by Lilly Mirren
The drive to the doctor’s office subdued them both, and Bindi sat in silence staring out the passenger window. They didn’t have to wait long before Doctor Ash called them into his office. Kate took Bindi’s hand and squeezed it as he returned to his seat, and steepled his hands on the desk.
“Well, Bindi, I have good news,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening. “Oh?”
“I’ve got your test results here in front of me, and each result tells me that you’re in full remission.”
Bindi leapt to her feet, with Kate beside her. Eyes wide, Bindi threw her arms around Kate. They danced in a circle together, both hooting loudly. Doctor Ash beamed at them from behind the desk.
“Remission!” shouted Kate. “Woohoo!”
Bindi laughed, her laughter quickly turning to tears of joy and relief. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I was hoping…but full remission? Are you sure?”
Doctor Ash nodded. “Full remission. You’re free to go and live your life.”
They took their seats, and Bindi inhaled a long, slow breath. Full remission. It was the best possible result. She hadn’t dared to hope too much for it, instead preparing herself for the possibility of radiation treatment, but now that wouldn’t be necessary.
“What are the chances she’ll stay in remission?” asked Kate.
Doctor Ash’s lips pursed. “Well, with everything we know about this type of lymphoma, the chances are very good. In almost every case where a patient goes into complete remission, they stay that way and live a long, healthy and full life.”
Bindi sobbed, covering her mouth with one hand. She’d live a full, possibly even long, life. For months now she’d been preparing herself, even subconsciously, for death. She’d lost her parents when they were still so young, her diagnosis had brought all that rushing back to her. Life was short, you couldn’t count on having long years on the earth. But now…now she had another chance. A chance to really live, to choose the kind of life she wanted. She wasn’t going to waste it.
They left the doctor’s office, Bindi’s head spinning, her throat aching, and her heart full of joy. Beside her, Kate couldn’t stop smiling.
In the car, Bindi sat without putting on her seatbelt. She stared ahead, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, tears of happiness filling her eyes.
“Back to the inn?” asked Kate.
Bindi shook her head. She had to see Josh. All this time, they’d been dating, but she hadn’t been fully committed, one foot out the door. Now, she was well. She still couldn’t fully wrap her head around the idea, but there was only one thing she wanted to do.
Kate dropped Bindi off outside the police station and waved goodbye as she pulled out of the parking lot. Bindi had assured her that Josh would drive her home, and if he couldn’t, she’d get a taxi. Kate had to get back to the inn, but it wasn’t where Bindi wanted to be right now. She needed to see Josh, to tell him the good news, to finally let go of everything that’d been holding her back from giving him her whole heart.
Inside, she wasn’t sure where to go. A uniformed police officer stood behind a counter. He was busy with something, and a few other officers milled about an office space behind him. People waited in a small room with chairs lining one wall. She wandered over to the counter and stood waiting for the man to give her his attention. Finally, he did.
“Hi, I’m here to see Josh Owens,” she said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
She shook her head. “I’m a friend, Bindi Summer.”
The man grunted, dialled a number on his phone and spoke in hushed tones to someone. Then, looked at her. “He’ll be right out.”
She leaned against a wall, unable to find an empty seat. After a few minutes, a door popped open and Josh pushed his head through the opening. “Bindi?”
She hurried to meet him, threw her arms around his neck. “Hey.”
He ushered her through the door. “It’s so nice to see you; I wasn’t expecting you. Sorry you had to wait.”
“It’s fine,” she said.
He led her to an open office space. Plain clothes staff clacked away on keyboards, phones rang, and the murmur of voices filled the air. They stopped at a desk, and he pulled out a rolling chair for her to sit on, then perched on the edge of the desk.
“You’re lucky you caught me, I’m not in the office much, but we just brought someone in for booking. I’ve been filling in paperwork for about half an hour, and we were going to head back out again as soon as I finished.”
She grinned, reached for his hands, and held them in hers. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
He smiled, setting her heart alight with the love in his eyes. “Okay, I’m all ears.”
She stood, stepped closer until her leg brushed up against his. “Ever since you asked me out the first time, I’ve been holding back a little part of my heart.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I know.”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” he asked.
She sighed. “Afraid of losing you, of you losing me. I was sick, scared… I wasn’t ready to fall in love. I told you that, but you wouldn’t listen.”
He chuckled. “I’m stubborn that way.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Anyway, I wanted to come here to let you know. I’m ready now.”
