Moonlight Plains (11 page)

Stop it. Don’t stare.

‘Working with my hands . . .’ Luke looked mildly amused. ‘There’s the texture of fine-grained wood, of course. You can’t help but love that. So smooth when you run your palm over it.’

And don’t think about his hands touching anything except timber . . . 

‘And there’s a certain exhilaration from the physical work,’ he went on. ‘You know . . . lifting things . . .’

I’ll have to get a photo of that
. Now she was imagining Luke with a low-slung toolbelt around his hips, showing off his broad shoulders and muscular biceps as he hefted a piece of roofing timber.

There was something primal about a builder, wasn’t there? Perhaps it was the earthy caveman-provider thing.

Or perhaps I’m getting carried away . . .

It would be unforgivable to fall for Luke Fairburn after she’d already, so definitely, warned him off.

‘Okay,’ Sally said quickly, vowing to be sensible immediately. ‘I should probably take a look at the house now and get a few shots.’

But walking around the homestead with Luke while she admired new roof trusses and strengthened window frames was almost as tricky as chatting to Luke in the kitchen. Sally willed her attention to the wall he’d knocked down.

When he showed her gorgeous stained-glass panels for the front door, which needed re-leading, she offered to take them back to Townsville, and Luke accepted gratefully. But the whole time they were talking about the house, she was plagued by a crazy level of excitement that she couldn’t shake off. Taking photos of Luke was precarious, too. Every time she looked up from her viewfinder she caught him watching her with a shimmering cheekiness that stole her breath.

This meeting was turning out to be as difficult as she’d feared it might be. There was too much sizzle in the air. Too many memories of that night in his swag. She should
not
have jumped at Luke’s invitation to come here.

‘I’d better get going,’ she said finally, glancing at the time on her phone. ‘I have another meeting this afternoon.’

She suspected Luke guessed she was making an excuse, but he would probably be relieved to see her leave. Without delay, she collected her things and stuffed them into her bag. Luke wrapped the glass panels in old pieces of tarpaulin and carried them out to the boot of her car. Sally called to Jess and bundled her into the back seat.

‘Thanks for lunch,’ Luke said, as she stood beside the open driver’s door.

‘Thanks for sparing me your time. I’m going to do some research on Moonlight Plains now, so I can balance the modern story with a little history.’

He nodded. ‘Good luck. I’ll be interested to hear what you find.’

‘I’ll let you know.’

He looked down at the ground and kicked at a stone with his boot.

This farewell was as tense as the last one. Perhaps he was remembering it.

‘Thanks for the magazines,’ he said, not meeting her gaze. ‘I’ll check them out. I’m sure I’ll get a few good ideas.’

‘Keep them as long as you like.’

Sally slipped her keys into the ignition, but she didn’t climb in behind the wheel. She turned back to Luke and she couldn’t help it, she had to ask. ‘There’s something that’s been bugging me, Luke. I should have asked you on the phone, or when I arrived.’

He scowled at a point beyond her right shoulder. ‘What’s that?’

‘Why did you change your mind about doing this story?’

It was impossible to miss the way he stiffened. He looked unhappier than ever, which should
not
have sent Sally’s heart thumping, and it certainly shouldn’t have made her want to reach out. To touch him. To give him a hug.

‘Just go,’ he said tightly. ‘Go now.’ Plunging his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he glared at her. ‘Go quickly, Sally, before I do something we’ll both regret.’

‘I – I don’t understand.’

Stupid, stupid thing to say.

Luke’s scowl was ferocious. ‘You’d understand if I kissed you senseless.’

Boston, 2013

‘Laura, I hear you, honey. I understand how your father’s letters have rocked you. And I hesitate to say this – so please don’t jump on me – but don’t you think you might be overreacting . . . just a teensy bit?’

Laura stared at her best friend in disbelief. ‘Overreacting?’ She felt so let down she actually thought she might cry.

