BY LUNCHTIME, MY hand was hurting so much that Susan insisted I went and had it looked at. My only options on a weekend were the emergency room or a walk-in medical centre.

When I got there, it seemed that every other person in the surrounding area had the same idea. Thankful I’d brought a book with me, I settled in for the long wait, getting lost in a fantasy world while keeping my ears tuned to the sound of my name. Time ticked by. I grew more absorbed in the story, so much so that I didn’t notice the room empty out around me until I read the last page of my book, looked up and sighed.

“Got any gum?”

I almost jumped out of my skin when I noticed Jude sitting opposite me, a half smile tilting his full lips.

Reaching into my purse, I took out a stick and handed it to him. “Planning on spitting it at me?”

The grin spread the whole way across his face and turned into a chuckle, revealing slightly crooked but white teeth. It was a nice smile, one that curved his cheeks and touched his eyes. I found myself smiling back.

“If I plan to, I’ll wait until you start walking somewhere so I can aim at your feet.”

A laugh jumped out of my chest. “Touché. Although, you have to know that that isn’t what I was trying to do. I didn’t see you.”

He slid the gum into his mouth and chewed, the muscles in his jaw working along with his mind—he’d gone very quiet. I was expecting him to respond in some way, but there was nothing, only a thoughtful stare into the distance.

I looked at him properly while I waited. I hadn’t really noticed his looks until then. We’d met under the circumstance of confused emotion and while I saw him, I didn’t register him. There was bruising under his eyes and his stubble had grown in a little more, but I could see the man he normally was, and without the scowl on his face—present when I met him—the man was quite beautiful. Ash-brown hair, his skin not as pale as I first thought, but touched with the lightest kiss of the sun, and his eyes the same soft brown that maple syrup was when light filters through it. Had I met him under any other circumstances or at any other time in my life, he would have given me butterflies. But now...

Looking down, I frowned, not sure I should even be acknowledging his looks. It felt wrong, even though the thought had popped into my mind as natural as every other thought ever had. But everything was different now. Every thought passed through the filter of grief as my heart murmured, no, cried, ‘Tyler, Tyler, Tyler,’ with every beat.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” I said when my thoughts darkened and the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable length. “I hope they didn’t break when I...” I paused and lifted my sore hand, gesturing the last part of the sentence.

He shook his head. “You didn’t break them. I’m just wearing contacts because my nose is swollen.”

“I broke it, didn’t I?”

Lifting one shoulder, he looked toward reception, his jaw still working on that piece of gum. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think I broke my hand.”

“It’s really not. I’m a pacifist. I don’t wish hurt on anyone.”

I ran my hand over the smooth cover of my book and sighed. “You’re a better person than I am. I think if someone punched me in the nose like that, I’d be pissed as hell.”

“Well, I’m not.” He met my eyes, his narrowing as he assessed me for a beat. My stomach jumped—the beating wings of a lone butterfly. Heat flooded my cheeks, and horror filled my heart. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Tyler was my soulmate; I wasn’t supposed to have any butterflies left.

Sucking in my breath, I looked away, focusing on sliding my book into my bag so I didn’t suddenly cry in front of Jude again. With the gum and the punch and the tears he’d witnessed, he probably thought I was unstable, so I didn’t need to prove him right by crying over what would seem like nothing to his eyes.

“Sarah Kennedy-Lohan?’”

My name being called by the doctor was a distraction I welcomed with great relief, collecting my things with a mumbled “see you around” before quickstepping through the waiting room and into the doctor’s office.

When I finished, I had a brace on my wrist and a confirmed hairline fracture in my second metacarpal just below the knuckle. I’d be fine after a couple of weeks resting it, so I’d be on light duties at work—something that was hard for a physiotherapist, but not impossible. I’d have to talk to my boss on Monday to work something out.

After collecting a prescription for mild painkillers, I headed to the Navaro, in a way glad I didn't run into Jude again. The fluttering feeling when he'd studied me had been unexpected and I really wasn't interested in finding out if it would happen again.

Inserting the key, I turned the ignition, expecting the large diesel engine to roar to life. Instead, all I got was a click, click, click, then nothing.

“What?” I tried again.

