River's Edge (Hope Rising Book 1) Read online

  River’s Edge

  Hope Rising Series Book 1

  Kristen M. Fraser

  Copyright © 2019 by Kristen M. Fraser

  All rights reserved.

  River’s Edge is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any mentioned place names bear no association with the author, and are used for fictitious purpose only.

  Scripture quotations marked CSB®, are taken from the Christian Standard Bible®, Copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible®, and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  “Don’t worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink;

  or about your body, what you will wear.

  Isn’t life more than food and the body more than clothing?

  Consider the birds of the sky: They don’t sow or reap or gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

  Aren’t you worth more than they?”

  {Matthew 6:25-26}

  Note From Author

  River’s Edge is set in Australia, therefore Australian spelling and terminology is used throughout the book.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Kristen M. Fraser

  1

  The river looked different from this angle. Serene. Picturesque. Almost too perfect. As too did the sky, in all its cloudless glory. Ben closed his eyes and imagined for a brief moment he was somewhere else. Perhaps in The Whitsundays, in far north Queensland. Or on a tropical island in the South Pacific. Even Vanuatu, where he’d honeymooned three years ago with Krista, would be nice.

  It was easy to imagine with the water lapping quietly on the river bank, the light breeze blowing through the fronds of the nearby palm trees, and the pale grey expanse of heaven stretched out above him as a new day dawned.

  But then it hit him. That musty, damp, suffocating smell. Ben swallowed the rising bile as the acrid stench burned the back of his throat.

  Turning his head on the stained cushion he’d rescued from a clothing dumpster from somewhere in the city, he eyed the water. From his vantage point at the edge of the park, he could almost touch the murky brown waters of the Brisbane River.

  Oil slicks floated on top, creating a shimmering rainbow when the sun hit the surface just right. Branches and leaf litter drifted with the current, while water lapped quietly on the sand. Sand. Who was he kidding? It was mud. Silt. And it stank. He doubted anyone really knew just how much.

  No one could smell the putrid damp from up on top of the Story Bridge where the nation’s flag flew high and free in the wind, not even the harnessed tourists ticking the bridge climb off their bucket list.

  Occasionally people got a whiff of the suffocating odour when they zipped by on the City Cats, the passenger ferries carrying people to their next destination, just like he used to on his commute to work in the city. But Ben never realised just how bad the river smelled until it became a regular part of his life. Daily now, he breathed it in, until he tasted it. That thick, damp, mossy smell, now a part of his normal.

  From his makeshift bed, Ben eyed the high-rises in the central business district across the stretch of water separating his present world from the one he used to inhabit. Soon, the noise of peak hour traffic would crescendo, continuing its monotonous drone well into the evening.

  A nostalgic rush of excitement surged through his veins as he recalled his time in the rat race. The thrill of meeting a deadline. The adrenaline rush when chairing a meeting. It all seemed foreign now. Nine months made a big difference, and it was uncanny what he’d taken for granted and allowed into his life. The pressure to meet performance appraisals. The early mornings in the office. The late nights away from home. He had been driven. Determined. Eager to please his boss and prove to his family that he was someone. Not just Ben Tarbett, only child of an alcoholic father and a mother who chose death over her family.

  But none of that mattered now. No one cared that he’d worked hard and sacrificed so much.

  His in-laws didn’t. They’d disapproved of his marriage to Krista from the start. His blue-collar upbringing was no match for the daughter of the Head of Obstetrics at the state’s top hospital.

  His wife didn’t. She’d gone running back to the affluent suburb of her childhood to live with her parents when the walls of her perfect life came tumbling down.

  The bank didn’t. Not when they’d repossessed his home because they – more to the point, he – couldn’t make the mortgage repayments.

  And his boss didn’t. When he told Ben his position was no longer viable due to company job cuts and the global financial crisis.

  No, all those years of hard work didn’t matter any more. Not when his home was a sleeping bag underneath the Kurilpa Bridge – or wherever he might be moved onto next by the council workers who took great joy in fining him and other itinerants, and calling them names. Scum. Filth. Trash. And a few other choice words that weren’t worth repeating.

  Despite the taunts and having no fixed address to call home, there was a certain freedom in having one’s worldly possessions in a duffel bag. Ben tried to focus on that, and not on all that he’d lost.

  He was no longer encumbered by the weight of debt hanging around his neck. He was no longer stressed by trying to make ends meet. He got to see the sunrise and sunset each day. He was out in nature, and out of the rat race. Those were positives, right? Those were the things he tried to cling to in the midst of his darkest moments.

