“You mean, if their marriage had been more of a challenge …?”
“Yes. Callan would have been equal to a more challenging marriage. And it might have left him …” She slowed and stopped, stuck for the right words. “Better prepared.” She shook her head impatiently. “It still sounds wrong. I can’t put it right. I can’t say it without it sounding like I’m criticizing him, or her, or their marriage.”
“No, but I understand.”
And I wonder what it is that you’re not saying. I’m not used to this, Kerry. I haven’t had a woman like you in my life before, to talk to. I lost my mother too soon, and I was never close enough to my aunt, so, no, I’m not used to this.
Are you telling me that I could be good for Callan, even if I’m nothing like Liz? Because I’m nothing like Liz? Do you want me to be a part of his awakening from grief, Kerry? Or are you warning me away because I could never truly belong? I’m only here a few more weeks ….
Despite her best hopes, despite the creative act of helping with the bread, despite playing with Carly and Josh, and working in the garden, Jac stayed restless and uncertain and churned up inside all day.
At four, she needed more air and space than the homestead and its garden could provide. “I thought I’d go for a walk down to the creek, Kerry, if that’s all right with you,” she told Callan’s mother. “I’ll take Carly with me.”
“Leave her if you’d rather,” Kerry answered. “She’s quite happy with her drawing, and I’m making them a snack in a minute.”
“Thanks. All right, then. I will leave her.”
Not knowing how long it would take her to walk this restlessness away, Jac was happy that Kerry had suggested leaving Carly behind. She really wanted to stride, breathe, think uninterrupted thoughts. She drank a big glass of water, found her hat and sunglasses and set out, following the fence line down to the wide swathe of dry creek bed, the same way they had gone yesterday on horseback.
When she reached the creek, however, she turned north along it instead of south, wanting to explore some new ground. Keeping to the creek bed itself, she covered the distance slowly because the sand was deep in some places, uneven in others, and there were stretches of rock and smoothly worn river stones as well.
The late afternoon was pleasantly still—cool in the shade and hot in the sun. She heard birds overhead, and disturbed a couple of lizards. If there were snakes, they had sensed the vibration of her footfalls and disappeared before she caught sight of them, as Callan had said they would.
She didn’t want to think about Callan.
“Five days down, twenty-three to go,” she said aloud to the eucalyptus trees. She had to make some decisions about the future. At least examine the possibilities.
It was frightening how little pull she felt toward home. Pull? More like dread. Running through a mental list of California friends as she’d done many times before, she couldn’t think of a single one who would risk alienating Kurt by taking her side, or by helping her in any way. They’d support her with lip service as they’d done since her separation from Carly’s father, but nothing more.
Lip service wasn’t enough.
And who did she have farther afield?
She thought about her two brothers, and her father, back east, and knew she’d let those relationships slide more than she should have done. She could have phoned or e-mailed more often, over the past few years. She should have made more of an effort to see her brothers for holidays.
It wasn’t enough of an excuse to say that they hadn’t met her halfway, even though it was true. If she’d worked harder at it, kept pushing, giving something to the relationship, they surely would have seen some value in getting closer to their little sister after a while. Their kids were almost grown, but teenagers might have loved a cute baby cousin.
She thought about the way Callan and Kerry had stayed so close yet still managed to give each other space, thought about the love in Kerry’s voice when she’d talked about Nicky hundreds of miles away, her coming baby, all the ways they found to communicate, and the determination when Kerry had said that she would contact Nicky by carrier pigeon if there was no other way. Families didn’t just chug along like magic, maintenance-free engines. They had to be worked at like anything else.
Jacinda had never made a conscious decision that working on her relationship with her brothers was important to her but she could make that decision now.
Was it too late?
If she’d had a pen and some postcards in her pocket, she would have scribbled greetings to her brothers on the spot. If she’d had a car, she would have jumped into it and zipped to the nearest—
Store.
What “nearest store”?
It was well over a hundred miles away.
Still, the idea of making contact, even with such a trivial, tentative first step as an e-mail or a postcard from outback Australia, stayed with her and felt important. She’d have to ask Callan. Maybe he or Kerry had some cards. Or maybe they were planning a trip into Leigh Creek soon—they did that fairly often, she thought—so she could buy some, to replace the ones she’d left in Sydney in a panic. She felt more confident about being able to write postcards, now.
But how did the mail plane work? Where did you get the postage stamps? Definitely, she needed to talk to Callan.
And it was probably about time to turn around and start heading back.
The journey back along the creek bed seemed farther than she would have thought, and she realized that she’d lost track of time while she’d been thinking about her future and her family. The color of the sky had begun to change. If she didn’t soon reach the line of fence marching at right angles into and across the creek, she might miss it in the fading light.
No, here it was, at last, just visible. In the distance, as she climbed through it and up out of the creek bed, she saw one of those familiar trails of dust. It marked the track that led from the main road to the homestead, which meant it had to be Callan, Lockie and Pete returning from their long day’s work just in time for a good wash before the evening meal.
Her heart lifted and lurched at the same time.
Callan.
Who’d kissed her last night and then turned away.
Callan, who got his life the way he wanted, and then resisted change, which was pretty much the opposite of what Jac needed to do. Her life wasn’t the way she wanted it, right now, but changing it was easier said than done.
Thinking about this and not about where she was going—it was getting hard to see the detail of the terrain, despite the huge yellow full moon rising—she tripped on a loose rock and instinctively grabbed the top line of fence wire for support.
It was barbed.
In the front seat of the truck, Lockie slept, his head lolling onto Pete’s shoulder. At some point, Pete had lifted the head gently and placed his own felt bushman’s hat there for a makeshift pillow. Callan himself was tired enough to consider that the squashed hat looked darned comfortable. The dogs were flung out on the now-empty rear tray sleeping, too, and when Pete lowered Lockie’s head back down, he didn’t even stir. He’d worked well today, and he’d learned some new skills.
At the wheel, Callan blinked several times to keep himself alert. His eyes felt gritty from the dust and his head ached from squinting in the bright light for hours, even though he’d worn sunglasses. They’d made some good progress on the new mustering yard, but they’d need several more days yet. Pete wasn’t as strong or quick as he used to be. And they might run out of supplies before they were done. He had a new shipment to pick up sometime this week in Leigh Creek.
Turning in front