When Dad said we were moving to the seaside, I'd pictured something from a Vanuatu magazine. A postcard of white, sun warmed sand and crystal clear water. Glass bottomed boats, string bikinis and fruity drinks laced with hot pink umbrellas.
I edged closer to the grassy, head-spinning drop and watched an angry wave shatter itself against a wall of black rock four stories below.
This was the seaside we'd moved to. No Sand. No trendy little drink shacks. No fragile tourist boats with a death wish. Just mile upon mile of ragged cliff face being slowly worn smooth by the frothing mouth of a grey-green hell.
The low baritone of an old school landline cut through the roaring in my ears, keeping time with the vibrations pulsing in my back pocket. I slipped my phone out and answered, not bothering to check the lit screen.
"Yeah?"
"Livy? Where are you?"
I nudge a rock over the unguarded edge with my toe.
"Exploring."
"Seriously? Everything's a mess, I don't know what's in which box and we still need to fill the fridge before everything shuts or we won't have anything for breakfast tomorrow."
I rubbed my forehead with my free hand, flattening the lines of frustration wrinkling the space between my eyebrows. Three months ago Dad and I had been the proud owners of a perfectly boring, healthy father/daughter relationship. But that was before his personality had been hi-jacked by a hand wringing, anxiety driven maniac whose every waking moment was spent coming up with excuses, however lame, to drag me back home where he could keep at least one eye permanently plastered on my every move.
I missed his jokes and easy smiles. Our goodbye routine of him rolling his eyes and waving me off without a second's hesitation as I kissed his stubbled cheek goodbye. And laughter? Yeah. Doubt I remembered what that sounded like it'd been so long. I swallowed against the thick, tear-clogging lump in my throat.
"I passed a store earlier. I'll stop in on my way back."
"Don't... Don't be too long, okay?"
I blinked a few of times, convinced that the growing dampness matting my eyelashes together was a result of the strengthening wind and my lack of sunglasses and not the by-product of a soul crushing ache for my old life.
"I won't."
"And call me if you get lost."
Like that was the remotest of possibilities.
My short-lived excursion through our new hometown had seen to the discovery of immaculate lawns, fence high, colour co-ordinated garden beds and a main road that saw as much action as a Nun. Needless to say, the small town of Silver Peak was suffering from a severe case of anal-retentive homeowner's association-ism, and quite probably a gossip network just as flawless. I had no doubt that finding my way home would take no more effort than a knock on the nearest front door; if getting lost in a town the size of a pot hole was an option to begin with.
"I won't get -"
"Promise me."
"Dad -"
"Olivia!"
"Fine. I promise I'll call if I get lost."
"Thank you."
"That it?"
"For now."
I indulged in one last whiff of the briny water before stepping back from the ledge, relinquishing my tempt on fate as I shoved my phone back into my jeans and made a move for home.
The ground sloped beneath my sandals, its tufts of ankle high shoots giving way to a smooth bitumen road that ran the length of the town's cemetery, where statues of fallen angels and weeping women rose from the ground like bleached thorns, their smooth faces locked behind a prison of iron spikes bolted into a base of dark stone. A small chapel stood at its centre, its long, stained glass windows depicting scenes of a fire engulfed world torn between the light of the sun and the peace of a starless black.
Metal grated on metal and I yanked my gaze forward, focusing on the road ahead. I didn't want to see what had moved the gate. Wind or Human, it didn't matter. My only concern was getting as far away as possible before I made a fool of myself by crying.
If I'd been smart I'd have stayed away from this end of town, but passing the cemetery was the only way I'd found to see the water. And knowing me, I'd be stupid enough to do it again. That view of Mother Nature throwing a frothy fit of rage... totally worth it.
The road ahead curved slightly before ending in a T-section. I turned left and found myself looking at the hub of Silver Peak; a main road dotted with a handful of tiny, privately owned stores. A second hand bookshop. Three clothing boutiques. A shoe repairer, Hardware Store and a Locksmith. The petrol station was further along, just out of my line of sight. Randall's Grocer however, with its gaudy red sign blinking in time with my stuttering heartbeat, sat smack dab in the middle, dwarfing the buildings on either side. I followed the footpath in and paused, momentarily mesmerised by the building next door.
It was an average sized restaurant, the midway point between a service station and McDonalds drive through.
I hopped the small stretch of dirt separating it from Randall's, the sign above the Bubble Gum building declaring it 'Pinky's Diner'. The parking lot held a whopping three cars with another two lined up not far from its front doors of solid glass, idling in spaces marked by huge pink numbers ranging from one through eight.
I watched, somewhat bemused as a girl in a hot pink miniskirt and matching halter made an appearance in ankle high skates, holding a white paper bag and cardboard carton with two drinks. She came to a stop beside the yellow Mazda dripping water on the number two, her face plastered with a cheesy smile as she handed the lot over.
"And here's your $3.30 change. Have a nice day!"
