The Former Lover [Sequel To Military Minds]

Chapter 13

Evening was falling upon Sunbury as Rebecca, Cameron and Georgia hitch-hiked up the steep hill lined with trees, leading into the more western part of town. Homes decorated the clear, spacious dipped landscape like monopoly houses, each tiled roof glistening under the emerging moonlight from the dark grey clouds. This part of town was beautiful. Rebecca had journeyed up here on occasion with her father and mother to dump items they no longer needed in the tip. She remembered exactly how it looked - a deep, broad stretch of dirt where bulldozers had been scaping out and sculpting the walls, and two large blue dumpster bins almost full with various items.

She sighed inwardly. Thinking back to her childhood was both a blessing and torture. She missed being young, active, and happy, without the stress and doubt clouding her mind as it did now. Those were happier days for certain, and Rebecca yearned to turn back time.

They turned into the road leading directly towards the campus site. Rebecca's stomach was in knots, thinking back to the times she had spent with Megan, attempting to get her to like Rebecca, instead of treating her like an annoying fly she'd wanted to swat.

The cratered landscape was rugged and old, the charred grass reminding Rebecca of what had taken place. The cabins still littered the site, one missing exactly half of its structure, she noticed. The wood had been blown off completely. She shuddered, wondering if anyone had been in there at the time.

Noticing her tension, Georgia peeked her curious eyes up at the soldier.

"There's a lot of memories here," Rebecca sighed, leaning down and scooping the child up into her arms. Georgia continued to gaze at her, the innocence palpiable in her dark eyes, reminding Rebecca of how carefree and leisurely childhood had felt to her.

"Did you and mummy meet here?" She asked in her soft, childish voice, throwing Rebecca back into a distant memory.

She had been seven, and she'd been pedalling hard and relentlessly on her new push bike. Her energy had known no limits back then. No matter how many things she had done, how many activities she had participated in, her body was still brimming with energy. She'd fallen off her violet glamour girl in a vulnerable moment, scraping her knee. She'd cried and cried, until Melanie had dressed the wound and given her a rainbow paddle pop and let her watch a football game between Richmond Tigers and Carlton Blues.

Rebecca closed her eyes briefly, her heart constricting with grief and mourning. She still hadn't gotten over Melanie's death. It stabbed her all over her body, in every vulnerable nook and cranny, stealing her breath away, leaving her numb and empty. The more she thought about Melanie, the worse the sensation became.

"Yes, we did," she murmured, clutching the child against her chest. The effect was soothing. She no longer felt tensed, like a coil ready to snap. "Your mother was the best person I ever met, Georgia."

She beamed up at Rebecca, her small teeth shining luminously white in the night. Her dark hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, blowing over her back in the slight breeze.

Cameron gazed impassively over the landscape, his eyes growing distant and unfathomable. Rebecca yearned to know what was going through his mind. Did he have memories here, like she did? Or was he attempting to determine the events that had occurred here? Or was it something else, that she didn't know about?

"Cam," Rebecca called, her soft voice barely carrying past her own ears. "Are you okay?"

He turned on his heels, his ice blue eyes meeting her own. The breeze blew his side fringe across his pale forehead, and in that moment he looked like a troubled young prince.

"I used to come here as a kid," the corner of his mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile, making Rebecca's heart lurch up into her throat. "Back then it was just a piece of land.The state government saw to that, saying there needed to be more military schools to train more people for the Afghan and Iraq wars."