Chapter 4

MACKENZIE

"O h my gosh! Remember that little dance routine you did back in third grade?" Pamela gushes as she lifts a bright pink tasselled skirt from the dusty box she's just manoeuvred from the corner of the loft. "Check it out!""Oh mum," Kristen whines. "I hated that stupid performance. And that stupid skirt. It constantly gave me a wedgie."

A quiet snort escapes me. I'm still getting used to this quirky side of my half-sister. When we'd first met, she'd come across as moody and serious and far too into her career.

Not that being driven is a bad thing, but I could sense that she was hiding behind it all. I understand now that she was going through so much. Her efforts to keep herself busy had purely been to keep her mind off the things she didn't want to face.

She pouts at my reaction, swatting me playfully on the wrist which causes the handful of photographs I'm grasping to slide from my grip. She offers an apology as they fall to the floor, but I barely hear it.

I'm too focused on the shiny, smiley faces that stare back at me from the glossy polaroids below. I try to mask my sorrow but it's too late. Kristen sees through me. She always does. She drops to the ground in a flash, hastily scooping up the pictures with both hands.

But I've already seen.

An image of a happy father cradling his newborn daughter, another of a doting dad holding his baby girl upon his shoulders. Reminders that although we share a biological father, we've both grown up having very different experiences in life.

I was bitter when I first learned of Kristen's existence, believing that she had been raised on the proverbial ‘right' side of the tracks and I on the ‘wrong' one. I realise now that Kristen was fighting battles of her own and I've let go of my resentment, but I can't deny the piercing sting in my chest at seeing those photographs.

I don't blame Kristen. At one point I did, but I had been blinded by my own insecurities. I'd thought that she'd had the perfect life, but it turned out I was wrong about that too.

I might have been the one that grew up with the alcoholic version of our father, but for the first eight years of her life, Kristen had been raised by a financially stable family man. The same man that turned out to be a total douche that abandoned her and her mother for another life. That other life included me, so if anything, she should be the one resenting me. But Kristen has only ever made me feel welcome in this town, and in her home. Even when I didn't deserve it.

"Are you okay?" she asks sliding the rest of the polaroids from my grip, a frown of concern etched in her brow.

"Fine." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. A tell-tale sign of my vulnerability. Then in an effort to change the subject, I gesture to the countless boxes that crowd the other side of the loft. "Do we really have to go through every single one of these boxes? It could take years."

Pamela scoffs. "That's a slight over-exaggeration, Mackenzie. There's not that many. I just need to clear a decent space."

"Why are we cleaning out the loft again, Mum?" Kristen asks. "Which one of your crazy hobbies is going to be performed up here this time?"

"It's not crazy," Pamela retaliates. "It's yoga. I want to create a lovely calming space where I can realign my chakras."

Now it's Kristen's turn to snort and when her eyes find mine, I can't help the smirk that forms on my lips.

I love Pamela so much. She's like the mother I never had. Since my arrival in Cliff Haven, I've loved spending time with her, and I'd enjoyed volunteering at her veterinary clinic on occasion.

Kristen had warned me about her crazy hobbies and ventures, but I never realised just how many extracurriculars this woman went through. I have to give her credit though. No one could ever say she didn't try anything new. She knows how to get the most out of life. Maybe we should all aspire to be like her.

"Oh! Look, Mum. I found a box of all your discarded hobbies," Kristen says sarcastically. She lists each item as she pulls them out. "A scrapbooking kit, a bunch of knitting needles and yarn. Oh, and a tennis racket."

"I only quit when I got tennis elbow!" Pamela interjects.

"You got tennis elbow? After playing for what… like… five minutes?"

"Don't tease me, Kristen. I was in pain for a month. And I still plan on learning how to make that Christmas sweater for Ben," she adds as she reefs the knitting needles from my grip and places them aside.

"Well, that's bound to be uncomfortable," I remark.

"Why?" She takes on a bold stance, her hands resting defiantly on her hips. "You don't think I'm capable of making it the right size, Mackenzie?"

"Actually, I was referring to the fact that it barely gets below twenty-eight degrees Celsius in this town over the Christmas period. Are you planning on going to the snow?"