She dropped her coins into the waiting hand before skating back up the concrete ramp and into the Building. My feet moved on their own, unable to stop themselves from following her in. Slick vinyl, patterned after a man sized chess board engulfed the floor. White tiles climbed the walls to shoulder height and a light shade of pink, the colour of watermelon lip gloss, stretched the last of the distance to a roof filled with stainless steel fans, wafting the tantalising smell of chicken nuggets and freshly assembled burgers into every well dusted corner.
A skeleton of a woman in the same uniform as the girl on skates stood by the single register, drumming her fuchsia nails on an immaculate black bench that ran the length of the far wall. She caught my wandering eye and paused, raising an eyebrow.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm Livy," I said, my brain pulling a mental blank as I navigated the last of my way through the maze of standalone tables and cushioned booths. "I just moved here with my Dad."
"And you're after a job. Though why you all think you can just waltz in here and expect me to hire you - Frank? Frank!" She yelled, her voice bordering on banshee level before turning back to me, all without taking a single breath. "Do you know how to skate?"
"Yes, but -"
"Work experience?"
"Uh, a bookstore back home. But I'm not after -"
"Frank!" She screeched again, cutting me off.
I watched as a dark haired man in his late twenties materialised through the hole in the wall behind her. He paused just long enough to toss thin rectangles of frozen white into a massive vat of bubbling oil.
"Yeah Jen?"
One of her long claws jutted out in my direction. "She wants a job."
Frank's eyes darted to mine, a slight frown creasing his brow before disappearing again, replaced by a lazy half smile. "She's new."
"And I don't need anyone new."
He shrugged. "I vote yes."
I shifted my weight to my other foot as I watched her grey eyes narrow to slits.
"I don't think I like her."
"You've barely met her."
"So?"
he sighed. "Give her a go, Jen."
The slits disappeared as she through her hand in the air. "Fine. But we trial her first! She'll need that old uniform of Nat's. It's on the top shelf in the storage cupboard."
Frank glanced back at me, cocking an eyebrow before he disappeared. No doubt heading for the storage cupboard.
"You start tomorrow night but don't expect to be paid for it," she said, gracing me with her full attention now that Frank was gone. "I'll have one of the girls train you up and once you've got the hang of it you can start a proper shift. Pay is $11 an hour plus tips. $13.50 for shifts after six and on weekends. Any questions?"
I found my tongue. Forced myself to use it. "I -"
"Here you go," Frank said as he handed what couldn't possibly be an entire uniform to the older woman.
"The apron's there too?"
He passed her a pair of skates with his other hand, his mop of dark hair bouncing with his nod.
"The skates are size six. That alright with you?" He asked, turning to look at me over Jen's shoulder.
"Yes but -"
"Your shift starts at five but I expect my staff to arrive ten minutes early. If all goes well, we'll put you on the payroll. What are you staring at?"
"N-nothing."
"Then take your things and get out of here. I've got customers waiting."
There was no one behind me and as far as I could tell no one new in the parking lot either, but the look on her face had me stepping forward and reaching over the countertop. Her icy fingers brushed mine and I shivered, snatching my clasped uniform away from her as quickly as possible.
"See you tomorrow!" Frank called through his window in the wall.
I forced a smile in his direction, muttered a quick 'thanks' to my new Boss and left at a run. I didn't slow until I was halfway through Randall's parking lot, where I found myself wondering if I'd actually participated in any part of that conversation. Not that I was complaining. The thought of a little extra cash and a decent excuse to get out of the house and away from Dad a few times a week perked me up faster then a new tub of choc mint ice cream.
Ah hell. Who was I kidding? Dad was going to say no ten ways from Sunday the moment the word job left my lips. I could hear him now, ticking off all the reasons why I couldn't before chiding me for messing good people around and wasting their time.
I grit my teeth, fighting against the urge to peg my skates at the windscreen of the closest car. I stopped where I was, closed my eyes and counted to ten. With one last deep breath I opened my eyes, lifted my chin and squared my shoulders against reality. I knew what his answer would be but I'd ask anyway. Fight for it. I'd given up enough.
Armed with a renewed sense of determination I stopped beside a glass wall painted with Vincent Van Gogh vegetable art and took a basket from the pile beneath a plastic 'for your convenience' sign. The doors slid open and I went in, navigating my way through the slim aisles to the cold section.
Eggs, cheese, milk... I paused by the yogurt, wondering whether or not to splurge. Vanilla, Strawberry, Peach Pear and Apricot... I grabbed the next one over, Berry Delight, before heading to the register and placing my basket on a table void of a moving belt.
The man digging around beneath the counter looked up at the noise. I felt my eyebrows shoot up as he stood, momentarily caught off guard by his too tanned skin and stark white hair.
"You must be one of the new residents on Anne Avenue," He said, smiling at me as he swiped the barcode on the back of the cheese packet.
"Uh-huh."
"I'm Greg Randall. Owner and operator."
Greg Randall. Randall's grocery store. Yeah, didn't take a genius to figure that one out.
"I'm Livy."
Teeth that should have played front and centre on a toothpaste commercial flashed and were gone again. "Are there many of you moving in, Livy?"
Did that mean he hadn't personally viewed the contract on our house?
"Just me and Dad."
"What about school? Grade twelve, yes?"
"I'm home schooling."