She’d been so looking forward to this after-school get-together. She and Amy had shared many of their deepest secrets sitting right here in these upholstered club chairs in a secluded corner of the Sugar Bowl, their favourite coffee shop in Dorchester.

Laura had been sure that Amy, out of everyone she knew, would understand her latest dilemma. After all, they’d been best friends since college. They’d been bridesmaids at their respective weddings and as newlyweds they’d bought houses in the same suburb of West Roxbury. As young moms, they’d cooked casseroles for each other when their kids were sick and they’d cheered for each other’s children on the athletics track and at swim meets.

For many years, their families had enjoyed weekly backyard barbecues. They’d even taken a couple of shared vacations in the days before Laura’s husband Terry lost his battle with his gambling addiction.

Later, throughout the bitter process of Laura’s divorce, Amy had been her mainstay as well as her shoulder to cry on. So of course Amy was the first person Laura had turned to after she found the box of her father’s letters.

She’d been sublimely confident that her friend would understand, and now she couldn’t quite believe her ears. An overreaction? Really?

The accusation stung like a slap.

‘Of course I’m not overreacting.’ Laura was so disappointed she was tempted to leap to her feet and walk out.

‘Laura, honey.’ Reaching over the small table that separated them, Amy rubbed Laura’s arm. ‘I’m sure it was a shock to find out that your father has been writing all these letters to a strange woman.’ She spoke in her most soothing tones. ‘I understand that. But I think you should try to find the positives in this.’

‘You see positives?’

‘Well, to begin with, your father never posted the letters.’

Laura knew this was true. Her father had actually stated this fact in one of his letters, almost as if he was afraid that someone in the family would find them, as if he expected them to be found . . .

‘But that’s not the point,’ she protested.

Amy overrode her. ‘And it sounds as if this romance happened way back – years before he met your mom.’

‘But he
never
stopped missing this Kitty woman. That’s what eats at me. Surely you can see that, Amy? I can’t bear to think that all the time he was married to my mother, all the years he lived with us, my father was simply playing the role of the perfect family man while he couldn’t let go of this other woman. It was almost like she had a spell over him.’

Laura’s voice was shaking. She couldn’t help it. ‘I – I think he still loved her. He must have, and I can’t stand that. I can’t stand knowing that she had such a big impact. Such a lasting impact.’

Amy nodded. ‘I know, I know. It’s a bit weird and it must be hard for you.’ Her eyes narrowed in thought as she picked up her coffee spoon and stirred her second cup of French vanilla. ‘I’m wondering, though . . .’

Laura sighed, not sure she wanted to hear what her friend was wondering.

‘Can you remember your first boyfriend?’ Amy asked abruptly.

‘What’s that got to do with –’

‘Can you? Come on. Have a try.’

Almost against her will, Laura’s brain zapped straight to high school and Harry Bradshaw. She could see Harry clearly. In history class. On the football field. On prom night. His curling mop of rusty hair, his deep-blue eyes and cheeky smile. Without warning, a fleeting memory of their first kiss flashed to life. She could actually feel his lips on hers and the recollection was so poignant and sweet she almost smiled.

She managed to squash the impulse just in time.

‘I might be able to remember him,’ she said rather haughtily. ‘But I hardly ever think about him.’

‘But it might have been different if you’d met him in a foreign country while you were caught up in the middle of a war.’

That scenario was so impossible Laura couldn’t even begin to imagine it. Annoyed, she took a sip of her dark roast decaf.

‘We’ve never lived through a world war,’ Amy persisted. ‘We have no idea what it was like for our fathers, fighting in the Pacific. Didn’t you say your dad crashed his plane somewhere in the Australian outback?’

‘Yes, in North Queensland.’

‘How difficult would that have been? He was so young and no doubt scared. I don’t think we should judge them.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t need a lecture,’ Laura sniffed. She was an artist and she liked to think she had a lively and sensitive imagination, but even if she could put herself in her father’s shoes, she couldn’t excuse him for the letters. There’d been dozens of them over the years and Amy was simply trying to whitewash a deeply shocking situation.

