25 HEATH

25 Heath

Heath cleared his throat awkwardly, as though he needed to make an announcement. Of course, given that he’d be relying on his father for a lift into Settlers Bridge, an explanation was warranted. ‘Amelia wants to catch up. Got something she wants to discuss.’

Sean thumped down the twenty-kilo bag of chook food he had over one shoulder. ‘Has she now?’ he said with far too much interest.

Not that Heath hadn’t been intrigued since he got the text an hour earlier. And relieved. Although he’d taken to helping Sean out around the farm rather than sit at his desk for hours, the week had still run long, Thursday seemed too far away, and as Charlee had taken to texting him her latest updates for the pros and cons list he’d suggested she create—and her growing shopping list of animals for the travelling farm—he was out of excuses for calling past Amelia’s place. ‘Yep.’

‘What’s that about, you reckon?’

So many things had run through his head. Amelia might have come up with an idea to help further repair his relationship with Charlee. She could have another issue with those sheep—who, he’d decided, were far from the worst animals on the planet. Maybe she wanted to discuss how they’d house this travelling barnyard she and Charlee were scheming about. Or … was there a shadow of a possibility that she could want to see him because—?

No. Just because Amelia was on his mind too much, didn’t mean his interest was in any way reciprocated. He deliberately crushed the unwanted and unwarranted surge of anticipation, and focused on untwisting the wire that held the gate to the chook yard closed.

‘Guess there’s one way to find out. You got half an hour to run me in?’

‘Sure. Got to put out some calcium and magnesium licks for the sheep and close the chickens in so the foxes don’t get them, then we’re good to go.’

‘Thought the stock would be getting enough nutrition from this lot.’ Heath gestured at the paddock beyond the farmyard, framed by yellow wattles along the fence line. Although, like all the properties in the Settlers Bridge district, the farm was adversely affected by their position in the rain shadow of the Mount Lofty ranges, the ankle-height grass was a dozen different shades of green. The peppertrees dotted across the bottom of the yard were alive with tiny, finch-like birds, the ascending crystal waterfall of their single-note calls multiplied to a torrent by the sheer number communicating. The bell tones contrasted with the caw of the wattlebirds searching for nectar among the orange-and-red poker-like spears of the four-metre high kniphofia hedge behind the house.

Sean pulled out a pocketknife to slit the thread on the top of the sack. ‘Too much potassium in the greens. It blocks mineral absorption.’ He snorted. ‘Bit like too much alcohol blocks anything good.’

His tone shook Heath. Sean rarely referenced his addiction, and only if he was feeling down. That, combined with the distinct impression Sean had been skirting around something earlier in the week, prickled foreboding along Heath’s spine.

‘Maybe don’t start carting sheep along with you to AA.’ His forced humour was a coward’s deflection, but he had so few other weapons at his disposal. He had neither right nor ability to counsel his father—or Charlee—over whatever this latest round of problems was. Not when he so barely had his own head above water. Amelia, though … if anyone had an idea of how to help his family, it would be her. And she and Sean were thick as thieves, so there’d be a good chance she’d know what had got his father offside.

‘Fair call,’ Sean said cheerfully, and Heath wondered if he was imagining issues where none existed. ‘I’m going past Lynnie’s to have her check if the gear Tracey got for the fundraiser meets the mark. It passed muster with Charlee, but she’s far more confident that she knows what’s needed than I am. I’m worried I’m going to look like a total leathcheann . I assume Charlee got Tracey to sort you something, too?’

‘What are you on about?’

Sean hefted the grain sack with a grunt, balancing it to tip into the chook feeder. ‘Tuesday afternoon. Not that the getup is needed for practice, but I’m hoping boots and a hat will distract from the evidence that I don’t know my grapevine from a step touch, regardless of how loud Charlee yells directions at me.’

Heath helped steady the sack, which his father seemed to have more trouble handling than usual. ‘Dad, you’ve completely lost me.’

Sean pinched the open lip of the sack to stop the flow of grain into the steel feeder as a tiny mouse scurried to safety from the golden avalanche. Then he set the half-empty sack back on the ground. ‘The fundraiser. Charlee didn’t mention the practice sessions?’

