Only We Know (31 page)

She would aim high the next time. In a few years. Maybe twelve months. Not sooner. She had things to do between now and then.

Oh, she definitely needed a man like Sam. Eventually. But not actually Sam.

Now, she could put Josh in a box marked ‘Bygones' and file it. She'd had something to offer; Sam had seen it in her, which meant others would too. And she honestly felt it now. She could take all that mysterious new belief in herself and kickstart the new Calla Maloney.

Would she see Sam again? She didn't know. Perhaps he had to be filed in his rightful place too, and that was on the island.

Kangaroo Island claimed to be a story about change and nature, change and people, change and mysteries.

She wasn't the same person now as she was when she'd landed there. She was a woman who was kicking to get back to her real life.

Her new real life.

Her uncomplicated new real life, in which she would go back to work next week when school started up after the holidays and try to instil a love of art in new pupils.

Her new simple real life in which she would no longer despair for her broken heart and the foolishness of loving someone who was not hers to love.

Her uncomplicated new real life in which she could be a present aunt to a little boy and an absent aunt to a little girl, with hope that one day she might be more.

Her uncomplicated new real life in which she would make herself the star of her own show, and which she would not complicate by falling in love with someone so soon after having her heart shredded and her trust shattered.

Back in her real life, there were no more long country roads. No more wild seas and brilliant blue skies. No more empty beaches or green paddocks or country dogs or dams or soaring wedge-tailed eagles and silence and peace.

And she tried to convince herself she was all right with that.

Sam called later that night. She saw his name on her phone, took a deep breath before she picked up the call. Wasn't sure she should sound as excited about it as she felt. She could do this. She could chat with Sam. In a friendly way, with no flirting or, if there happened to be flirting, without it meaning anything. She could be happy to talk to him without expecting him to fall in love with her. She tried to find her most nonchalant voice. ‘Hey, Sam.'

‘Hey.' There was a beat of silence. ‘Did you get back all right? How was the flight?'

Calla picked up her wine glass, walked to her sofa, sat down and laid her head back on the headrest. It was past ten o'clock and she'd had a shower and changed. She was too wired and excited from the day to even feel tired. And what a day it had been. Waking up in Sam's arms, kissing him goodbye at the airport, a mad dash back home and a new baby in the family. She'd straddled two worlds in twelve hours. No wonder her head was spinning.

‘It went off without a hitch. I was the last one to board and I got a glare from the cabin crew but, on the plus side, I didn't even feel sick.'

‘Don't tell me. Planes as well as boats?'

‘Yeah,' Calla said. ‘And cars, if I'm in the back seat. Or if I'm reading a map.'

‘I don't know how you ever leave home.'

‘I'm really glad I did this time.' They were words from the heart. ‘Sam? I want to thank you for the hero thing you pulled off today. Getting me on to the flight and everything.'

‘Whoa.' He laughed, his voice deep and growly and oh my god did it have to sound so sexy? ‘The
hero thing
? Yeah, I'm a dead cert to be nominated for a bravery award for that one. I booked you a ticket, Calla. And then I drove you to the airport. That sounds more like tour guide than hero to me.'

She pressed her phone to her ear, wanting his voice right inside her head. There was something that happened to her when he talked. Her heart beat faster but, strangely, she was calm, and free to tell him the truth about how she felt, with no embarrassment and no expectations. ‘Don't brush it off. You'll always be a hero to me.'

And then there was that silence again. Maybe she'd overstepped the mark, gone too far.

‘So is it a boy or a girl?'

It wasn't lost on her that he'd changed the subject.
What happens on the island stays on the island
, he seemed to be telling her.

Wasn't that a relief? They were on the same page after all.

‘A boy. Flynn. And he's beautiful.' Calla's heart felt light at the memory of his perfect little face.

‘Did you get there in time for the business end?'

‘No, I missed it by a couple of hours. It was all done and dusted by the time I got there. But, to tell you the truth, I'm not so fussed. I managed to swan in when Rose and the baby were all cleaned up and looking lovely.'

