Page 28 of Wings Above the Mallee

‘Charlee called?’ Heath couldn’t keep the longing from his tone. When was the last time his daughter had contacted him for anything but a top-up of her funds? And she only did that by text. ‘Is that why you’re concerned about her and this … guy?’

‘“Concerned” is a poor choice of word … maybe more like “interested”.’ Sean leaned against the cupboard, crossing his ankles like he was settling in for a chat.

Heath immediately stood, determined not to be cornered into anything resembling a meaningful conversation, even if it cost him his coffee.

‘I think he’s having a positive effect on Charlee.’

‘Positive?’ Heath exploded. ‘The guy’s a crackhead, in case you didn’t notice.’

‘A crackhead who’s holding down a job and about to finish a Master’s.’

‘Great, so a high-functioning crackhead who is associating with your drug-addicted granddaughter, in caseyoudidn’t notice!’

Heath headed for the back door. His dad might have a handle on his anger, but he had a long way to go himself. Distance and silence were the only things that brought him peace. No, that was a lie: there was no peace. But he could shelter those he loved by keeping his torment, frustration, anger, guilt and grief to himself.

‘Ex-crackhead,’ Sean retaliated.

‘I would have thought that you, of all people, would know that’s about the worst kind of person for Charlee to associate with.’

‘Except he’s got her back at uni. And talking to me!’ Sean yelled at his back.

He hadn’t planned to leave the house, hadn’t intended to find himself outside, but it wasn’t all bad, Heath mused. Propelled by his nightmare and his need to escape his father’s judgement—although that, he admitted to himself, was actually judgement onhis ownjudgement—he strode across the yard. It was early June, one of those confused days when the new season wasn’t entirely committed to what it should be doing. He’d noticed a couple of weeks earlier, on a trip into the city, that the European trees through the Adelaide Hills had started to lose their autumnal colours, the leaves littering the ground in deep drifts. But out here the native vegetation made a far more subtle display of changing seasons: scrubby mallee gums hid discreet yellow, almost white, blossoms among their dark olive leaves, revealed only by the busyness of bees appreciating the last snatches of sunshine before winter set in. The birds were noisy; along with the obvious galahs, magpies, crows and pigeons, tiny fieldmouse-sized birds he’d never noticed before flitted amidthe vegetation, the flocks twittering their way to the protection of boxthorn bushes. Beyond the fence at the bottom of the yard was the paddock he’d trekked across with Amelia a few weeks earlier. A fuzz of green now lay like a patchy tablecloth over the remnants of the grey stubble. Dirty brown sheep called loudly as the splotched white-and-black lambs ignored their mothers’ summons in favour of frolicking in groups of three or four. Clearlytheydidn’t need a skatepark to entertain themselves.

Heath snorted. Amelia had said she planned to wash Karmaa and Kismet. She was going to have her work cut out for her there. Still, doting on the sheep was probably one up on having a houseful of cats, which seemed to be the go-to of most lonely old spinsters.

His mind wandered along with his feet as he followed the fence line around the home paddock. It was odd that Amelia was single, even with her animal fixation. He’d heard the lament about the shortage of women in country areas plenty of times, and he very much doubted that had changed over the last couple of years while he’d had his head buried in the sand. Charlee used to watch a TV show based on bringing women to the country to pair with lonely men:Farmer Wants a Woman, or something like that. Despite his protests, she’d insisted on updating him on the drama each episode, vehement—as always, because that was Charlee—in her insistence of who should get with whom. She’d been addicted to that show. Back when addiction had been something to joke about.

Heath scowled, but whether it was caused by the direction his thoughts had taken or the realisation that he’d somehow limped his way out to the airfield, where a sedan was parked alongside the hangar, he didn’t care to dissect.

Right on cue, the Jabiru appeared low above the tree line. He couldn’t even make a run back to the house now—his escape attempt would be far too obvious.

Gritting his teeth against the inevitable pleasantries, Heath strode to the car and leaned against it as the Jabiru touched down with impressive smoothness. The aircraft wheeled around on the runway, then taxied toward him. The engines cut and Amelia clambered out, barely shooting him an acknowledging glance as she dashed around the aircraft, to the far side.

‘All right there, Gav?’ she said as she helped the older man navigate the deep lip that cradled the cockpit.

Gavin took a moment to gain his balance, one hand on Amelia’s shoulder, the other resting on the frame of the aircraft. ‘Right as can be, love. And better now I’ve got some sky in my eyes. It’s like a tonic, you know.’

‘That it is,’ she replied, leading him toward the car. ‘But I reckon you can overdo any tonic. Maybe we should skip next week?’

Gavin shook his head. ‘Not unless you’ve something better to be doing?’ He held up a hand to stop her reply. ‘No, let me rephrase that. Lovely young woman, of course you have somethingbetterplanned. So how about we say I’ll fit in whenever you can make time. If next week’s no good, that’s fine. Hannah will just have to put up with having me under her feet.’

‘Of course next week is okay with me. You know I’m only working a few hours. As long as I’ve fed the terrible twosome—’ Amelia shot a grin at Heath and the pleasurable jolt he felt at his unexpected inclusion surprised him ‘—I’m free as a bird.’

Gavin nodded at him. ‘I reckon we met at the pub a few weeks back, when you were peeling me off the carpet?’

Heath stepped forward. ‘Sounds like a regular night at any country pub to me.’

He caught the glimmer of gratitude in the other man’s eyes. Like him, Gavin didn’t want his frailties noted. Or perhaps Gavin was trying to deny his own mortality. Funny; Heath would have sacrificed his mortality rather than acknowledge his own injuries, forced to remember daily how they’d occurred. But Sophie would never have forgiven him for that.

‘How are those sheep getting on, then?’ he asked Amelia, diverting his train of thought with an inane question that barely rated better than remarking on the weather.

She chuckled. ‘Eating me out of house and home, like you predicted. Karmaa’s decided he’s not made for sleeping on the floor and I keep finding him up on the bed. I picked up a playpen from the second-hand shop to try to corral them, but he’s already worked out how to push the entire cage across the floor until he’s right alongside the bed.’ She sounded like a proud parent.

‘When you’re sleep deprived and grumpy, just remember I gave you Kismet, not Karmaa.’ As Amelia cradled her free arm across her chest, he noticed a thick strip of buff adhesive bandage wrapped around it. ‘Looks like you’ve been in the wars,’ he said.

‘Those babies have sharp milk teeth.’

‘They bite?’ he asked in surprise.

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