Nothing. Not even a click.

“Fucking arse,” I moaned, dropping my head against the back of the seat in frustration. Then I popped the hood and got out of the car to look at an engine I had no idea what to do with. To my untrained eyes it looked perfectly normal—nothing was loose, nothing seemed to be missing.

I fiddled around with a few cables to see if that made a difference then tried the engine again. Still nothing.

“Fuck-ing-arse.” I punctuated each syllable with the back of my head banging against the seat then got out of the car again, this time taking my phone with me. Pacing a few steps back and forth, I called my insurance company so they could connect me to roadside assistance. Once they’d logged me on their callout list, they let me know I’d be seen within forty minutes.

“Shit.” I checked the time, looking up at the dimming sky. Saturday night in the middle of a medical centre parking lot was not what I had in mind. All of a sudden, a cold shiver skittered beneath my skin as all those scenarios women are told would be their demise ran through my mind. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Putting in a call to Susan, I let her know what was going on and spent a bit of time talking to Ty about the virtues of glitter play dough. “All right, baby, you be a good boy for Nanny. I’ll see you soon, OK?”

“OK, Mummy.” I heard a shuffle as he handed the phone back to Susan. “Do you want me to stay on the line with you until the mechanic gets there?”

“It’s OK. They should get here before dark, I hope. I’ll just close up the car and stay inside it until they’re here.” Reaching up, I placed my hand on the hood, ready to pull it back down.

“Car trouble?”

I spun around to see Jude walking toward me sporting a splint on the bridge of his nose. “It won’t start,” I told him.

“Is that the mechanic already?” Susan asked over the phone while Jude looked under the hood, his hand on his chin, fingers moving thoughtfully.

“What happens when you turn the key?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Sarah. Who’s there?” Susan’s concerned voice cut through the air.

“I’ll have to call you back.”

“Don’t hang up, Sarah. You don’t know this man.”

“I do know him. It’s OK. I’m fine. I’ll call you back.”

“Sarah.”

“I’m OK,” I reassured her, hitting the end call button before she could say anything else.

“Your mum?” Jude asked, reaching through the door to turn the key, his face scrunched a little while he listened to the click.

“In-law. She’s watching my son.”

His brows lifted then his head disappeared under the hood of my car. “You’re married with a kid? I didn’t notice a ring. But, I guess that explains the double-banger surname.”

“A double-banger surname.” I laughed at his use of the Aussie term and the way it sounded with his British accent, ignoring the comment about my lack of marital jewellery.

“I’ve lived here long enough to pick up a few colloquialisms.” He smiled as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hands on it. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from mentioning it, but it was such a rare thing for a man who couldn’t possibly be much older than thirty. “So, how old is your kid?”

“Four.”

He nodded. “I’ve got jumper cables in my car. Give me a second and I’ll bring it over and see if it’s just a dead battery.”

I waited then assisted him when it was time to start my car. Still nothing.

He chewed the side of his mouth. “Not the battery. It might be your starter motor, or a fuse may have blown, or the engine could have seized if you’ve run out of oil.” He peered under the hood, making faces at the motor. “I don’t really have the tools here with me to check. Do you have roadside?”

“They’re on their way, supposedly.”

Nodding, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the ute. “I’ll wait with you, then.”

“You really don’t need to. You’ve done so much already.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I don’t want to keep you from your Saturday night.”

“Season three of Homeland on Netflix and reheated butter chicken. I think it’ll keep.”

With a sigh, I sat in the driver’s seat, leaving the door open, my legs dangling out. “You’re very nice, you know.”

Kicking at the asphalt with his shoe, he looked off into the distance. “I’m really not.”

“No. You are. Most people would hate me for what I did to you. They’d see me stranded like this and walk on by.”

“Maybe I just believe in karma.”

“Is this my karma?”

He shook his head then nodded toward the brace around my wrist. “I’d say the damaged hand is all the karma you needed. This is just bad luck and shitty circumstance.”

Sitting quietly for a moment, I thought about what he said and wondered what he’d done to deserve the gum and the punch in the first place, giving voice to it shortly after. “What did you do to deserve the gum on your shoe and a punch in the nose, then?”