‘I bet she was glad to see you.'

Calla sipped her wine and tucked her feet under her. ‘It's hard for Rose, not having our mother around. Of course, she has David and he's fantastic, but I think if ever there was a day when you want your mum with you it's the day you become one yourself. Even after all that's gone down in my family, I think Rose missed her today more than ever.'

And Calla realised with a jolt to her heart that she missed their mother too. Despite everything, she would always miss her.

‘So. You want all the news from KI?' Sam asked.

‘Sure do.'

‘I packed up all your stuff and gave the key to the cleaner when she turned up. I'll get your bags to you when I come home.'

‘Thank you. I hope it wasn't too embarrassing packing my make-up and Ugg boots.'

‘I did rifle through your clothes looking for lingerie.'

Oh. My. God. Calla realised what was actually in her suitcase. Flannel PJs. Sensible undies. And the kind of plain skin-toned bras you wear under T-shirts that don't leave weird lines and scratch you with all their fake lace.

‘You lucked out then. Only the boring stuff.'

‘I didn't care. I prefer you naked.' Sam's low chuckle sent a wave of memory flooding over her. His hands on her. His lips on hers. His hard body and his strong arms around her.

Change the subject immediately.

‘What about Charlie?' Calla had to steer the conversation away from sex before she spontaneously combusted. ‘Did you say goodbye to him from me?'

There was a long pause. ‘He might be losing his memory but he sure hasn't forgotten how to be stubborn.'

‘Oh Sam, what happened?'

‘I told him the truth — again — and he didn't like it. I had to go over all the same things I've told him before. That there's no way he can look after himself any more and that he needs to sell up and move into that place in Kingscote. He told me I didn't know what I was talking about and … Let's just say, I'm not welcome there any more.'

Calla wanted to reach through the line and hug someone. Probably Charlie first, if she were honest. The poor old man was only trying to hang on to his son and protect him. Sam may have been fully grown, with an impressive day-job as a first responder who protected everyone else, but all Charlie wanted to do was take care of him. The idea was heartbreaking to Calla. And she suddenly understood what Jem had missed his entire life. He'd never had the fierce loyalty of a father like Charlie. He'd never had such love and kindness. Maybe it helped explain the way he'd turned out and why he'd turned his back on the only family he'd ever known.

‘Sam, he didn't mean it; you know that. He's old and confused.'

‘Which is exactly why he should listen to me.' Sam's voice hardened.

‘Did you ever think that you should listen to him?'

There was a moment's silence. ‘What?'

‘Stop pushing him,' she said quietly. ‘You can't always make people do what you want them to do. You're not wearing a uniform now. You're his son, not a firefighter. Don't you think it would help if you tried listening to him for a change instead of barking orders?'

Sam didn't answer. Calla wondered if she'd gone too far. But she carried the burden of Charlie's plea to her back in Penneshaw. ‘Sam?'

‘Yeah?'

‘I thought you might have hung up on me.'

‘I wouldn't do that, Red.'

She hoped he was thinking about what she'd said, reflecting on the fact that he spent his working hours at the top of a hierarchy, where there were leaders and troops and someone had to give the orders. He was a Station Officer, in charge, and maybe he couldn't turn it off.

‘Where are you?' Calla wondered if changing the subject might help keep him on the line. She wanted to keep his voice in her head until she got drowsy and fell asleep.

‘I'm staying at Ben's tonight. I'm not being an idiot about this. I've talked to Charlie's doctor. She agrees with me one hundred per cent.'

‘Of course she does. But I could see for myself how much he loves Roo's Rest. Isn't there any way to get him some help so he
can
stay there?'

‘We've run out of options and time. It's dangerous for him to be on his own. He'll get into trouble and no one will be there to help him. You saw how he was yesterday. He'll die alone if he stays there.'

Sam's voice was louder than he intended and he instantly regretted it. It was the flash of memory that had done it. He looked down at his free hand. It was shaking.

