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“Thinking about saving water all the time. Every drop. Pouring the dregs from the electric jug into the dough bowl. Piping the shower and laundry water out to the garden so it gets used twice.”
“I guess I don’t think about it, it’s such second nature. It’s part of living here, and I love living here.”
“Teach me, won’t you? Don’t let me do the wrong thing, here, without thinking. Make sure you teach me.” All at once, for some reason, the words meant more. She wasn’t just talking about saving water. She was talking about Callan.
Teach me about Callan.
Don’t let me do the wrong thing with Callan.
If Kerry understood, she didn’t refer to the fact directly. Instead, she poured milk into the two mugs, gave Jacinda’s the extra zap in the microwave that she liked. Handing Jac the hot mug, she took a big breath.
“Callan and Liz were too alike,” she said, at the faster pace she seemed to use when she wasn’t quite comfortable with what she was saying. Her voice had dropped, too, in case there was any chance of Josh listening in the other room. “I don’t want to say that, because it sounds critical. I loved Liz. I was so happy that Callan had found someone like her, someone who belonged here and belonged in his life. If I could have, I would have gone in her place. People say that. But I really would have gone in her place.”
“I know you would.”
“They were the kind of couple that grows together. Like two trees, the way trees shape each other sometimes. They would even have looked alike, after fifty years. She was the kind of wife a man should have for fifty years. She was so safe for him, though. It made it even harder when she died.” She looked across the top of her coffee mug, her expression appealing for Jac to understand. “Does that make any sense at all?”
“You mean, if their marriage had been more of a challenge …?”
“Yes. Callan would have been equal to a more challenging marriage. And it might have left him …” She slowed and stopped, stuck for the right words. “Better prepared.” She shook her head impatiently. “It still sounds wrong. I can’t put it right. I can’t say it without it sounding like I’m criticizing him, or her, or their marriage.”
“No, but I understand.”
And I wonder what it is that you’re not saying. I’m notused to this, Kerry. I haven’t had a woman like you in my life before, to talk to. I lost my mother too soon, and I was never close enough to my aunt, so, no, I’m not used to this.
Are you telling me that I could be good for Callan, even if I’m nothing like Liz? Because I’m nothing like Liz? Do you want me to be a part of his awakening from grief, Kerry? Or are you warning me away because I could never truly belong? I’m only here a few more weeks ….
Despite her best hopes, despite the creative act of helping with the bread, despite playing with Carly and Josh, and working in the garden, Jac stayed restless and uncertain and churned up inside all day.
At four, she needed more air and space than the homestead and its garden could provide. “I thought I’d go for a walk down to the creek, Kerry, if that’s all right with you,” she told Callan’s mother. “I’ll take Carly with me.”
“Leave her if you’d rather,” Kerry answered. “She’s quite happy with her drawing, and I’m making them a snack in a minute.”
“Thanks. All right, then. I will leave her.”
Not knowing how long it would take her to walk this restlessness away, Jac was happy that Kerry had suggested leaving Carly behind. She really wanted to stride, breathe, think uninterrupted thoughts. She drank a big glass of water, found her hat and sunglasses and set out, following the fence line down to the wide swathe of dry creek bed, the same way they had gone yesterday on horseback.
When she reached the creek, however, she turned north along it instead of south, wanting to explore some new ground. Keeping to the creek bed itself, she covered the distance slowly because the sand was deep in some places, uneven in others, and there were stretches of rock and smoothly worn river stones as well.
The late afternoon was pleasantly still—cool in the shade and hot in the sun. She heard birds overhead, and disturbed a couple of lizards. If there were snakes, they had sensed the vibration of her footfalls and disappeared before she caught sight of them, as Callan had said they would.
She didn’t want to think about Callan.
“Five days down, twenty-three to go,” she said aloud to the eucalyptus trees. She had to make some decisions about the future. At least examine the possibilities.
It was frightening how little pull she felt toward home. Pull? More like dread. Running through a mental list of California friends as she’d done many times before, she couldn’t think of a single one who would risk alienating Kurt by taking her side, or by helping her in any way. They’d support her with lip service as they’d done since her separation from Carly’s father, but nothing more.
Lip service wasn’t enough.
And who did she have farther afield?
She thought about her two brothers, and her father, back east, and knew she’d let those relationships slide more than she should have done. She could have phoned or e-mailed more often, over the past few years. She should have made more of an effort to see her brothers for holidays.
It wasn’t enough of an excuse to say that they hadn’t met her halfway, even though it was true. If she’d worked harder at it, kept pushing, giving something to the relationship, they surely would have seen some value in getting closer to their little sister after a while. Their kids were almost grown, but teenagers might have loved a cute baby cousin.