‘I thought you’d see it from my point of view, not theirs,’ she said tightly. ‘I thought you’d understand how hurt I feel.’
As though my very foundations have crumbled. As though I’m no longer sure about anything in my life.

That was the worst of it. Everything Laura had ever believed about herself was now in question. She was besieged by doubts about her father, about the depth of happiness in her parents’ marriage, even about the honesty of the family life that had moulded her.

And the loneliness of her knowledge ate at her, too. She’d guarantee that no one in the family knew her father had felt this way about a woman in Australia.

‘I’m trying to understand, Laura,’ Amy said now. ‘But honestly, honey, be careful. You don’t want to make too big a deal about this.’

Amy reached across again, and squeezed Laura’s unyielding hand. ‘You’re going to make yourself sick if you worry too much about these letters. You’ve been through such a tough time with the divorce and with both the girls getting jobs so far away.’

Before Laura could protest, Amy grinned. ‘Perhaps you should try for a little perspective, hon. It’s not as if your father was Tony Soprano and you’ve just found out he was Mafia.’

‘Now you’re trivialising this.’

Laura couldn’t laugh. She was disappointed in her friend. Bitterly disappointed. ‘You didn’t know my dad the way I did. He was so –’

Perfect
. She couldn’t say that, but in her eyes, her father had been as heroic as Atticus Finch.

‘He always claimed the moral high ground,’ she said instead. ‘And for him to keep up this writing . . . was a kind of infidelity.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Amy sounded surprisingly contrite. ‘I tend to forget that your family has a pedigree.’

Laura inwardly flinched at this. For years now, she’d been confident she’d shaken off any shadow of Boston snobbery. Marrying Terry Fox had felt like a gesture of bohemian defiance. She’d grown up knowing that her parents expected her to marry from within their closely conservative and wealthy circle, just as they had done and their parents and grandparents before them.

Laura, however, had been intent on freeing herself from the shackles of the Brahman conservatism that her family’s circle revered. Her reckless choice of a husband had received her younger brother Charlie’s blessing, at least. He’d been as enthusiastic as she was about throwing off the past.

Of course, her marriage had proved to be a huge mistake, which she now regretted, far too late.

She’d never questioned whether her parents had once felt the same urge to rebel against the pressures of their ridiculously outdated
Mayflower
connections. If Edward or Rose Langley had ever experienced regrets, they’d hidden them well.

Nevertheless, her friend Amy had, perhaps inadvertently, given her something to think about.

Two days later, driving to school in the middle of the early-morning rush hour, Laura was still chewing over this puzzle when she arrived at a possible solution, or at least a step in what might be the right direction. She could send out a feeler: a letter to Australia.

It was unlikely that Kitty Martin was still alive and living at Moonlight Plains, but perhaps whoever lived there now would know something about her. Laura wondered if she could even include a copy of one of her father’s letters. Something safe, very carefully selected . . .

By the time she reached school, the idea had taken hold. She would send her letter off into the unknown, rather like a scientific space probe. She might never hear anything from it again, or it just might solve the riddle that her father had left behind.

Townsville, 2013

‘Okay,’ Sally’s best friend Megan began in her habitually hearty voice. ‘Let’s see if I’m picking up the right info here.’ Megan started to tick off points on her fingers. ‘You met a hot guy at the Charters Towers ball. You’re doing a story about a homestead he’s renovating. And by a lucky coincidence you’re also great mates with his granny.’

Dismayed, Sally came to a complete standstill. Luke had been on her mind far too often, of course. She’d reached the point where he invaded her thoughts so frequently that now her friend’s reasonable questions during a sunset walk along the beach with their dogs felt like some kind of trap, like an interrogation behind enemy lines.

‘Why would you string together those three random items?’ Sally tried to sound justifiably self-righteous.

Megan laughed. ‘Maybe because they all have a common denominator called Luke Fairburn?’ She gave an exaggerated eye-roll. ‘I’m simply stitching together what you’ve already told me over the past few weeks.’