  Not the memories of Krista, the woman he’d fallen in love with so easily. Nor the memories of their beautiful daughter, Millie. His heart ached at the thought of not seeing her. And his other child. The one Krista surprisingly announced as she stood on the porch of her parent’s house and told him she was pregnant and had filed for a divorce, all in the same breath. Did he have a son or another daughter? Ben had no idea. But one day he would find out and make amends. And only hope his children would see him for more than the worthless man he was.

  2

  The blast from the horn of a passing ferry drew Ben out of his spiralling thoughts. He stood, rolled his sleeping gear up, and shoved it into his bag. He ambled over to a tap at the nearby picnic shelter and took a small cake of soap out of his pack. Lathering his hands under the stream of water, he washed his face, the cool water invigorating him. If he couldn’t enjoy a full shower, a clean face was the next best thing. No longer at the sandpapery stage, the hair on his cheeks and along his jawline felt soft beneath his fingertips. He would leave it another few days, or longer, before
shaving. There was no rush. He had nowhere to be, and definitely no one to impress.

  Voices carried across the air as two people ran along the path winding beside the river. Ben paused, watching their backs as they disappeared around a bend. A twinge of longing and regret clenched his gut. That had been him once. Running through the leafy streets of his old neighbourhood. Up early to hit the gym before a long day at the office. Fit. Muscular. Body proud. Now, thanks to food handouts and rations, he was much leaner. Tanned. And with more lines on his face than he dared count.

  “Up early, Ben?” A raspy voice drew his attention. Rinsing the soap off his hands, he squeezed out the facecloth and tied it to his pack so it would dry throughout the day.

  “Always.” He grinned at Silas Gibson, or Smiley, as those around him affectionately called the older man. “Hard for old habits to die.”

  The weathered man hobbled over, pulling a small shopping trolley behind him, and perched on the metal bench underneath the shelter. “Got plans for today?”

  “Thought I might see the sights of our beautiful city. See a theatre performance. Catch a movie.” Ben grinned, thankful for the easy banter with the older man he called friend.

  Smiley had called the streets home for over a decade, and had taken Ben under his wing the night his car had been mercilessly stolen while he was in a toilet block in a nearby park. While Smiley accepted his lot in life, Ben saw his own plight as temporary. It was only meant to be until he gathered his thoughts and formulated a plan for a future that included his children. Although nine months was starting to feel a little more permanent than he liked.

  “Gorgeous day for it.” Smiley ran a wrinkled hand over his unkempt grey beard. His voice rasped from years of smoking and hard living.

  “It is indeed.” Ben craned his neck, looking around. The grey of dawn parted, revealing a dusting of powder blue across the sky. The sun’s rays glinted off the high-rise buildings across the river and shimmered on the water. Hoisting his bag onto his shoulder, Ben ran a hand through his damp hair.

  A squeaking wheel on Smiley’s trolley filled the air as the two men slowly made their way through the deserted park towards the entrance where a small group of people gathered near a large white van with Hope Street painted in vibrant blue on the side. Familiar faces of people Ben had come to call friends over the previous few months hovered around a table set up at the side of the van that parked in the same spot every morning to serve them breakfast.

  It was Ben’s daily ritual. Each day followed the same routine so he wouldn’t drift into the melancholy that lingered on the periphery of his mind. Breakfast from the street van. Meet up with some other friends. Grab a bite for lunch. Read in a park, or meet more friends in the afternoon. Visit another van for dinner, and then settle down for the evening. Routine kept him sane. Routine kept him focused. Routine kept him from stepping up onto the nearby bridge and taking the last step of his life.

  Leaving their belongings on the ground beneath the shade of a Moreton Bay fig tree, Ben and Smiley joined the group waiting for breakfast. A few unfamiliar people wandered by, their voices grating over the low hum of conversation.

  Ben nodded a greeting at Graham Silverton, the man who ran the free food service alongside his wife Sue. In their early sixties, the couple was always smiling, always friendly, always willing to lend an ear. Ben wondered why they bothered to come out every morning, considering some of the itinerants tried to take advantage of their generosity. But they did. Rain, hail or shine. And always with a smile and a kind word.

  “Oof!” Smiley clutched his side as a lanky youth jostled his way along the line of folks waiting. The older man stumbled forward, arms flailing as he reached for something to grab hold of.

  “Oi, watch it, mate.” Ben gripped Smiley’s elbow before he hit the ground.

  “I’m just having fun.” The unfamiliar man, wearing a tattered singlet and jeans hanging low on his hips, turned around. A lopsided grin revealed missing teeth. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and he scratched his arms as he jittered from one foot to the next. Although he had never touched an illegal substance in his life, Ben recognised the signs of withdrawal. He’d witnessed a few of Smiley’s acquaintances exhibiting similar symptoms, and the images had seared his memory.

