Page 259 of The Storm Boys Series Collection

I watched him leave, the curtain swishing after him. Dad stood there, uncertain and clearly not sure what to say. “He seems a nice fellow.”

I laughed, still teary. “He is.” I still had hold of his hand and reluctantly let it go. “Take a seat. How was your flight?”

He sat down as if the seat would bite him. “I’m sorry about before,” he said quietly. “I just... I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” I said again. “I’ve missed you. I’m really glad you made the trip.”

He shifted in his seat. “Yes, well... Tully insisted I come. He paid for it, which I didn’t expect him to do that, and I can pay him back the money.”

“He’d probably be offended if you tried. And he is insistent. If you’d have said no, he’d probably have gone to Melbourne to bring you up here himself.” I smiled. “He’s a good man, Dad. He saved my life.”

His eyes cut to mine. “He, uh, he said you weren’t doing too well. When he first called me. He said he thought it best if I make the trip.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It was pretty scary.”

His gaze bored into mine. That hesitancy, that awkward habit of his to not hold eye contact was gone. “Lightning, huh?”

I sighed, dreading this conversation that we had to have. “Yes. I know.”

“I almost lost you both to it. Do you know what that would’ve done to me?”

I tried to keep my breathing low, my heart rate down, but damn. Being hooked up to every machine made it hard to disguise. My blood pressure began to rise, and I knew my nurse was just a few seconds away.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t want this—”

And there she was. Breezed in around the curtain and ignored my father completely. She had one hand on my arm, the other pressing the machine. “Jeremiah, my darling, what are we doing to your BP? Are you trying to stay here in the ICU?”

“Sorry, I—”

Dad stood up. “I should go,” he said. “I didn’t realise my being here—”

“No, Dad. Stay. Please. My research is over,” I blurted out. “I’m done. I can’t do this again. I can’t put Tully through this again. Or you.”

Dad stood there, stunned. Disbelieving. “But your work. All those years you put into it.”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

He shook his head. “Jeremiah.”

My nurse patted my arm. “Keep your heart rate down,” she said, then gave my father a parting glare as she left.

Neither of us said anything for a few moments.

“I’m staying in meteorology,” I said. “I love my job and I’ve done good work here, Dad. The people here are great. They like me, they respect me. But my field research is over. I don’t need data or statistics on keraunopathy or even keraunomedicine, because I know all I need to know.”

He looked at the machines, the curtain, then finally at me. “I don’t want you to give up on your dreams. As much as I don’t like it or understand it.” He shook his head. “You’ve dedicated your whole life to...” He waved his hand at me. “To this.”

“And it almost killed me.”

He sat back down, and a blanket of acceptance settled over us.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“My job. That won’t change.” I sighed. “And I will look at my medical records, at the data. There were brain scans and ECGs, et cetera, and maybe one day I’ll compare statistics. But my days of chasing lightning in some self-serving attempt to beat it are done.”

“What about Tully?” he asked quietly. “I thought you said he enjoyed it as well, that it was something you did together.”

“It is. And if he wants to go, then maybe I’ll go with him.” I swallowed hard. I knew I would, as much as it scared me. Because it mattered to Tully and he shouldn’t give up part of who he was to be with me, like Doreen had said. I didn’t want him to resent me. So I would go, but I would be careful, like Tully was. “But no more reckless behaviour. I can admit to being reckless and foolish before. It was inconsiderate of me, and I can see that now. I need to think about people other than myself. Like him, and you.” I reached for his hand, and hesitantly, he gave it to me. “I’m sorry, Dad. If I ever let you down. Or if I ever disappointed you. Or made you worry.”

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