‘I never told you Luke Fairburn was hot.’

‘No, but you’ve let his name slip more than once and coming from you that’s a
huge
deal, Sal. Don’t forget how well I know you, girlfriend.’

Too true.

Sally knew she was lucky to have a friend like Megan. Not only had they known each other forever, but Megan’s boyfriend Barney was an electrician working on a fly-in fly-out job at one of the mines, which meant Megan was often a singleton like Sally and they could hang out together.

Now a brisk sea breeze blew across the bay and whipped at Sally’s hair as she frantically scrolled back through her recent conversations with her oldest and closest friend. She thought she’d been super-careful, answering Megan’s probing interrogations without giving away a single vital clue about Luke.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Megan prompted smugly.

‘No, you’re way off.’ Annoyed, Sally bent down, picked up a stick and called to their dogs racing up the beach ahead of them. ‘Here, Indigo! Here, Jess! Fetch!’

She tossed the stick high and the dogs went crazy.

But Megan wouldn’t be put off. ‘So, what are you trying to suggest, Sal? That this Luke guy is ugly? Or a figment of my imagination?’

Sally sighed. ‘You’ve certainly embellished him with your fertile imagination. I’m simply writing a story about a homestead near Charters Towers.’

‘And Luke Fairburn happens to be working on the homestead?’

‘Yes,’ Sally snapped. She certainly wouldn’t tell Megan there was a very good chance she’d have to drop the story because the vibes between them were just too awkward.

‘But he also has a granny at the same nursing home as
yours
?’

‘It’s not as if there’s a huge choice of nursing homes around here. It’s no big deal.’

‘Okay, okay.’

A testy silence fell as the girls walked on towards Pallarenda, their bare feet sinking into the warm, damp sand while the waters of Rowes Bay kept up a slow and lazy
slap, slap, slap
 . . .

It was a beautiful afternoon. A fringe of palms and she-oaks shielded the beach from the road and the sky was softening from blue to mauve. Children played on swings in a nearby park. Cyclists whizzed along a bike track. Sally and Megan and their dogs had the sandy beach almost to themselves, and it was too lovely and tranquil to spoil with uncomfortable conversations.

‘But you
did
meet Luke at the ball?’ Megan slid this question in slyly, just as Sally was beginning to relax.

Sally choked back a groan. If she got too angry, Megan was sure to smell a rat. ‘I met him briefly,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully calm.

‘And he
is
hot-looking.’

At this, Sally did groan. She couldn’t help it. ‘I’ve never said a thing about his looks. To be honest, I haven’t really taken much notice.’

Megan snorted. ‘Come on, Sal. A crocodile wouldn’t swallow that.’

Hastily, Sally switched her gaze out to sea. It would be disastrous to catch her friend’s eye while she lied about Luke. ‘He’s not my type.’

‘What type is he then?’

The dangerous type, who can make a girl swoon just by threatening to kiss her.

Sally forced a shrug. ‘Oh, you know – rural.’

‘Ahh . . . the outdoorsy and athletic, horse-whispering type?’

‘I guess.’ Sally concentrated on the view out to sea where the soft hills of Magnetic Island rose from the still waters of the bay, while further to the north she could just make out the faint outline of Palm Island. The whole scene was bathed in the lilac and pink streaks of the sunset. It was beautiful, and it should have been soothing.

‘It’s on, isn’t it?’ Megan said softly. ‘You and Luke. Sal, you know I’d keep it to myself. And you know, if it’s true, I couldn’t be happier.’

‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

Megan gasped.

Looked hurt.

Sally gasped too. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, but it was too late and she felt bad.

Megan was understandably quiet as they walked on, her shoulders hunched and her mouth set in a downward curve. When Indigo brought the stick up to them again, it was Megan who threw it for the dogs, while Sally continued to worry.

