Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Carl stood abruptly.
The room was spinning. With every rippled note, the truth was emerging.
“Oh shit. Oh God.” His fingers were a mess over the phone screen as he prodded and prodded to end the call, only to ring again. The phone was buzzing and buzzing, and Jason was not picking up.
“Come on, come on.”
Grayson rose and rounded the table. “What happened? What’s going on?”
Carl shook his phone, as if that could make his brother pick up. He looked desperately at Grayson, shaking. “I—I have to go home. Right now. They’ve figured out Jason isn’t me. That means . . . that means everyone’ll know. My ex. My mum—”
Grayson took Carl’s shaking limbs into a cradling embrace.
“I can’t run anymore, Grayson. I have to . . .”
Grayson rubbed his back warmly. “Deep breaths. I’ll book tickets. I’ll drive you to the airport.”
Carl continued to tremble, and Grayson steered him through each step; returning to Jason’s villa, finding his passport, purchasing the last seat on the next flight to Melbourne, packing his things, driving him to the airport.
“I’m afraid,” Carl murmured into their farewell embrace.
A soft kiss landed atop his head. “I believe in you.”
“Take good care of these friends of mine, and I will go at once to fight the monster.”
L. Frank Baum
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Chapter Sixteen
The light kiss on his head felt like a shield. It infiltrated his veins, tingling through him. Like he’d drunk a courageous potion.
It gave Carl strength.
He flew to Melbourne, then to Tassie, then bussed all the way to Earnest Point, arriving to the scene he’d once painted for Grayson: sunshine over quaint cottages and colourful gardens with falling autumn leaves.
It looked even prettier than he’d remembered it, and except for the storm of anxiety brewing in his stomach—and in his heart—no one could wish a pleasanter home.
A gust whooshing over the town square sprayed fountain water over Carl’s face. He chuckled. Not the first time that’d happened! What a proper welcome.
He wiped it off with his sleeve, and his chuckle froze as he glimpsed Cora in her signature red crossing the street—
She halted on the footpath, scarf fluttering around her, a bright magazine crushed against her chest. Eyes that Carl had looked into a million times held his, and filled with tears.
Ten seconds, twenty. Neither could move.
I believe in you.
Carl swallowed thickly, and took a wobbly first step towards her.
They talked for a long time—until the air had chilled, and their embraces became buffers against the wind. A conversation he’d dreaded and avoided and run away from. One single conversation, and they were fundamentally changed. In the space of a few honest words, they’d become closer. Formed the beginnings of a new bond.
“Mum,” he said a couple of times, and Cora began weeping.
“Patricia’s your real mum. She raised you.”
“Yeah. But indulge me this once? I’ve wanted to say it for years.”
“I’ve secretly wanted to hear it, too.” She hugged him fiercely, the magazine she held slipping to Carl’s lap as she peppered sweet little kisses atop his head. He squeezed her back. Tight, tighter. He wouldn’t let her go.
She laughed again and pulled back, swiping the dribbling mascara off her face. “I always thought horoscopes were silly, fun nonsense I indulged in. I never thought they could be so right.” She prodded a finger at the magazine on Carl’s lap. “It said something great would happen. Something I’d cherish for the rest of my life.” She laughed even as more tears streamed down her face. “Both my sons have acknowledged me. Forgiven me.”
Sons.
He closed his eyes on the heaving warmth in his chest. It was almost too much, and he curled one hand tight, feeling the ghost of Grayson’s in his like he had while practicing this conversation. “You and me, we have lots in common.”
He picked up the magazine, flicked through it, and read out the fateful horoscope while sneaking peeks at her joyous, laughing face.
“See? Pretty insightful. What’s yours?”
Carl glanced over his own, nodded, and snapped the magazine shut.
“What does it say?” Cora asked, nabbing the magazine back. “Is it apt?”
Like it could’ve been written about him. “It’s got a lot of integrity, this one. I know what I have to do.”
“Ah, talk to Pete,” Cora said. “Have you seen him yet?”
Carl shook his head.
“Well. Speak of the devil.” She was looking over his shoulder, and Carl held his breath and turned around.
Pete and Nick were walking around the fountain, hand-in-hand. When Pete spotted him, he murmured something to his fiancé and moved alone towards Carl.
Cora gave him another quick peck as she rose. “I’d best leave you to it.”
Pete wore casual jeans and a grim smile; Carl had seen this smile once or twice in their many years knowing one another, and it meant Carl was in the proverbial doghouse.
He tensed on the park bench and Pete plunked himself at the other end, leaving a good amount of space between them. Something that might, a year ago, have felt like a punch to his gut, but today . . . today it didn’t bother Carl at all. He could’ve done with more distance.