Pamela tilts her head, dropping her hands to her sides. "Hmmm…You make a good point," she admits. She reaches forward and tosses them into the box we've set aside to donate to the Cliff Haven helpline.

"Hey, Mum," Kristen says, holding up a set of paint brushes and oil paints. "Remember when you were going to be the next Picasso?"

"Oh, you stop it right now, Kristen Riley!" Pamela holds up a finger at her daughter. "You know damn well I only took that painting class for your benefit."

Kristen's face softens as she gently places her arms around her mother's shoulders. "I know. I'm only teasing. You know I love you, Mum. And thank you. It really did get my mind off Henley for about all of five minutes."

I smile, realising now that they must be referring to the art class that Pamela took Kristen to after Henley left town in a desperate attempt to help her daughter move on with her life after his abandonment.

"How is Henley going, anyway," Pamela asks.

A smile lights up Kristen's face. "Really great, actually. Things are better than they've ever been. His business is doing well. He's booked out for the next few months but I'm still driving him crazy with wedding plans."

"I'm happy for you, kid. I really am." Pamela gazes upon her daughter lovingly, tossing her arms around her shoulders and giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

The sinking weight of envy wraps itself around my ribs. I'm suddenly conscious of the gaping void inside of me. What must it feel like to have that one person that knows you inside and out, who will love you unconditionally? For the first time in a long time, I feel completely robbed.

"It makes everything we went through worth it, you know?" Kristen looks up at Pamela and then to me, radiating happiness.

I nod. Even though I don't know. I can't imagine ever having the kind of life that would make all the shit I've been through worth it.

"I'm glad everything worked out between you two," Pamela adds, then turning back to the task at hand she points to the box Kristen has just opened. "I don't need the art supplies. They've served their purpose. Would you like them, Mackenzie? I've seen those sketches you do in that little art book of yours. You're probably the only one in the family with any talent."

My heart aches hearing the word.

Family.

I've never really known family until now. At least not the kind that counts.

I grew up with an alcoholic father that was generally absent, whether it be emotionally or physically. My mother ran off when I was three for reasons unknown to me. I guess I've always blamed myself for that. For not being the kind of kid she could love enough to stick around.

Henley coming to give our father a piece of his mind had been the best and worst thing that had ever happened to me. The best because it led me to Kristen, Pamela and her stepdad, Ben. The worst because it upset my crazy, criminal boyfriend enough to hunt me down and kidnap me.

God, why does my life have to be so complicated?

Even now, after finding Kristen and Henley, Pamela and Ben, I still feel out of place. Like I haven't quite found a home.

"Hey, look. Here's another set of brushes and a blank canvas. Everything you need to make a masterpiece." Pamela holds the art supplies out to me. "There's even an easel. It's still in the box."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," I say, with a shake of my head as I pick up a box to relocate it to the other side of the room. I am grateful for the offer but I'm feeling less than inspired right now.

"Oh well," Kristen sighs, tossing it onto the pile. "Hopefully someone else can make use of it."

I feel Pamela's eyes on me, and I know she's sensed my mood change. "How are things going at the tavern, Mackenzie," she asks.

"Yeah, good," I reply, not caring to elaborate.

"And how's Dylan?" Kristen says in a tone I can't decipher.

"He's a pain in the ass," I reply, my face void of expression, remembering the weird comment he'd made after I walked under the ladder by mistake yesterday. "Next question."

"He's a hot pain in the ass though." Kristen slaps me on the forearm, her left eyebrow wiggling up and down. I stare at her with dead eyes. When I don't give her the reaction she's hoping for, she points a finger at me and adds, "You can't deny it."

"He's my boss, Kristen," I state flatly.

She eyes me sceptically, a devious smile stretching across her face. "But you're not denying it."

I shrug. "I don't see him that way. I don't see anyone that way." I turn my back to the two of them as I move to the other side of the room, my arms laden with yet another box.

"Oh, come on now, honey!" Pamela exclaims. "I'm almost forty-ni-. One. Almost forty-one. And even I can see that boy is damn fine!"

"Mum!" Kristen gasps. "Dylan is half your age! Your real age. Not the age you tell everybody."