The problem was . . . and it was a pretty
major
problem . . . she found talking about Luke way too stressful. She’d been stressed ever since she left him at Moonlight Plains. She knew she should forget him, once and for all – and she knew he would understand if he never heard from her again.

She just wished she wasn’t haunted by the smoulder in his eyes when he’d talked about kissing her. She’d been dreaming about him practically every night.

It was crazy. And it was pathetic to be so attracted to the first man she’d met socially since she lost Josh. She was supposed to be playing the field. She wasn’t yet thirty and she should be sampling all the guys she’d missed when she rushed into marriage the first time.

Why didn’t the prospect of variety hold more appeal?

‘Sal?’ Megan was watching her now with concern. ‘I’m sorry if I pissed you off.’

‘Oh, you know me,’ Sally tired to reassure her. ‘Touchy as a thin-skinned toad.’

Megan slanted her a small smile. ‘I guess I was getting carried away, hoping that maybe things were happening for you at last.’

Deep down, Sally knew that she’d been excited about meeting Luke for the very same reason. She was excited about finding an attractive guy and yet scared that her seesawing emotions would sabotage
any
new relationship.

Truth was, she was behaving like a freaking yo-yo.

And Luke deserved better.

She felt Megan’s hand on her arm. Next moment her friend was pulling her close.

‘You poor thing,’ Megan murmured, giving Sally a warm hug. ‘Here’s me probing your old wounds and carrying on like a teenage matchmaker.’

‘But I shouldn’t be so prickly.’

Sally knew what her problem was. She knew what was nagging at her – something she’d been nursing to herself ever since Josh’s death, something she’d never told Megan.

It was possibly the real reason she was so tense, the reason she couldn’t let go of the past, couldn’t move on the way everyone urged her to.

‘Look,’ she said, feeling scared. ‘There’s – there’s something I should probably explain.’

Megan turned to Sally, her angular face instantly curious, yet justifiably wary.

Sally stopped walking. This wasn’t going to be easy. ‘Maybe we should sit down.’

Her friend’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Okay.’

The dogs also looked puzzled when their mistresses settled on the sand, but their confusion didn’t last long. Soon they were off, chasing seagulls.

‘Okay,’ Sally began, her heart hammering madly. ‘The thing is –’ She had to stop and swallow the lump that now jammed her throat. ‘It’s something that happened on the morning after Josh’s accident.’

Megan was silent now, waiting while the water slapped gently against the sand, and Sally found herself reliving that dreaded Saturday morning when she’d woken in her bedroom at the flat, drowsy from the sleeping pill her mother had given her.

For a moment she hadn’t been worried about the vacant space beside her in the bed. Still half-asleep, she hadn’t remembered the accident. She’d assumed Josh was jogging out to Pallarenda as he did most Saturday mornings.

Then the truth had hit, cruelly, with sledgehammer force.

Josh. Dead. Gone. Forever.

She’d crawled back under the covers and stayed there, but although she’d made sure the bedroom windows were closed, she could still hear the snarl of her neighbour’s lawnmower, and the chirrups of children playing in a nearby backyard.

She’d drawn the curtains, but bright strips of light blazed along the fabric’s edge, as if the sun was trying to taunt her.

The world beyond her bedroom had carried on as it always did on Saturday mornings, as if nothing cataclysmic had happened. But Sally had remained numb, isolated by her grief, her mind locked in a cycle of terror that had started when she’d opened the door to the grim-faced policemen.

In the depths of despairing grief, she’d relived the horror of going to the hospital with Megan and Josh’s mate, Toby, as well as her parents.

Josh’s father had got there just ahead of them and he’d looked as if he’d aged ten years. He’d told them that formal identification was needed, and Sally had insisted that she must go in.

‘Sally, it doesn’t have to be you.’ Her mother’s voice had been gentle, but with a warning edge.

‘I can do this.’ Sally had been so sure she could. And she’d been sure that she had to. In a bizarre way she’d thought she was prepared, as a huge fan of forensic investigation on TV.