‘Practice?’

A mischievous twinkle lit his father’s eyes. ‘You’re not going to tell me you already know how to line dance, lad?’

Heath’s blood ran a little cold. ‘Line dance? That’s what we’ve bought the tickets for?’ His father’s words started to slot together like some nightmarish jigsaw. ‘Just to watch, right?’

‘The little striapach ,’ Sean chuckled. ‘Charlee said she’d sort a partner for Amelia.’

‘Oh, hell, no.’

Sean manhandled the sack into the storage shed, shifting one corner at a time to walk it across the ground rather than lift it, though it was only part full. ‘Seems to me she’s saved you some trouble.’

‘Meaning?’

The blustery wind caught the galvanised door, flinging it back on its hinges. ‘Meaning, now you don’t have to ask Amelia out. Though it’d still be better if you did.’

Heath’s feet felt rooted to the earth. ‘You know I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Sophie—’

‘—is dead, son.’ Sean turned to him, his expression bleak. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve tried to gentle you through this, but now there’s not enough time for me to beat around the bush. Heath, you’ve been putting that woman up on a pedestal and crushing yourself under the weight for more than long enough. You loved her—we all loved her. Yet you have to accept that she’s dead, and you’re not. It’s time you moved on.’

‘How the hell can I?’

‘How the hell can you not ?’ Despite his words, Sean’s tone was disturbingly reasonable. ‘You expect Charlee to get over the tragedy and make something of her life, don’t you? Well, how about you set her an example?’

Every fibre of Heath’s being demanded he reject his father’s words. ‘It’s not the same thing, and you know it. Jesus, you grieved Jill and you weren’t even married to her anymore. I’ve had my life—I don’t need anything else. And even if I did, how am I supposed to throw my memories of Sophie aside?’

‘You don’t. No one said anything about throwing away your memories. You’re not replacing her.’ Sean leaned against the shed, looking suddenly tired. ‘Her loss will always be with you, as is mine. But you learn to live with it. Alongside it. It becomes part of you, but it doesn’t define you. You can’t allow it to, because Sophie won’t be the last person you lose.’

His father’s words were ominous, but Heath couldn’t take time to process, to look for hidden meaning. ‘I’m forty-five, Dad. I no longer have a career, direction, motivation. Barely have a family. I’m done. Sophie was the best of me, and you know it.’

‘No.’ Sean pushed away from the wall and began loading salt licks into the wheelbarrow. ‘You and Sophie made a decent team together . You complemented each other. But that’s irrelevant, because it’s the past. You have to look to the future. I’m not saying you need to hit the dating apps or anything, but you do need to build up a network. I’m not always going to be around; you have to find company other than me, other than Charlee. I figured the RAG team would be a start, but I’ve noticed you can’t be arsed seeing any of them outside of the meeting.’

The salt block Heath tossed into the barrow shattered into crystal shards. ‘Jesus, Dad, I don’t need you organising play dates for me! I only joined the RAG to get you off my back. I’m not about to pop over to the CWA for scones and tea, or hang out at the pub for a beer with the local cockies.’

‘Can’t see why not. They’re good folk around here. They’ll give you a chance if you give them a chance. Well—’ Sean screwed up his face ‘—maybe steer clear of Dave Jaensch.’

‘I don’t have a damn thing in common with any of them, Dad, you know that. I don’t want their prying or their sympathy. I just want to be left alone.’ Scowling, Heath turned away from his father. He’d told Amelia that holding their grief close was important, but was his desire for solitude rooted in that or was he embracing it as a way of feeding the guilt he’d sworn to let go? Because the truth was, occasionally he was jealous of Sean’s easy rapport, his instant camaraderie with anyone he met; the fact that he knew everyone, knew their business, could walk down the street and greet literally each person by name.

‘Aye,’ Sean said, ‘and alone is what you will be, if you don’t let go of your stubbornness and reach out. A bit of human contact. Even Charlee can see that’s what you need and she’s trying to help you as well as get through all her own shit.’

The thought shocked Heath. He’d been so intent on rescuing his daughter, so mired in guilt over his repeated failures, that he’d not wondered why Charlee seemed to be pushing him toward Amelia.