It only took a heartbeat and he was back at Roo's Rest. Twenty years earlier. He'd been sitting at his desk in the room he shared with Andy, deep into studying for his Year Twelve exams. He wasn't looking at the view out to the back paddock, but was focused on his books. His parents couldn't afford to send him off to boarding school so he was determined to spend every waking minute doing the best he could so he could get away from the farm, from KI, and move up to Adelaide.

When Andy hadn't come home at the usual time, Charlie had sent Sam out to find him. Sam had stomped off to the shed and started up his motorbike, resenting the chore, counting down the days until he wouldn't have to see another bloody sheep or another bloody cow.

He opened the gate leading into the eastern paddock. Charlie had said Andy had gone out there with a roll of hay to feed the cattle.

He saw the tractor first, on its side, and he knew. When he got there, Andy's body was twisted and trapped underneath. He must have been like that for hours.

‘Andy! What the fuck, Andy? Wake up!' Sam had called, shaking his brother's shoulder. Then he saw the pool of seeping blood on the grass. Blood had dried on his lips where it had trickled from his mouth. His face had been blue and lifeless.

‘Sam?'

Calla's voice hurtled him back to the present.

‘You know the reason he doesn't want to leave Roo's Rest, don't you?'

He knew the reason. It was because of Andy. His death had made Sam want to get out of there even quicker. For his parents, the death of their oldest son made them cling to Roo's Rest as fiercely as they did to their last memories of their boy.

And Calla thought her lot were screwed up. Sam couldn't know exactly what it had been like for her, growing up with anger and betrayal, but he knew she'd tried very hard to fix her family. And now she was trying to fix his. What family he had left. He needed to sort it all out for himself.

Calla was moving on from her family's pain. He couldn't. While Charlie was alive and being as stubborn and recalcitrant as he was, Sam would be tied to the past as hard and fast as his father.

He had to let Calla get on with uncomplicating her life. ‘Look. It's late. I've gotta run.'

‘Oh, okay.'

‘Congratulations on the auntie thing.'

‘Thanks. Sam?'

She wanted to keep talking, he knew it. But he couldn't that night. He needed time to think about what to do next, about how to deal with Charlie. And he couldn't think straight when Calla's voice, all reason and care, was in his ear.

‘I'll call you when I'm back in Adelaide. I'll drop off your things as soon as I can.'

‘Right. Bye.'

‘I'll see you, Red.'

Sam hung up. Put the phone down on Ben's kitchen table. The house was silent. The wind rattled the windows and it had begun to rain.

He hadn't felt so lonely in a very long time.

CHAPTER

39

The next evening, Sam sat with Charlie at the big wooden table at Roo's Rest. He'd ignored the old man's order for him to stay away, figuring he'd forget it anyway. And he had. The clouds that had brought thundery rain during most of the day had departed and the sky was clear and full of stars. The fire was glowing inside, warming the small house and the two men inside it. They'd decided to bypass the coffee and go straight for the scotch. Sam figured it might help him do what he had to do.

They were examining a dusty old shoebox that Charlie had retrieved from the top shelf in the laundry and dropped on the table. Charlie opened it and picked out a thick fold of paper. He handed it to Sam.

Sam didn't need to ask what it was. It was his father's will. Anger flared in his chest, knotting his breath there and giving him a spasm in his jaw. He'd seen it before. Reading it again wouldn't change his mind. Hadn't the old bugger listened at all to his only surviving son during the past twenty years? Apparently not. And now here he was, with the paperwork, about to badger the crap out of him, as he'd done a hundred times before. When Sam had been in hospital after his injury, Charlie had been obsessed by the idea that he should go back to the island to recuperate, as if spending time there would awaken some miraculous love of sheep. What Charlie hadn't seemed to understand was that the best rehab place was in the city and it was his body that needed healing, nothing else.

Did he never listen to his son? How many times had Sam had to tell him, shout it at him, write it to him, that he was done with the island?

‘Dad—'

‘It's yours, Sam.' Charlie forced the papers into his hands. ‘When I die, you get everything. Even the bloody sheep.'