"Oh. What about friends?"
I shrugged.
He checked the register. "That'll be $15.90."
I pulled out a crumpled twenty and handed it over; more curious as to how old he was than annoyed by questions. Crow's feet lined the edges of his eyes but no other lines creased his face despite the senior citizen hair colour. He could have been thirty-something or sixty-something, either way I wouldn't have questioned it.
"You know Pinky's next door is good for hiring if you're after a job."
I lifted the arm that hung below his line of sight, showing him the Barbie sized uniform and dangling skates. "Already done."
"Well aren't you on the ball. Here's your 4.10 change. Welcome to the neighbourhood!"
"Thanks."
I ditched my basket back in the pile I'd taken it from, pausing just long enough to shove my uniform on top of the food and sling the knotted skates over my shoulder. I crossed at the lights and took the second left. The bloodhound one house down from the corner bounded up to the fence as I passed, his huge head clearing the white slatts to give me a sniff. I grinned at him as I stretched out my hand, letting him give me a tentative lick before scratching him behind his big floppy ears. His collar jingled from the movement and I slid my hand down, catching his tag and angling it towards the fading light.
"Well hello Dex, I'm one of your new neighbours from down the street. But I bet everyone's already told you that haven't they?" His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, neither denying nor acknowledging the accusation, just like any other upstanding resident of Silver Peak would do. I gave the top of his head one last good rub.
"Bye Dex."
He followed me along the fence line then watched from the corner of his yard as I walked the last of the way to our two story townhouse. The moving truck was gone, replaced by our car, a modest Toyota in a hideous shade of snot green.
The only reason he'd got the stupid thing was because mum had loved the colour. I was actually a little stunned that he'd kept it. Every other reminder of her was either packed away in boxes we'd never open or left behind in Peterson where we'd buried her.
"Dad? I'm back! I got stuff for breakfast tomorrow and found myself a job. And I got yogurt. The berry one we both like."
His head appeared through bi-fold doors that led to a dimly lit lounge room.
"You what?"
"I got stuff for breakfast tomorrow."
"No, the other bit."
"The yogurt?"
"Olivia."
"Right. I uh, got a job," I said, sliding the skates from my shoulder. "I'm the newest waitress at Pinky's Diner. They're training me up tomorrow night."
Dad's face fell into a frown the same moment his mouth opened, no doubt about to shut me down.
"I'm doing this," I snapped, startling the both of us with the stamping of my invisible foot. I hated that I sounded like such a brat but I needed this. I'd played the meek and agreeable daughter for him long past the point of fairness.
"I've moved out into the middle of nowhere with you. I quit a job I loved, left school midterm during my senior year and even agreed to home schooling once we got here, but I am not giving this up!" I sucked in a breath, forcing the heat from my voice and somehow managing a gentler tone. "I need this job, Dad. I need more than just you and these walls or I'll go insane. I've done everything else you've asked of me, so please, let me have this one thing."
His short nails raked across his stubbled chin, back and forth, over and over. He looked like he was actually mulling it over before shooting me down.
"Is Pinky's the diner on the main road next to the grocery store?"
I nodded, my heart pounding so hard it felt like a sledge hammer trying to shatter my rib cage from the inside.
"What about your school work?"
"The job's only part time, it won't be a problem," I answered, feeling my small glimmer of hope ignite into a full blown inferno.
The truth was, I hadn't wanted another job, I hadn't even considered looking for one. But now that the opportunity was within my grasp there was nothing I wanted more. The space, the separation, would be good for us. For me. And maybe, if Dad saw how well I handled it, saw me come home in one piece and perfectly okay, he'd realise once and for all that I wasn't going to end up like mum.
"Okay."
My breath caught in my throat, making my voice sound choked. "Okay?"
"Okay. But I want to know about every shift before it starts and what time I can expect you home again."
I threw my arms around him, landing him a kiss on his warm cheek. "Thank you."
He rolled his eyes but didn't push me off. His voice when he spoke again was gruff and I knew he was still struggling with his inner demons over the decision. "But there'll be no new jobs until this house is unpacked. Understood? And if it interferes with your grades or - "
Or the nightmares get worse, I thought, mentally finishing the last half of his sentence for him.
I released his neck and stepped back with a sigh, feeling myself sober up a little as the thrilling spark of my win began to fade. "Yeah, I know."
He pursed his lips as he studied me, looking at me as if I were his favourite piece of fine china, lying shattered in a million little shards before him. It was the same look he'd given me the first time he'd forced out the rest of the world and wrapped me up in his own special brand of parental bubble wrap.
I dropped my eyes, fighting against the mixed wave of anger and despair crashing over me as I braced myself for his last minute change of mind.
"Okay then."
A grin fought its way to my lips. He was seriously saying yes.
His lips quirk at the sight of my smile, despite his troubled eyes.
"What do you want me to unpack first?"
"Uh, kitchen I think."
"On it," I replied, giving him a mock salute before heading down the short hall, my step lighter than it had been in months.
Yes, he could still change his mind at any given moment and that knowledge irked me something fierce.
But for now, today, this minute in time... a tentative yes was enough.