‘She can see, plain as any of us, that you and Amelia have … mutual experience.’ Sean frowned, then shrugged. ‘I’m not saying that’s good or bad. I guess time will tell. But Amelia’s dealing, you know? She’s grieving but not letting death steal her life. And you can learn a lesson from that.’

‘It’s not like I haven’t talked about it with her,’ Heath said defensively, like a kid justifying his actions. ‘I’m not that bloody cut off.’

‘Glad to hear it, lad. Because Amelia’s got a handle on this stuff.’

Although he’d admired the way Amelia managed her grief, not allowing it to turn her bitter, his father’s comparison stung. ‘You do realise all those animals she keeps are a substitute, don’t you? Because she’s afraid to risk loving anything else.’

Sean snorted. ‘Better substitute than any of us have come up with, isn’t it? And you know what? Use your brains, lad.’ He tapped his own temple. ‘That ability to deflect the pain, to find a healthy focus instead of wallowing, makes her a damn fine role model for our Charlee.’

Heath took the barrow handles, pushing it toward the closest paddock, though he had no idea where Sean intended to place the salt licks. He simply needed to create some distance between him and his father’s judgement. Or was he trying to run from his own thoughts? Because Sean was right, Amelia’s experience, her serenity , were exactly what Charlee needed.

With shocking clarity, he realised that, despite the hours he’d spent wishing for a solution to Charlee’s pain, making silent trades with invisible deities, he was envious of his daughter: if Amelia had found a way to cope, he wanted her to take away his pain, to help him sort his head out. And in return, he wanted to be able to ease her burden. But would sharing their tragedies halve or double the grief?

‘She’s wasted in that office job,’ Sean continued.

At least it kept her on the ground. ‘She doesn’t plan to stay,’ he said distractedly. ‘She’s got a few options up her sleeve.’

‘So you did manage to have a conversation?’ Sean said. ‘Guess maybe Charlee’s right—it’s time to do some real dancing, instead of dancing around the subject.’ He grinned as took the handles of the wheelbarrow from Heath’s nerveless hands and trundled it across the rutted yard.

‘Jesus, Dad, you’ve turned into a real Esme.’ Since he’d given up the numbing effects of the bottle, his father had his nose in everyone’s business.

‘Reckon I’ll fit in all right round Settlers, then,’ Sean called over his shoulder.

‘Dad, I can’t risk starting something.’ Heath barely raised his voice, though he wanted to beg for his father’s understanding. Advice.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I might fuck it up.’

Sean set down the handles and turned, looking him square in the eye. ‘And if you don’t start something, you’ve already fucked it up. Because when we lose hope, we’ve failed, Heath.’

Heath had texted Amelia back, suggesting they meet for dinner in the pub. It wasn’t to prove Sean wrong by showing that he could set up his own dates—or that’s what he told himself. It simply made more sense to catch up in the evening, rather than waste a day. A day he’d spent doing nothing important.

‘Hello, lovey. In for the schnitzel special?’ Lynn called across the carpeted expanse of the hotel dining room as he paused to greet a group he recognised from the RAG.

‘Didn’t realise that was tonight, but I will be now,’ he called back. Life was lived large out here, he’d noticed. Everything was at full volume, as though locals didn’t mind their neighbours knowing their business.

‘Sean not with you?’ Lynn didn’t lower her voice as he approached.

‘No. I’m meeting a friend.’ The locals tended to grab tables near the well-stocked salad bar filled with steel trays of German-style potato salad, hot roast vegies, coleslaw and shredded beetroot, but Amelia was on the far side of the room, framed by the slow silver raindrops tracking the glass and misting the view beyond the window.

‘I’ll grab a couple of spritzers, thanks, Lynn.’ Did wine make it look too much like a date? Fighting an urge to run a finger inside the collar of his shirt, he took the chilled glasses from Lynn.

‘Put it on the tab, lovey?’ she said, following his glance across the room. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting a split bill.’

He nodded, smiled—though he suspected it came across as more of a grimace—and tightened his grip on the glasses. This was ridiculous. Amelia was the one who had asked him to drop by. Of course, her request hadn’t entailed dinner.

