THE TROUBLE WITH PAPER PLANES(63)

“You don’t need this bloody sideshow,” I mumbled, trying to explain.

She shrugged, adjusting her hand beneath mine so our fingers were laced together. “The only thing I need is you.”

In the moonlight, with the shadows from the trees dappling her skin, she looked so much like Emily, I had to remind myself that she wasn’t. The memories flooded in, but I pushed them away. Only this time, not because it hurt too much.

I pushed them away because I wanted Maia. And as much as I knew I should feel guilty about that, I didn’t.

I reached up, gently cushioning her cheek in my hand. I wanted to say so much, but I couldn’t find the words. She covered my hand with hers, as if she could read my mind.

A shiver danced up my spine, one of those slow shivers that seemed to ignite all my nerve endings, one by one, until my whole body was tingling. God, what I wouldn’t have given to have just stayed there with her, in that moment, where everything seemed to have just stopped. Time, worry, the world. It all seemed to float away, leaving us sitting there, together. There was a rightness to it that I couldn’t explain, nor did I want to. I just wanted to prolong it as long as I could.

“What happened, the night Emily disappeared?” she murmured, her voice dragging me backwards.

I sighed, so deeply that I felt as if I had turned myself inside out. I needed her to stay with me, to help me through this. I moved my hand away from her cheek, taking her hand instead, drawing it down, turning it over and staring at it. I ran my fingertips along the edges of her short, perfect nails. It was a valid question, and she deserved to know, but telling her was gonna hurt like hell.

“We were at Joel’s housewarming party,” I said, lifting my gaze from her hand to her face. “We’d planned on staying the night, so we’d both had a bit to drink. We weren’t pissed or anything, but we were heading that way.”

Em was wearing the pale lemon halter-neck and denim cut-off shorts that were her favourites. She’d just had her hair cut, all blonde and chin-length choppy layers, framing her face. She was a couple of glasses of wine behind me, too busy talking to Jas and dancing to Joel’s crappy music. I’d watched her from a distance, dancing, laughing, drinking. She was beautiful. Beautiful and sexy and noisy and happy. And that was the very last time everything was fine.

“Then for some bloody reason, she started bugging me to leave. She didn’t say why, she just wanted to go. I told her she could just crash out in Joel’s room, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to leave. She wanted my keys, but I wouldn’t give them to her – she wasn’t fit to drive, neither of us were.”

Maia nodded, further entwining her fingers with mine.

“I didn’t want to leave,” I shrugged, shame wrapping its arms around me, drawing me back into the fold again. “I was having a good time – I thought she was just being melodramatic. So I told her if she wanted to leave, she’d just have to phone Bridget to come and get her. She wanted me to come with her, but I didn’t want to. She got shitty, stormed off. I thought she’d gone to call Bridget. I found out later that she’d starting walking home.”

What I wouldn’t have given to replay that night, that moment. I’d have phoned Bridget myself, I’d have waited with her, I’d have made sure she was safe. I’d have done everything differently.

“And that was it. She was gone. She was just… gone.”

Maia was solemn in the moonlight. We sat like that, on the grass, her hand in mine, my heart tearing into tiny pieces all over again.

“It was my fault,” I said simply. “If I’d done what she asked, she’d still be here.”

She squeezed my hand gently, holding it with both of hers. “It’s not your fault, Heath.”

“Alex thinks it is.”

“Alex is hurting. I don’t even know him and I could see it, plain as day. It looks to me like he wants someone to blame – and because there isn’t anyone, he’s frustrated and angry and he’s lashing out at you, because he can see that you feel guilty about it. He’s homed in on that.”

She sounded like Vinnie. “Maybe he’s right.”

“He’s not,” she insisted. “You can’t blame yourself for something like that. Sometimes, things just happen. You can unpack them and repack them and twist and turn them around all you want, but sometimes there just isn’t an answer. Sometimes there isn’t anyone to blame.”