“You are?” He pulled her closer, looping his arms around her waist.
“Yes, I’m ready to jump into this thing.”
“Oh yeah, and what brought about this change, Miss Summer?” His eyes sparkled.
She inhaled a long slow breath. “I’m in remission.”
“What? Really?”
He stood straight, pressed his hands to her waist and lifted her into the air, twirling her in a circle with a shout. When he brought her back down again, he pressed his lips to hers.
Relief flooded her, and she smiled as he pulled away, tears filling her eyes until her vision blurred.
Catcalls sailed through the room. Someone cleared their throat with a cough.
“Get a room, you two!” shouted one of Josh’s workmates with a wide grin plastered on his face.
She leaned her head against his chest, letting herself be enveloped in his arms. His heartbeat pounded in her ears.
“I’m so happy for you.”
She smiled. “Me too.”
21
November 1980
Casoli, Italy
Charlie cinched the tie tighter around his neck with a deep sigh that emanated from the depths of his gut. He stared at his reflection in the mirror that stood against one bedroom wall. The same mirror Maria had used to get ready each morning for the past twenty years, ever since they’d moved into the house.
At fifty-seven years of age, he had crow’s feet around his eyes, grey in the scruff on his chin he was attempting to pass off as a beard, and silver running through his hair. He combed his fingers through it. It was no use. He hadn’t slept well in days and it showed. He didn’t care much what people thought of him today. It was his wife’s funeral. She’d died far too young and left him alone in the big house they’d built as a home for their family so many years ago.
His heart ached. Both Marion and Stefano had left home when they were in their early twenties. Now the sound of his footsteps along the hallway echoed through a silence that only enlarged the lump in his throat and the pain in his soul.
Nothing would ever be the same again. Marion had married and moved to Paris to pursue her career as an art historian with a gallery there. Stefano was married as well. He and his wife had revealed their plans months earlier to move to Australia to start a new life.
Australia? Why Australia? That was what Charlie had asked as soon as his voice returned.
“Because that’s where you’re from,” Stefano had answered. “I want to know more about my roots. See the country where you were raised. Besides, that’s where the opportunities
are. Places like Australia and America. We want to go there, build a life for ourselves. See what the future might hold for us.”
His eyes had been wide, full of hope for a better life. Jobs in Casoli were scarce. Many of the younger generation had moved, were trying their luck in other parts of Europe or the world. Rebuilding after the war had taken everything the country could manage, and the younger generation, the ones born after the tragedy of those years were over, wanted to move on, put the past behind them, start afresh somewhere new. They wanted travel, adventure, excitement, and Charlie couldn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have minded a bit of excitement himself after so many years spent working long hours in the construction industry.
But then Maria had died. An aneurism, the doctors had told him after the fact. Another tragedy, another life cut too short. They hadn’t even had a chance to retire together, to travel and see the world the way they’d been talking about ever since the children left the nest.
“Papa!” called a voice from the kitchen.
He inhaled a sharp breath. Marion was here from Paris, staying in the guest room with her husband. She must’ve been back from the local mercato where she’d gone to buy flowers for the service. He told her she didn’t need to do that as he’d already ordered plenty for the church and the gravesite. But she wanted to have a small bunch to hold, she said.
He walked to the kitchen, working hard to buoy his spirits enough to be strong for his daughter. She’d taken her mother’s death hard, which wasn’t surprising. The two of them had always been especially close. After she moved to Paris, they’d spoken every chance they could on the telephone, but the calls were expensive, and they hadn’t seen each other in months. Marion felt guilty about it, he could tell. She never was any good at hiding her true feelings from him.
“I’m here,” he said.
Marion offered him a wan smile. “I found the flowers.” She held up a thin bunch, white sprinkled with pink.
“They look nice.”
“Come here, I’ll fix your tie,” she said.
He stepped closer and she worked on loosening the knot before retying it gently. “How are you, Papa? Coping okay?”
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I know, but I worry about you. You should eat something,” he said.
She tried to laugh with her throat full of tears. “That’s just what Mamma would say.”
“I know.”
She embraced him, resting her head on his chest the way she had ever since she was a small child. He cupped her head with his hands.
“We should get going,” he said.
She nodded. Her husband emerged from the guest room, and the three of them walked to the church together. It wasn’t far, and even though the weather was cold, it hadn’t snowed yet in Casoli that year.