She thought about the way Callan and Kerry had stayed so close yet still managed to give each other space, thought about the love in Kerry’s voice when she’d talked about Nicky hundreds of miles away, her coming baby, all the ways they found to communicate, and the determination when Kerry had said that she would contact Nicky by carrier pigeon if there was no other way. Families didn’t just chug along like magic, maintenance-free engines. They had to be worked at like anything else.
Jacinda had never made a conscious decision that working on her relationship with her brothers was important to her but she could make that decision now.
Was it too late?
If she’d had a pen and some postcards in her pocket, she would have scribbled greetings to her brothers on the spot. If she’d had a car, she would have jumped into it and zipped to the nearest—
Store.
What “nearest store”?
It was well over a hundred miles away.
Still, the idea of making contact, even with such a trivial, tentative first step as an e-mail or a postcard from outback Australia, stayed with her and felt important. She’d have to ask Callan. Maybe he or Kerry had some cards. Or maybe they were planning a trip into Leigh Creek soon—they did that fairly often, she thought—so she could buy some, to replace the ones she’d left in Sydney in a panic. She felt more confident about being able to write postcards, now.
But how did the mail plane work? Where did you get the postage stamps? Definitely, she needed to talk to Callan.
And it was probably about time to turn around and start heading back.
The journey back along the creek bed seemed farther than she would have thought, and she realized that she’d lost track of time while she’d been thinking about her future and her family. The color of the sky had begun to change. If she didn’t soon reach the line of fence marching at right angles into and across the creek, she might miss it in the fading light.
No, here it was, at last, just visible. In the distance, as she climbed through it and up out of the creek bed, she saw one of those familiar trails of dust. It marked the track that led from the main road to the homestead, which meant it had to be Callan, Lockie and Pete returning from their long day’s work just in time for a good wash before the evening meal.
Her heart lifted and lurched at the same time.
Callan.
Who’d kissed her last night and then turned away.
Callan, who got his life the way he wanted, and then resisted change, which was pretty much the opposite of what Jac needed to do. Her life wasn’t the way she wanted it, right now, but changing it was easier said than done.
Thinking about this and not about where she was going—it was getting hard to see the detail of the terrain, despite the huge yellow full moon rising—she tripped on a loose rock and instinctively grabbed the top line of fence wire for support.
It was barbed.
In the front seat of the truck, Lockie slept, his head lolling onto Pete’s shoulder. At some point, Pete had lifted the head gently and placed his own felt bushman’s hat there for a makeshift pillow. Callan himself was tired enough to consider that the squashed hat looked darned comfortable. The dogs were flung out on the now-empty rear tray sleeping, too, and when Pete lowered Lockie’s head back down, he didn’t even stir. He’d worked well today, and he’d learned some new skills.
At the wheel, Callan blinked several times to keep himself alert. His eyes felt gritty from the dust and his head ached from squinting in the bright light for hours, even though he’d worn sunglasses. They’d made some good progress on the new mustering yard, but they’d need several more days yet. Pete wasn’t as strong or quick as he used to be. And they might run out of supplies before they were done. He had a new shipment to pick up sometime this week in Leigh Creek.
Turning in front of the homestead, he felt a surge of well-being at the sight of the lights, and his aching muscles began to relax. There would be dinner waiting. He might have a beer with the meal. Jacinda could cook, he’d discovered. Maybe she would have convinced Mum to let her do so today and they’d get to taste some new California creation or an Asian stir-fry. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he knew a shower would feel pretty good, too.
Even better than the meal and hot, clean water, there would be people. Mum, Josh, Carly … and Jac. His treacherous heart jumped sideways as he thought about her, but he couldn’t dwell on the reaction right now. Pete was pushing his big hand against Lockie’s slumped shoulder.
“Wake up, little mate,” Pete said. “Dinner’s up.”
“You staying for it, Pete?” Callan asked him, as Lockie opened bleary eyes.
The older man shook his head. “Headin’ home.”
“Come in for a bit.”
“Do that, I won’t get goin’ again. Have to stay all night.”
“I already told you to do that.”
Pete shook his head again. “Gettin’ home. Got some things to check up on.”
“Well, bring your gear tomorrow and stay tomorrow night.”
“Maybe.” He was already heading for his car, with around two hours of nighttime driving still ahead of him, and the return trip first thing in the morning. He was a tough one.
Lockie had woken up. “I’m starving!”
“Let’s see what’s cooking.”
Pippa and Flick followed them onto the veranda and found the fresh food and water Callan’s mother had already put out for them.
Inside the house, there was a fabulous aroma coming from the kitchen, but no sign of food on the table, which surprised Callan a little. Mum would have heard the truck. She would have known how ready they’d be for the meal. Josh and Carly had had baths and were prowling around in their nightwear, looking almost as hungry as Callan felt. His mother appeared with bathwater damp on her shirt and he asked, “Should I set the table?”
