Page 68 of Wings Above the Mallee

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, herserenity, 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 awayhispain, 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.’

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