Free April's Glow by Juliet Madison

into the dim expanse of Lookout Point, the sound of waves crashing and rolling beneath as their background music, she realised its power, its potential. It was a way to make sense of what had been, give structure to the chaos that had occurred, and immortalise the heroes who had perhaps stood here many years gone by, dreaming of a future they never got to experience.
    Yes, she was lucky. She may not have got the future she’d planned, but she had a future.
    When the service had ended and the early sun warmed the air and started waking up the town, April glanced down towards the harbour on her left, and saw him. Zac. In the distance, standing alone on one of the piers. Why had he not come up to take part in the service? She walked down the hill. Maybe they’d cross paths on her way back home. But by the time she got to the bottom he was already walking further ahead, going the long way around, towards the beach instead of the town.
    Probably best. She would go home and make use of her rare day off while the shop was closed for Anzac Day. He’d go to his place and do his own thing, and they need never be more than courteous but distant neighbours. Later on she’d join some of the locals at the pub for dinner. Her mum wouldn’t be there though, she boycotted pubs. She would catch up with her for lunch tomorrow instead.
    After chatting to some locals in Miracle Park on the way home, April arrived back in her street and found Zac planting a small tree in his front garden.
    â€˜Poet and a gardener, huh?’ she said, stopping in front of his house. So much for leaving him to his own devices, her mouth didn’t like to cooperate with her brain. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she added, about to walk off.
    â€˜Wait,’ he said.
    She looked at his face, his eyes tight and squinting in the morning glare.
    â€˜I’ve got something for you.’
    â€˜Another cloud candle?’ April glanced upwards.
    â€˜No. Something you can actually take with you. Into your house, I mean, not when you die.’
    She tilted her head. She didn’t know how to respond to that.
    â€˜Sorry. I’m sure you’ll live a long healthy life. I’m just saying. You know, after our conversation a couple of weeks ago.’
    â€˜That we can’t take material possessions with us when we die, yes. I remember.’
    â€˜It’s inside.’ He brushed soil from his bare hands and walked towards the front door. April followed, but hung about on the porch. A subtle glow caught her eye and she peered into his house, noticing the fireplace. But it wasn’t lit, the candle on the mantle above was. The cinnamon candle.
    â€˜I’m glad the candle is getting put to good use,’ she said. ‘But they look nicer when lit at night.’
    Zac wandered to the mantle. ‘I know. But I thought today would be good.’
    â€˜Because of Anzac Day?’
    He nodded, and before she knew what she was doing she had stepped into his house without asking permission. ‘Is that you?’ She pointed to a photo of two kids. She recognised the shape of his jaw, even in the youthful roundness of the child’s face. She looked back to the door she’d stepped through. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t barge in. My legs and my mouth have a mind of their own.’
    He chuckled. ‘It’s okay. Yes, that’s me and my friend.’
    April’s gaze wandered to the photo next to it. ‘And all grown up. Same friend?’
    He nodded. ‘Yep.’
    â€˜You’re a soldier?’ It made sense. His commanding presence and posture. His tattoos, the intensity and seriousness he sometimes had. When he wasn’t chuckling or commenting on how she was ‘amusing to watch’.
    â€˜ Was .’
    â€˜How long have you been off duty?’
    Zac glanced up to the roof. ‘Almost three years now.’
    â€˜Wow. You must have seen a lot. I mean, I don’t need to know,