“I’m getting worried, Callan. Jacinda’s not back.”
“Not back?” His heart did another of those weird lurches that risked becoming a habit. “Where did she go?”
“For a walk, two and a half hours ago. Longer.”
“What did she take? How long was she planning to be gone? It’s almost dark out there!”
“I know. I thought she’d be gone half an hour. I’m not even sure she had water with her.”
“Feed the kids,” he said, energy surging back into him and hunger forgotten. “I’ll get the dogs, and we’ll head to the creek on foot to look for her. I’m not going to treat this as a crisis just yet.”
“I’ll do that for you!” his mother answered. “I like Jacinda a lot, and she’s no fool ….” She touched his arm, as if it was important that he know how she felt about Jacinda.
“No, she’s not,” he agreed.
And I’ve lived here all my life. I’m not going to panic because a grown woman is an hour late back to the house.
“But, Callan, she has no idea what this country can do to people who make mistakes.”
“I know. Listen, if I’m not back in half an hour, get Moss saddled for me.”
In the space of two minutes, he’d packed water and a couple of snacks into a backpack, as well as the jacket he’d found hanging in her room. He’d also packed the first-aid kit and a long roll of bandage.
Watching as he dropped it into the backpack, little pajama-clad Carly got a stricken look on her face. On top of hunger, fatigue and his own lurking fear, her frightened reaction didn’t help.
“Where is Mommy? Why isn’t she back?” she said.
Chapter Eight
The barbed wire had pierced and torn the skin on Jacinda’s palm in four places. It stung and throbbed, and the remaining half mile to the homestead felt like ten times that distance as she thought about taking each cautious step in the dark. She didn’t want to trip again. She needed better shoes. Proper hiking boots or something. And she shouldn’t have stayed out so long, even though she’d needed all that time to think.
I’ll try e-mailing Andy and Tom tonight, on Callan’s computer, she decided as she started walking again. She then spent the next five minutes of carefully trod distance trying to work out when she’d last done so. Could it really be more than two years?
The dogs started barking when she still had two hundred yards of fence to follow. They sounded overexcited and ready for action, but surely they didn’t think she was a stranger?
Someone must have let them through the gate because they came at her out of the darkness with a speed that frightened her, still letting out high, urgent sounds. She saw a circle of light behind them, bouncing in time to someone’s stride, then heard Callan’s voice.
“Jac, is that you?” He raised the flashlight in her direction.
“Yes, and please tell Pippa and Flick that I’m friendly!”
He whistled at the dogs as he came closer and they ran to heel beside him, panting and turning their faces up to him as if they expected a reward. “Yes, guys, well done, you found her,” he told them.
“Found me?” Jac reached them, while Callan was still bending down to the dogs.
“Please don’t scare us like that again, okay?” He pointed the flashlight beam away from her and toward the ground, but it had already shone into her face and dazzled her vision and she had spots before her eyes.
“Scare you?” She blinked, covered her closed eyes with her hand for a moment, but her vision was slow to clear and, when she opened them again, she could still barely see him. She could sense him, though. That big body, that aura of dust and hard work. “Callan, I wasn’t lost or anything.” She peered at him. It was the first time they’d talked all day. “Were you worried?”
Stupid question. He didn’t look worried, she saw at last as the spots faded. He looked angry, slapping the flashlight in a slow rhythm against his hard, denim-clad thigh and narrowing his eyes. “How much water did you have with you?” he demanded.
“I had a big drink before I left.”
“And did you take a jacket? Even a cotton sweater?”
“I only went for a quick breath of fresh air.” She began to guess that these weren’t adequate answers.
“And you were gone nearly three hours.”
“I know. I was thinking about a few things. Time got away from me a bit, and I didn’t turn back along the creek as soon as I should have. I was a bit shocked to see that the light was going.” Instinctively, she touched the sunglasses on top of her head, useless now. She had her baseball cap folded and stuffed into the back pocket of her jeans, equally useless once the sun went.
“Sunglasses aren’t a survival kit.”
He poked at them with a rigid finger, pushing them farther back into her hair—a gesture that could have been tender in other circumstances, but wasn’t this time. It brought him closer, though, and she remembered with every sense and every nerve ending how she’d felt in his arms last night.
“If you’d twisted your ankle on a tree root and had to sit there all night until we found you,” he went on, “you would have been happy in short sleeves without a drop to drink or a morsel of food, with the temperature dropping into the forties, is that right?”
“Well …”
“People who get lost or hurt out here … people who don’t have the right gear … people whose engines break down and they go looking for help instead of staying with their vehicle … they die, Jacinda, and it doesn’t take that long, either.” His voice rasped and dropped deeper. “This country doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
“Shoot, I didn’t think, did I?” she realized aloud.