  “Well, your fun’s over for today. Leave us be.” Not wanting to cause any strife, Ben grabbed Smiley’s arm and led him over to a bench seat away from the curious glances of the small crowd.

  “Stay here. I’ll grab your breakfast for you.” Ben cast a glance toward the van where the man continued talking loudly and shoving his way toward the front of the line.

  Resting one hand on his knee, Smiley waved Ben away. “I’ll just wait until that young ‘un has moved on, then I’ll go.” He muttered a few curse words under his breath. “Smart alec. I’m gonna bet he’ll be headin’ down to the next van after this.”

  Ben nodded, as the unfamiliar youth harassed some of the others in line. He hadn’t seen him before, and wondered where he’d come from.

  Sometimes people hassled the homeless just for kicks. He’d heard that someone had recently been arrested for randomly beating someone as they slept in a park. Some of the people who showed up for meals provided by the street vans were frauds, trying to get as many handouts as they could before going home to a bed of their own at night. Others were unemployed bums and addicts who were just out to cause trouble.

  “Graham will soon sort him out,” Ben said. The older man’s solid physique would be no match for the scrawny youth jostling his way to the front of the queue, mouthing off at the regular attenders.

  “Well, he’s certainly not gonna win any friends behavin’ like that.”

  Just as Ben anticipated, Graham walked over and spoke to the uncouth man who didn’t appear to be much older than twenty, before pointing to the exit of the park. Ben waited until he’d walked away before returning to the van with Smiley. By then, most of the line had dispersed, allowing the men to get their breakfast in peace.

  “Morning Ben, Smiley.” Graham’s voice boomed as a warm smile filled his face.

  “Who was that idiot?” Smiley tilted his head in the direction the man had gone.

  “I’m not sure.” Graham frowned, scratching his chin. “I’ll have to ask around. He was certainly stirring up some strife this morning, though. Be safe, men.”

  “Always.” Smiley’s trademark grin appeared from beneath his bushy beard.

  While Smiley and Graham continued their conversation, Ben gathered a paper bag containing a sandwich, a muesli bar and an apple from the table, before heading to the open doors at the rear for his morning coffee fix. It wasn’t a five-dollar latte from what had once been his favourite café in the city, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and for now, it was the closest thing to bliss.

  “Men, this is Natalie.” Graham scooted ahead of Ben and Smiley, and leaned against the open door. “She’s just starting out with us. Sue’s busy this morning, so Natalie’s stepped in to help. She’ll be joining us in the mornings when she can.”

  A slim brunette with her hair pulled high in a ponytail glanced up from the hot water urn a couple of feet away and smiled as Graham introduced them.

  “Hi.”

  Ben’s smile faltered as his eyes latched onto hers. Aquamarine blue. That’s what they reminded him of. The time he’d gone to Daydream Island with Krista and swam in the crystal blue waters of the reef. The warmth in her eyes sent an unexpected current coursing through his veins. Unable to formulate a greeting, Ben abruptly nodded his thanks and took the foam cup from her.

  “Catch you tomorrow.” Mumbling to Graham, he strode away clutching his breakfast bag in one hand and his coffee in the other.

  Seriously, Ben. Just because you haven’t seen a good-looking woman in awhile, doesn’t mean you have to react like an idiot.

  He lowered himself to the ground beneath the fig tree. Dew had blanketed the grass overnight, and he soon felt the dampness seep through t
he seat of his jeans.

  With a frustrated sigh, he carefully set the coffee on the ground and opened the paper bag. Great. Wet pants. Wonderful start to the day.

  Drawing a knee up to his chest, Ben bit into the apple, his eyes drifting toward the van where Graham, Smiley and the brunette were deep in conversation.

  The woman was stunning. Perhaps a year or so younger than he was, although he looked a good decade older thanks to living it rough and being exposed to the elements. Her moves were graceful as she packed the unused cups into the back of the van. Wearing fitted jeans and a light grey t-shirt, her appearance was casual, yet she had an elegance about her that seemed out of place for a street van.

  Curiosity drew him in. Why would someone like her, work with the likes of him? Surely she’d be best suited in an office where she wouldn’t be exposed to the dregs of society.

  Natalie’s melodious laughter lilted on the breeze. Ben stilled at the beautiful sound. Aside from Millie’s angelic giggles, he’d heard nothing like it. The music of her laugh was like the warmth of the sun breaking through a cloudy winter’s day. It was the calming waters of a crystal blue lake. It was heaven.

  “She seems a nice one.” Using the tree for leverage, Smiley lowered himself to the ground next to Ben. “Just moved up here from Melbourne, apparently. Gonna be workin’ with those two a bit.” Stretching his legs in front of him, Smiley leaned against the tree trunk and opened his breakfast bag.