"Well, he is," Pamela shrugs as she dives into yet another storage box. "That golden brown hair and those deep chocolate eyes. Don't even get me started on that body and those…"

"Okay, Mum!" Kristen shouts, cramming her hands over her ears. "That's enough!"

I reach into the box in front of me and try to focus on its contents, pretending I can't feel Kristen's gaze boring a hole into my soul.

"You can't shut everyone out forever, you know." There's just enough sympathy in her tone to shatter my composure.

I pause, leaning on the edge of the box, swallowing my emotions down. "I can try."

I don't look up as I reach inside and scour through the contents, but I know Kristen and Pam are sharing a look. And I know what they're thinking. That I've closed myself off from the world. That I'll never be happy until I open myself up to possibility.

But I know they're wrong. I let someone in once. Someone I thought was one of the good guys. Someone I never imagined would hurt me in a million years.

I can't trust anybody. Not ever.

I know the mental health professional in Kristen is just dying to pick apart my psyche, but she lets it go, not saying another word.

We work for another hour, slowly shifting things around the loft until we've created a decent space for Pamela to set up her yoga space. There's even a good amount of natural light pouring into the loft now through a window that had been previously covered up by two large stacks of storage tubs.

"Thanks so much for your help girls. All we need to do now is cart this stuff downstairs." Pamela wipes the dust from her palms onto her thighs while Kristen and I glare at the pile exhaustedly.

I lean into Kristen and jokingly mutter the words, "Your mother is a slave driver."

She lets out a giggle before Pamela screeches, "Hey! I heard that, Mackenzie!"

My muscles are already fatigued from unpacking that pallet at work yesterday, but I hoist a box up over my right shoulder and begin shifting it down the stairs. Kristen and Pamela follow suit and after four loads each we've successfully emptied the loft of unwanted things.

"Okay, I'm beat." Kristen huffs out a breath, then turns to me. "You ready to go home?"

"Please," I almost plead. "I'm missing out on serious Netflix time."

"Thanks again, girls," Pamela says as she throws an arm around each of us. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course, Mum," Kristen replies, giving her mother a peck on the cheek.

"Have fun doing yoga," I add awkwardly, offering a stiff wave.

I turn on my heel, caught off guard as Pamela's arms reach around my shoulders, drawing me into her warmth. I've never been much of a hugger, but the scent of her floral perfume infiltrates my senses and I relax into her fleetingly.

"Don't be a stranger," she whispers. "You're always welcome here."

"Thanks." I offer a small smile as I pull away and turn to follow Kristen down the front porch steps to her brand-new VW Golf.

When I say brand-new, I mean literally brand spanking new. As in, it still has plastic film over the dash. She only picked it up last week.

After her car had pretty much died a few months back, she'd been sharing Henley's ute. But now that she has a fully-fledged job in a psychologist clinic, she was able to take out a loan.

Ben had of course gone along with her to the car yard to ensure she got a good deal and a safe car. He'd told me that when the time comes for me to get a new car, he'd offer me the same gesture. I've started saving, but at this rate I'll be fifty-five by the time I can afford one. Lucky for me, this town is so small that all the places I need to go are in walking distance from each other. Maybe I could settle for a bike.

I know I told Kristen I wanted to get home to watch Netflix. The latest season of Outer Banks has just dropped, and I can't wait to watch it, but after the week I've had, I suddenly feel that I need a different kind of release. I can almost hear my sketchbook calling out to me from here.

I climb into the passenger seat and fasten my seatbelt, staring out the windscreen ahead. I wait for Kristen to do the same, noticing the items Pamela discarded sitting on the front porch in my line of sight. The canvas and boxed easel stick up from the top of the pile and a thought crosses my mind.

I've only ever sketched with pencils and graphite, but maybe it's time to broaden my horizons and experiment with paint. I unclick the seatbelt and open the door.

"What are you doing?" Kristen asks in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"I'll just be a second," I tell her. "Pop the boot."

She squints in confusion but does what I say.

I march over to the stack and pull the canvas and easel out. I have to dig a little to find the paints and paintbrushes, but I get there in the end.

Maybe I'll take these after all.