The frantic churning of his mind had him across the room before he realised it.

Amelia smiled as she noted the glasses. ‘You remembered.’

‘Even I can keep something in my head for a week. Usually, anyway.’ Heath sat. If he got straight down to business, it would make it clear he didn’t consider this a date. ‘So what was it you— Oh. You’ve got something in your hair.’

Amelia ran a hand over her head, the rich depths making a rainbow of the restaurant lighting. The crusty white bit he indicated was no pot of gold, though.

He leaned forward with a serviette. ‘Let me.’

Amelia covered her face with her hand as he screwed up the soiled napkin. ‘Dusty! I swear she does it to stop me going out.’

‘It’s a regular occurrence?’

‘Bird poop in my hair? Regrettably, yes. Going out? Not so much.’ She held his gaze, daring him to read into the statement. ‘And yet, this is the third time I’ve seen you here, second I’ve dined with you. Makes me seem a bit of a liar.’

Was she pointing out they were more than passing acquaintances? ‘Or it makes it obvious how small Settlers Bridge is. Even if you were eating at home, I’d likely hear about what you’d bought, how you cooked it, and how much you ate.’

‘Ah, yes, small towns and their secrets. Or lack of. I swear there was more privacy living on a station. But perhaps that’s because we were all aware of the need to guard our tongues. That reminds me, though, I did hear something interesting today.’

Heath lifted an eyebrow, aware of the tug of scar tissue. If Amelia didn’t want to get down to business, that was fine. He was happy to let her chatter flow over him. No, that wasn’t true. Amelia’s conversation was generally far from inane, and he was interested in her thoughts.

‘Two of the specials, then, lovies?’ Lynn called across the crowded dining room. ‘Chicken or beef?’

‘You’re okay with schnitzel?’ he asked Amelia.

‘I don’t dare to be otherwise. Beef, thanks, Lynn,’ she called back.

‘Chips and salad,’ a nearby table chorused, pre-empting Lynn’s next question before erupting into whoops of laughter.

Amelia grinned and held up both arms, signalling they’d scored.

‘Chicken,’ Heath added, rather more self-consciously. Amelia had no problem fitting into the town, much like his dad. ‘So, what is it that you’ve heard?’

Amelia leaned forward. ‘You know that Christine bought the cafe, Ploughs and Pies? Well, the rumour is that she plans to reopen it as an American-style diner.’

‘You have to be joking.’ Not in his wildest imagination would that scenario have crossed his radar. ‘I’m not sure what’s more got me more off balance: the thought of Americana in Settlers Bridge, or of Christine running a fast-food joint.’

‘Right?’ Amelia chuckled. ‘I admit, I’m low-key scared of that woman. There’s no way I’ll join the CWA.’

Was that a throwaway line or was Amelia committing to staying in Settlers Bridge longer term, despite telling Charlee they’d be doing the travelling farm together only initially?

‘Anyway—’ Amelia lifted her glass ‘—here I am, bagging Christine out for gossiping but hardly letting you get a word in edgewise.’

‘It’s your dime.’

She looked lost for a moment, then caught on. ‘Oh, yeah, I was the one who roped you into my latest drama, right? Okay.’ She blew out a long breath. ‘Gavin.’ The word came out a little unsteadily. ‘You probably don’t remember me rambling about it, but I used to fly Gavin’s plane back at the Keith field.’

‘A Cherokee.’

Her eyes met his, though she looked away quickly, perhaps hoping he wouldn’t notice the sheen of tears. ‘That’s it. Well, Hannah rang yesterday. She said that Gavin wants me to spread his ashes from the plane.’ She pulled a face. ‘The problem is, I actually need two people to do that.’

Heath started to reflexively offer, then realised Amelia hadn’t finished.

‘She also said that Gavin wanted to gift me the plane.’

‘That’s generous of him. Well, I assume it is. Can’t say I have a clue on the value of aircraft.’ He didn’t dislike the fact that apparently he’d somehow become Amelia’s go-to person for discussions.

‘It’s worth about seventy-five grand,’ she said, surprising him with her forthright response.

‘Will you keep it?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve got a soft spot for my old Jabby. So that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Do you think it would be really horrible of me to sell the Cherokee?’