She’d been okay until she saw the sign over the door. The single shocking word
Morgue
had been too much and her legs had given way.

Josh’s father had gone in instead and he’d returned white-faced.

You made the right decision,
his eyes had told her.

Why? How did Josh look?

Sally hadn’t been able to ask those questions, but they’d haunted her ever since.

As had the accident, which had never made sense. A single vehicle? Really? The police had mentioned road curves, distractions, speed . . . They’d investigated the crash, of course, but they hadn’t come to any conclusive decisions.

But what had haunted Sally most was not her unanswered questions. Her most persistent worry had come that Saturday morning when her mother, who’d stayed overnight on the uncomfortable sofa bed, had knocked on her bedroom door, bringing her a cup of tea.

‘My mum put this proposition to me,’ Sally told Megan now as they sat together on the dusk-shadowed beach. ‘On the morning after the accident.’

She could remember it so clearly, recalling every detail, even the way the mattress dipped slightly as her mother sat next to her and handed her the steaming mug.

At first, they hadn’t said anything as they sipped. It was as if they’d both reached the conclusion that words couldn’t help.

But then the roar and rattle of the mower next door had stopped abruptly and in the sudden, almost startling silence her mother had spoken.

‘Sally.’ Her mother’s voice had been tight and careful. ‘I’ve been ringing people from work . . . There’s been a suggestion, Sally . . . something I think you should consider.’

Remembering now, Sally leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her bent knees, and she stared at the distant horizon where the darkening sea met the darkening sky. The temperature was dropping and she should tell Megan quickly or it would be dark.

‘Mum wanted me to save Josh’s sperm,’ she said.

Beside her, she felt Megan shiver. ‘Wow.’

‘I didn’t want to have to think about it.’ Sally felt the hot prickle of tears in her eyes. ‘All I could think of was Josh lying lifeless on a cold slab of stainless steel and a malicious-looking doctor hovering over him with gloved hands and a scalpel.’

Just thinking about it again now, her chest ached, and she couldn’t hold back her tears.

‘That would have been a very difficult decision,’ Megan said gently.

‘It was terrible.’ Sally swiped at her eyes. ‘And it was so weird to hear my mum talking about my husband’s sperm. I found it icky, to be honest.’

‘No doubt,’ Megan agreed with gratifying fervour. ‘If it had been my mum talking about Barney, I would have been grossed out.’

‘But I let her talk me into it,’ Sally said. ‘I had to make the decision really quickly. There was only a twenty-four-hour window. I didn’t want to think about my future. It was too soon. I was numb and I just wanted to stay numb. But Mum was very persuasive.’

‘That’s why she’s such a good lawyer.’

‘Yeah. She reminded me that Josh was an organ donor, and that other people were going to benefit from his death, so I should save this one vital part of him.’

‘Okay . . .’ Megan said slowly and cautiously.

‘For a while there, I really liked the idea,’ Sally said. ‘I missed Josh
so
much, and I started to think about a little baby with Josh’s dark glossy hair and olive complexion, his cute smile . . .’

In the distance their dogs barked at another seagull.

Another sigh escaped Sally. She picked up a broken piece of coral and tossed it out into the water, where pieces of seaweed floated in the shallows like lacy scarves.

‘The problem was,’ she continued, ‘I wasn’t sure that Josh really wanted kids. I’d only asked him about it once or twice, but he always changed the subject pretty quickly.’

‘Well, yeah, that’s not so surprising. You were both young and Josh was focused on making money and having a good time.’

Sally nodded. ‘Anyway, eventually, I decided to have the sperm destroyed.’ She didn’t want to tell Megan that she’d made the decision after her night with Luke. Her friend would read far too much significance into that.

Nevertheless, she’d come away from Moonlight Plains with the strong feeling that there was something wrong about hanging on to her dead husband’s sperm. After all, everyone had been telling her to stop looking to the past for happiness, so she’d made the decision quickly and acted on it the very next day.