"Sorry for calling so late," he said.

She started to drive. It wasn't the first time she'd received a nonurgent call from a foster kid late at night, but it was the first time anyone had apologized for it. It seemed there was something about those late hours that made kids think of her. Alicia considered it a compliment. "Late? I was about to go out clubbing."

"Seriously?"

"Of course not." She laughed.

Aaron didn't join in and Alicia could just about see him rolling his eyes.

"Is everything okay? How is Theo?"

"He's doing much better. We spent the night snuggling on the couch and watching movies."

"You did?" Alicia cried. That was so much better than she'd dared hope; she'd have been happy to hear that he'd come out from under the table.

Aaron snorted. "No! But he's eating as long as I handfeed him. And he let me put him to bed, though he wouldn't have a bath or change his clothes and I'm pretty sure he'd shat himself."

Alicia felt her mood lifting considerably, which under the circumstances was unexpected.

"Did you actually put him to bed?" she said, not wanting to be caught out twice.

"Someone had to. Clearly you and Trish weren't getting very far." This time he didn't pause for a response. "Anyway, the reason I'm calling is that I've been searching for information about university scholarships and you mentioned that you might know of some funding?"

"I certainly do. I can email you some links if you like." Alicia indicated right and made the turn. "If anything looks interesting to you, I'd be happy to help you fill out an application."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Cool," Alicia said. She gave him a minute to see if there was anything else. When he didn't speak, she asked: "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Nope," he said. "That's it."

"Okay." Then, on a whim, she said, "Hey Aaron… You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I wondered… what happened to your parents?"

It wasn't a question she typically asked—partly because, if the kid was one of her cases, she already knew, and in those instances where she spent time with a kid who wasn't one of her cases, she tended to avoid it as the answer was usually loaded. She wasn't sure what made her ask now. When Aaron paused, she worried that she shouldn't have.

"My mum has never been capable of looking after me," he said finally. "She has an intellectual disability, and some physical disabilities too. No one knows who my dad is. My gran raised me until three years ago when she went into a nursing home."

Alicia felt her breath catch. "Your gran raised you?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Her name was Doris. Good name for a gran, right?"

"Great name for a gran," Alicia agreed. She felt both sad and happy all at once.

"She died six months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," he said. "Vale, Doris."

"Vale, Doris," Alicia replied.

Aaron ended the call and Alicia pulled to the side of the road. She felt emotional, which was hardly surprising after the day she'd had. What was surprising was that the particular type of emotion she felt in this very moment wasn't the terrible type. The brief interaction with Aaron had left her feeling… whole. Connected.

Looking out the window, she wasn't exactly shocked to find herself outside Meera's house. This happened from time to time. She'd be setting off for home and, without planning it or making the decision to go there, she would end up idling her car out front, as if by muscle memory, as if her body just knew where she wanted to be.

Meera was a colleague of Alicia's, a child protection lawyer. "One of the heroes," Alicia always said. Alicia fancied her, of course. Everyone fancied Meera. Whenever Meera was in court, everyone was mesmerized by her intelligence, passion, and commitment to her job—not to mention her long legs, dark hair, and deep brown eyes.

She and Alicia were friends. If Alicia had got out of the car and tapped on the front door, Meera would have been happy to see her. She'd smile and roll her eyes and say, "What's up, Anne Shirley?" (an old joke about Alicia's hair), then invite her inside. For a brief moment, Alicia considered doing this.

There was a light on in the living room. Meera was probably on the couch in her leggings, hair in a messy bun, laptop on her knees. They'd spent plenty of nights side by side on that couch, working or hanging out.

One particular night stood out in Alicia's mind. It had happened just over a year ago. They'd been discussing a six-year-old girl named Kasey whose foster family had been petitioning to adopt her when, at the eleventh hour, Kasey's biological father had come out of the woodwork, wanting custody. It wasn't an unusual case, and yet, while listening to Meera explain the merits of each petitioning party, Alicia had found herself overcome with emotion. Alicia had always known Meera was a caring lawyer. She knew she wasn't the type to just do what was easiest. But the lengths that she'd gone to in this case moved Alicia. It made her wonder how different things might have been if someone like Meera had been looking out for her and her sisters all those years ago.

At some point during Meera's speech, Alicia grabbed her friend's face and kissed her. It was a peck at first, but soon they were rearranging their limbs, and the file of carefully ordered paperwork was sliding off Meera's lap and onto the carpet. Alicia had been taken aback by Meera's enthusiasm. Having spent her adult life seeking out dysfunctional, commitment-phobic, and even abusive partners, Alicia hadn't known what to do with reciprocated attraction. And so she ended the kiss, apologized for crossing the line, and shut Meera down any time she tried to bring up that night ever since. There was no point in entertaining the idea of a relationship. It would never work out long-term. How could it?

Alicia started driving again, taking the scenic route home from Meera's place along the river. No one was about. It was the still of night—dark, cool, and perfectly silent. As she drove, Alicia felt the heaviness of life closing over her. This happened from time to time. She'd be going along just fine when wham—a darkness descended, bringing with it a certainty that life wasn't worth living. That she wasn't worthy.

Alicia's gaze veered to the river. She imagined taking a sudden, sharp turn. Her car would barrel over the grass toward the water. There would be a rush of adrenaline followed by the slow calm of her chassis submerging. Alicia wouldn't try to claw her way out. She'd just close her eyes, reveling in the intoxicating feeling that soon it would all be over.

Alicia drew her eyes back to the road, her hands clasping the wheel tightly at ten and two. She wouldn't do it. She couldn't do it to her sisters. Anyone else, everyone else, yes. But not to them. They'd both gone through enough.