He’d rather she sold both of the planes. ‘I can’t see why—’ He started to trot out the usual trite phrases of denial, then pulled himself up. Amelia deserved more than that. ‘Because Gavin left you the plane thinking that you’d treasure it, you mean?’

She nodded. ‘I used to joke about him being fancy, while the rest of us managed with plywood and rubber bands. But he knew that I love the Jabby, really.’

‘Selling this Cherokee would potentially cash you up so you could ditch the office job, though? Then you could do something you’re more passionate about?’ Hopefully something less dangerous.

‘See, that’s the thing,’ Amelia continued. ‘You know we were talking at the last meeting about how, even if the RAG eventually agrees on the skatepark proposal—Dave excepted, of course, let’s not hold out for miracles—it’ll take months, potentially a year or more, to get funding and grants and the like?’

He nodded, unable to predict where she was going with the conversation.

‘Well, I rang Ethan. Or, rather, Charlee did. Because he’s in the business, you know?’

‘Ethan,’ he grunted.

‘You know you’re actually very alike?’

His expression must have tipped her off, because Amelia hurried on.

‘In your concern for Charlee, I meant.’

‘I think our concern comes from a very different place. I admit he’s doing her some good but still—’ he shook his head ‘—it’s not a normal relationship, you know?’

‘Heath …’ Amelia nibbled her lips, then sighed. ‘Look, I’m going to tell you this in confidence, okay? And only because I can see that it’s causing an extra level of hurt that you just don’t need. Ethan and Charlee’s relationship isn’t what you think.’

‘I can assure you, I prefer not to think about it.’

‘He’s her mentor, Heath. Nothing more. She told me the other day.’

‘But Charlee said—’

‘Charlee knows how to push your buttons. But you can’t let her know that you’re now aware, you have to let her think she has control over this little part of her life.’

He shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Shades of her grandfather.’

‘Anyway—’ it seemed that Amelia was quickly changing the subject to allow him time to digest this new bombshell ‘—I asked Ethan for a rough idea of what a skatepark would cost.’ She rolled her eyes and he was caught by the flash of amber. ‘Apparently, that was like asking how long is a piece of string, but it seems that if I sold the Cherokee, the cash could make a fair dent in the fundraising effort.’

‘I imagine it would. But what about you? I mean, shouldn’t you be looking to your own future?’

‘Future.’ She gave a sad huff and his chest tightened. She turned away to watch the rain running down the window, the grey sky blending with the grey river. ‘Money is the last thing I need.’

Instinctively, Heath covered her hand with his. Fortunately, the waitress’s arrival with their schnitzels gave him a moment to withdraw and compose himself. ‘My professional background is in financial advice,’ he eventually said. ‘So I’m driven to be cautious. Or at least, advise you to be cautious. I mean, not that I want you to hightail it out of here.’ He had to be careful not to over stress that point. ‘But if you can get some money behind you, you could be building an escape hatch. Fixed-term deposits are yielding well at the moment.’ He had to keep his tone businesslike, because the thought of Amelia leaving made him feel anything but.

Amelia toyed with her dinner, frowning. ‘I don’t need the money.’

‘Your travelling farm, though?’ Heath said, oddly torn by the fact that Amelia would no longer need his financial help, but relieved that she didn’t see the windfall as a means to immediately escape Settlers Bridge. ‘Though I’m happy to help out with that, like I promised. Or fund it completely, whatever you need.’ Hell, he was sounding desperate, but if she was fully invested in the farm, he wouldn’t have to imagine her hundreds of feet above the ground in the frail aircraft.

A tiny smile flitted across Amelia’s lips. ‘The thing is, my parents paid me out a share of the property when they sold it.’ Her face tightened and he realised that the money caused her pain.

‘But you and Charlee have been working for weeks on the logistics and planning for the travelling farm. I thought you brought me on board because you needed financial backing to get it off the ground?’ Not to mention keeping it running and the animals housed and fed.

Amelia’s smile banished her sorrow. She dropped her hand over his and instead of startling from the touch, he caught her fingers. ‘Getting you involved was never about money, Heath. It was about getting you and Charlee to work together. To dream together.’