Page 92 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

I explain the guidelines for primary production, which will serve as a starting point for correctly setting up the farm.

“How can you claim somethin’ if you’re not makin’ any money?” he asks.

“You’re intending to make money, right?”

He nods.

“And it’s not just a hobby, is it?”

“No.”

I run him through how his records should be handled, and we agree to do some more research in terms of commercial sales; whether he sells the lavender in raw form or invests more time and energy in producing products on-site, like essential oils.

Using Jerry’s laptop, I search for ideas, bookmarking sites to come back to.

“We need to think about licences, permits, that kind of thing. Maybe you should get soil and water analyses done so you know where you could improve? It might help with longevity of the crop?”

He rubs at the back of his neck and groans. “All those things cost money.”

I offer him a soft smile. “Yes, but it’s all part of the plan to set yourself up as a commercial operator. No matter what business you’re in, there’s always a range of upfront expenses.”

Jerry stares at the near empty bottle of whisky on the kitchen counter behind me and shakes his head as if he’s fighting the urge to drink. “Can I ask a favour?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me all this stays between us. I don’t want family fussin’ or stressin’ out on me.”

No doubt he’s under enough pressure. Jerry McAllister is a proud man. I can’t imagine how it must feel simply having this conversation with me. But I’m grateful he did. The idea of him carrying this burden alone is disturbing.

I take his hand in mine. “I promise. You’ve got this, Jerry. I’m here to help.”

***

Before my return towork on Monday, I use Saturday for class preparation and do more research for Jerry’s business plan. Thanks to a new laptop, I’m connected and prepared for the weeks ahead.

With more things under control, I call Aunt Jean and give her an update of my whereabouts, playing down the fire. After she finally calms down for not telling her immediately, she promises to visit with Jayson soon. It’ll take him a few weeks to get accustomed to the idea.

The sun begins to disappear behind the mountains, and as the familiar chill settles in the house, I light the fire in the loungeroom, the flames taking hold. I leave Pirate asleep on the nearby sheepskin rug and make a quick chicken and tomato pasta for dinner.

It’s unlike Jerry to be still out, so I call him to check when he’ll be home. His phone rings out and goes to voicemail. Not wanting to sound like a nag, I don’t leave him a message telling him dinner is ready. I’m not his keeper. Whilst he’s been good at communicating with me, I don’t want him to think he owes me an explanation for his movements. Being here is a short-term thing, although with each passing day I find myself avoiding looking for alternative accommodation.Given our history, is it bad that I want to stay? That I want more from him? That sometimes I imagine what we’d look like as a family?

I feed Pirate but he barely touches his food, instead waiting for whatever I decide to part with from my bowl. After eating alone, I put Jerry’s dinner in the fridge and settle on the couch. Pirate burrows under the blankets, and once he’s found a spot, I lift the edge to give him some air then turn on the TV and flick between channels, finally finding something worth watching.Good Will Hunting.

Matt Damon in this movie does wicked things to me.What is it about the damaged boys that tug at my heart strings?The emotion from Robin Williams in this role hits me right in the feels. If only my father was like him. Instead, mine was cold, all about business and money. My mother was lured in by the lawyer with a charming smile and drive to succeed, but in the end, that was what gradually poisoned her as the years went on.

Mum was the trophy wife, there to look the part at work dinners and fundraisers, otherwise ignored and expected to do anything and everything related to me. Anger stirs within me at the thought of being in a relationship like that. Of not being an equal partner, not being loved like I deserve.

A familiar vehicle pulls up out front, its high beams flashing light momentarily into the room. My heart thumps into a faster beat.He’s home.

Pirate springs from my lap and barks on his way to the entrance.

The front door opens then shuts. Jerry chuckles. “I live here, numbnut.”

He enters the room, Pirate in his arms, licking madly at his cheeks. Jerry’s navy shirt and jeans are covered in dirt and ash, his hands black.

“Hey, where’ve you been?” It’s none of my business and yet I can’t help myself.

He smiles and wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a streak of black across his skin. “Sorry, I know it’s late. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll tell you all about it.”

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