A smile creased his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. “I was intolerant and took my frustrations out on other people.”

“And because of that you deserved a broken nose?” I asked, gesturing to the splint taped over the bridge.

“No. The gum on the shoe was for the way I behaved in a meeting about budget cuts in my department. The broken nose was for the way I treated you after the gum.”

“So you believe that karma just keeps bouncing between people punishing them for crimes against their fellow man no matter how small?”

“Of course. It’s the universe’s way of balancing itself out. The idea of karma or consequence for actions is in everything—science, nature, religion, law. Everything you do has a consequence. Giving thought to your actions means you can, in some way, control the consequence and therefore your life.”

“Then how do you explain chaos theory or bad things happening to good people?”

“Ahhh.” He holds up a finger, punctuating the air. “Those are the things karma makes up for. It’s why people say ‘they’ll get theirs’ and ‘karma is a bitch’—because it is. But, if you take action to cause harm or take revenge, you get dragged into the cycle and bad things keep happening.”

“So you’re saying that you shouldn’t fight back. You should just wait until karma does it for you?”

He shrugged. “It’s more complicated than that, because you should fight an injustice, but you should fight with knowledge not fists and weapons. That only keeps the cycle going.”

“Because violence begets violence and all that.”

Folding his hands across his chest again, he nodded. “Exactly.”

The conversation continued for almost an hour, ideas bouncing back and forth as we discussed the role of karma and education in a violent world. We spoke about world events and the fact that in every war, each side believes they’re the good guys. I found his mind fascinating. It was possible that my opinion was coloured by the fact this was the first in-depth adult conversation I’d had since Ty was born. But I found myself feeling energised by it, and by the time roadside assistance showed up, it hadn’t felt like an hour had passed at all, only mere moments. I actually felt disappointed that it had to end.

“There seems to be a problem with your wiring,” the mechanic told Jude after spending a good twenty minutes checking the engine.

He’d barely acknowledged me since he arrived. I suppose he was correctly assuming I had no clue what he was talking about. Even so, since it was my car, I would have liked to be included in the conversation. But I stayed silent, because getting home was more important than wasting time asking for a layman’s explanation of the problem.

Jude frowned. “What name is on your call-out sheet?”

“Excuse me?” The mechanic seemed genuinely confused.

Jude clarified. “Your call-out sheet. Who did you come here to help?”

The mechanic pulled out his book and ran his finger down the list, sighing because I think he realised what this was about. “Sarah Kennedy-Lohan,” he said with a hint of annoyance.

“Then you can probably guess which one of us you should be talking to.”

With the smallest of eye-rolls, the mechanic turned to me then repeated himself, adding, “I think your fuel pump relay is broken. I can bypass it so it will continue to pump fuel while the ute is running. You’ll need to get it to the auto electrician as soon as possible, though.”

I nodded along, feeling the need to at least pretend I knew what was going on after Jude had forced the guy to address me. Then I stood to the side while he applied the temporary fix ending our working relationship when he handed me a slip of paper that explained the work he’d done in an unreadable scrawl.

“Thank you,” I told him.

He grumbled, waved an arm, then shuffled back to his work van.

“I’ll follow you in case you break down on the way home,” Jude said when the mechanic drove off.

I nodded, thanking him, then paused before I got into the Navara. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. It didn’t bother me too much that he was explaining the problem to you. You know far more about car engines than I do, anyway.”

He shrugged. “It was disrespectful. He knew the car was yours and he chose to ignore you because he assumed you had no idea.”

“But he was right, I didn’t.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s your car, your policy—you pay for the service that pays his salary. You are the person he should deal with unless you specifically ask him to deal with someone else for you.”

“You see the world in a very righteous way, don’t you?”

Again, he shrugged. “Maybe I’m just intolerant of archaic viewpoints and behaviours.” Then he got into his car and started it up.

I kept one eye on him following me via my rear-view mirror until I got home. When I slowed down to turn into the parking garage, he waited then kept driving. Considering he’d said that his plans involved watching TV and eating leftovers, I found that odd. Perhaps Jude wasn’t the straight-talking man he professed. Perhaps he was just doing a lap around the block to avoid spending any more time with me…