Page 56 of Wings Above the Mallee

Charlee looked to Amelia, as though she needed permission. Amelia lifted one shoulder.

‘I’ll tell you over lunch,’ Charlee said. ‘Does anyone know what they want to eat? Amelia?’

‘I’ll guess I’ll get a steak sandwich,’ Amelia said. ‘Can’t go wrong with that in a country pub.’

‘Me too,’ Charlee said. ‘Beetroot?’

‘Make it three. My shout.’ He waved off Amelia’s objection. ‘You can trip the light fantastic to the register, though, Charlee.’ He couldn’t continue being intimidated by the prospect of being alone with Amelia.

Charlee headed to the register with his credit card, and he lifted his wine, tipping the glass toward Amelia. ‘Here’s to your recovery.’

She clinked her glass against his. ‘Here’s to your daughter, who has been an absolute godsend.’

‘I think that’s been a two-way street. I’ve not seen her this settled since …’ He let the sentence trail off, taking a drink instead.

‘Do you worry about that?’ Amelia nodded at his glass.

For a second he was taken aback by her frankness, then realised that he liked it. No beating about the bush. No careful avoidance or overt sympathy. ‘Because of Dad?’

‘That. Charlee. And … just, you know. Overall. The urge. Theneed.’

He set the glass down. ‘You mean do I drink to forget? Hell, yes.’

She sighed wistfully. ‘I hoped alcohol, drugs—whatever—would make the night end.’

He knew that she wasn’t talking about physical darkness, but the bleakness of her soul, where it seemed there could never be any reprieve from the despair. For two years, he’d held his guilt and grief tight and private. In a few simple words, Amelia had voiced her feelings—his feelings—so perfectly he knew that he would never need to explain. And somehow that meant that, for the first time, he could talk.

‘Can’t say it’s worked for me. I’ve not found a damn thing that helps. You?’

‘I hadn’t. But I’ve been thinking on what Ethan said the other month … about addiction. Do you think maybe we’re addicted to grief?’

He jerked back. ‘Where’s the payoff in grief? I don’t know about you, but I’d do anything to be rid of it. So that’s not an addiction.’

‘I’m not so sure. Sean said it took him years to give up alcohol, even though he wanted to. And Charlee’s fighting her drug addiction with everything she’s got.’

His heart contracted at the thought of his child, for whom everything had come easy, having to fight for her life.

‘They both want to be rid of their addiction, just like we do. And there is a payoff to grief, you know: it keeps everyone at arms’ length. I’ve pushed people away for three years, because it’s safer than risking being hurt, safer than laying myself bare by sharing my pain. So maybe I’ve become too comfortable in my grief. How is that not an addiction?’

He stared at his glass. Hell, this woman went straight for the jugular, even if it was her own. No self-pity allowed, evidently. ‘You think there’s a point at which grief becomes self-serving?’

She fiddled with her fork, frowning. ‘Maybe. Are we using grief to fill the hole in our lives, just like addicts do? And in that case, at what point do we give it up?’

He snorted. ‘I don’t think going cold turkey on grief is a thing, do you?’

‘Probably not. But you know what Ethan said, about connection? Finding purpose. I think maybe that’s what grief addicts need, too.’

He gave a dry chuckle. ‘Grief addicts? That’s a new one.’

‘I’ll take out copyright later. But Heath … you know Charlee’s really struggling, right? She has our addiction, plus a drug addiction. But over the last week, we’ve come up with a kind of idea—’

‘A kind of idea?’

She smiled, almost shyly, the fine lines around her eyes hinting at a life that hadn’t been spent in an office. ‘I’ll let Charlee tell you.’

‘You’re tantalising.’

A blush brushed Amelia’s cheekbones and he realised that was what he’d subconsciously aimed for.

---