Page 12 of Wings Above the Mallee

And now he wished they’d stay. Perhaps more people, actual conversation, would break the accusatory chill Charlee’s presence inevitably brought. But, having uttered his daughter’s name, he couldn’t form another word. Could barely bring himself to stand, his left leg suddenly aching with all the agony of the original injury.

No—worse than that. When it happened, it had been hours before he’d even noticed his own injury. A lifetime, in fact.

The front screen door slammed, and the coiling of his gut forced his spine straighter.

‘There you are, then,a pheata.’ Sean’s forced joviality didn’t stop Heath from briefly wondering whether his father’s ‘pet’ was another animal Amelia could adopt.

‘Daideó.’ Despite the Irish honorific, Charlee’s greeting was surly as always. Long gone were the days when she’d run to her grandfather’s arms, eager to tell him her news. ‘Heath.’ She didn’t look at him. He’d been ‘Dad’ until two years ago, when his actions had apparently rendered him undeserving of the title.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Amelia’s involuntary step back and cringed. Would the doctor find it necessary to stick her nose in, comment on the sour odour that accompanied Charlee into the room? Ask about the scabs and sores that pocked her sallow skin, the dark hollows that ringed her eyes? Wonder at her greasy hair and the sniffling that punctuated every breath his daughter took? Charlee’s dress sense had devolved over the last few months. Where previously she’d been quirky, prioritising op shop finds over labels, what she wore now was always filthy, but at least her faded plaid jacket—overkill for the warmth that the firstof the autumn weather still offered—covered the worst of the track marks on her arms. And the baggy overalls that dragged around her knees like a giant nappy disguised the gauntness of her frame.

Taylor didn’t remark on any of it though, just took Amelia by the arm. ‘Hi,’ she said brightly as the two women edged past Charlee, who stared sullenly without moving from the centre of the doorway. ‘We’ll let ourselves out, get Amelia’s gear from the plane, and get this lamb on his way. I’ll see you next week, Sean.’

It wasn’t possible he could be any more tense, but what the hell? Why was Dad seeing the doctor again?

‘And nice to meet you, Heath,’ she added.

Yeah,nice, like meeting your next case study in person, most likely. He nodded, but as he forced a polite smile, he realised that Charlee—still standing in the doorway, glowering at everyone—wasn’t alone.

Instead of introducing the guy who hovered behind her in the dimness of the hall, Charlee eyeballed the departing women. He knew what she was thinking. Long ago, he and Charlee had been joined at the hip. He’d always been able to predict her actions and reactions. They’d laughed at their ability to finish one another’s sentences, sharing the same quirky sense of the ridiculous, delighting in obscure humour. Back then, their similarities had welded them together, cemented their relationship. But apply enough stress, and even cement corroded. Yet he still understood her enough to know that Charlee believed he was being unfaithful to her mother’s memory. The baseless accusation would fuel the latest round of arguing; the passion of their fury a brief spark, almost welcome, as it was literally the only time they communicated now.

‘Hello, there.’ Sean moved past his granddaughter, his hand outstretched. ‘Sean.’

His father drew the guy into the kitchen and Heath sucked in a sharp breath at his deeply lined face. A cop? Youth worker? Some other kind of interfering do-gooder?

As the guy retrieved his hand from Sean’s grasp he ran it over his head, though his hair was shaved back to nothing. ‘Ethan.’

A brightly inked arm drew Heath’s gaze to the crude, monochromatic prison tatts on Ethan’s knuckles. The opposite to a cop, then. Charlee’s dealer? Was she in so deep that he’d brought her home to insist her debt was cleared? Hell, if it was as easy as throwing money at the problem, Heath would pay whatever Ethan was asking, ten times over. But his gut told him it was something more. Ethan was a new kind of trouble.

The brief flash of triumph in Charlee’s gaze as it glanced off Heath’s was proof that she knew it, too. ‘That’s Heath.’ She jerked her chin toward him, not allowing him the opportunity to introduce himself, determined to give him a name rather than his title.

‘What can I do for you?’ he demanded.

The guy looked confused, then gestured toward Charlee and reached for her hand.Her fucking hand.

‘He doesn’t need anything fromyou, Heath,’ Charlee taunted, leaning against Ethan’s arm. ‘He’s here with me.Forme. If Daideó’s going to insist I have to come out to bumfuck bloody nowhere, I least get to bring my own entertainment, right?’

Jesus. Ethan had to be closer to his own age than Charlee’s. Weren’t there laws against that kind of thing? And, although two years ago Heath would have basked in fatherly delight at Charlee’s rare mix of intelligence and looks, right nowhe had to question what this guy saw in his drug-raddled daughter. Ethan, despite his tatts and the ridiculous fat black plugs in each earlobe, looked clean. A functioning druggie, then, much like a functioning alcoholic? Heath glanced at Sean, as though his father would deny the possibility.

‘Come on in,’ Sean said. ‘We’ve just set up for a cup of tea.’ As he pulled out fresh mugs, Heath caught the tremble of his father’s hands. He wasn’t overreacting—even Sean could see how bad this situation was. ‘Have a seat, you two. Do you want a drink? Your dad picked up pizza for dinner; I’ll get it in the oven.’

‘Who werethey?’ Charlee demanded as the noise from Taylor Hartmann’s car died away in the arctic silence of the kitchen.

‘Friends from town,’ Sean replied. ‘Well, Amelia’s a new friend, I guess. She’s hangaring her plane up on the airfield. Doc Hartmann came out to pick her up.’

‘How is a doctor yourfriend?’ Charlee sneered.

‘Thanks,’ Ethan murmured as Sean thrust a mug his way. ‘I’m sure doctors are allowed to have friends, too, Charlee.’ His words were measured, a slight lilt of humour softening what could be a rebuke.

‘Not with my family,’ Charlee snarled. ‘Bloody useless parasites, aren’t they?’

Since that night, there were a swathe of professions Charlee ruled as useless. Anything medical. Police, counsellors. The entire legal system.

‘Taylor’s my GP, so let’s hope she’s not useless,’ Sean said mildly.

‘Why do you need a GP?’ Only someone who knew Charlee would pick the note of fear beneath the aggression in her voice. Her question stirred Heath’s own misgivings. Sean had been to the doctor at least twice in the last fewmonths, each time blowing it off as just a checkup or a minor waterworks problem. And Heath had accepted the answers. Because he had to. He needed to. He couldn’t deal with anything else going wrong. Not here, not now. They’d escaped to Settlers Bridge; tragedy couldn’t follow them like a curse, could it? Yet here was his beautiful, high-achieving daughter: her pupils blown out; dirty nails bitten down to the quick; filthy sneaker tapping an agitated refrain on the lino floor.

‘You know small towns,a ghra,’ Sean responded imperturbably. ‘Got to keep the locals in business. Anyway, how did you two meet? Uni?’

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