Marion walked with her hand in her husband’s and her arm looped through Charlie’s. He patted it absently every now and then.
It felt strange to go to the church without Maria. She often attended mass there, more and more as the years flew by. He’d never been one for Catholic services, preferring the more casual approach taken by the Baptist church in Bathurst. But there were no Baptist churches nearby, and he accompanied her whenever he was able.
Not anymore though. She was gone. He still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d been so strong, full of life. It wasn’t right. The two of them had so many plans. Now none of them made any sense. He didn’t want to face them on his own.
They met Stefano outside the cathedral’s doors. Stefano kissed Marion and shook Charlie’s hand. His wife stood beside him with eyes downcast. Together they walked into the sanctuary and sat in the front row.
The priest led a service that was sombre and beautiful. A choir sang some of Maria’s favourite hymns and afterwards they all tramped to the gravesite. All the while, Charlie’s throat ached. The service passed by in a blur. It didn’t seem real. Only it was real, and now he was alone.
Afterwards, Stefano and his wife came back to the house to rest for a few minutes before the wake that was to be held at a neighbour’s house. He sat in an armchair in the living room across from where Charlie hunched in a rocking chair.
Charlie had a sudden thought. He didn’t want to stay in this house, not any longer. Not with memories of his wife around every corner, in every piece of furniture she’d thoughtfully selected. He needed to get away, be somewhere different, take some time to grieve without seeing her face in pictures on the walls around him.
“Are you still moving to Australia?” he asked his son.
Stefano sighed. “I’m sorry Papa, we don’t have to talk about it right now. It’s not fair for us to leave you alone.”
Charlie leaned forward, his mind racing. “No, I don’t want to stop you doing what you’ve dreamed of.”
“We want to go…but we don’t want to leave you. Not now.”
He smiled. “You’re a good son, Stefano. But I think you should go through with your plan. In fact, maybe I could come with you. I mean, I wouldn’t stick to you like glue or anything, don’t worry about that. But I could fly to Australia with you, and we could settle near each other, see each other when we wanted, that kind of thing.”
Stefano’s brow knitted. “Are you sure, Papa? Mamma only just passed. Now isn’t the best time to be making big decisions.”
“It’s my home, Stefano. It’s where I’m from. Your mother was the only reason I stayed here. Now she’s gone… I want to go home.” He sighed, releasing the emotion that’d built up inside him. He hadn’t realised just how much he longed to set his feet on Australian soil until the words fell from his mouth. The feeling welled up inside him in desperation, like an itch that had to be scratched.
“Well, if that’s how you feel…”
“It is.”
“We were planning on leaving in February. I mean we still have to sell the house and our visas haven’t arrived yet…” Stefano said.
“Great, that will give me time to get everything settled as well.”
“What about Marion?” asked Stefano.
Charlie sighed. “I’ll talk to her. She can come and visit sometime. I don’t think she’ll mind since she’s got her own life to live these days.”
“You’re probably right.” Stefano smiled with his eyes full of sadness. “I think Mamma would’ve wanted this for you.”
“I think so too.” And a pilot light of hope stuttered to life inside him.
February 1981
Bathurst
The main street of Bathurst looked the same as it always had, except for the vehicles. Cars hummed down the centre of the paved street, pulled into parking spaces, and accelerated away again. The carts and wagons were gone, along with the horses. And there were more people, as well.
It’d been four months since Maria’s death and Charlie still felt as though something was missing no matter where he went, or what he did. A feeling of having forgotten something, or someone, plagued him at the most inopportune times. His conscious mind understood that she wasn’t coming back, but his subconscious hadn't yet gotten the memo.
He was excited to be back at home. That was how Bathurst felt to him, like sliding his feet into an old pair of slippers. Excitement buzzed in his chest. Adrenaline raised his heart rate as he wandered along the footpath, peering into new shops he hadn’t seen before, and stopping at the old ones to see if he recognised the shopkeepers.
He’d come to find Sylvia. The last he’d heard from her, a year or two earlier, she’d divorced her husband and moved back to Bathurst. At fifty-two years of age she was living on the outskirts of town in a big house on her own, with only a pair of Pomeranians for company.
Their parents had died years earlier, one after the other. His mother had gone first — cancer — then his father had followed several years later, the wind having left his sails after the death of his wife. Charlie was only grateful he’d had the chance to see his parents several times befor
e they died. They’d met their grandchildren on one of the three trips they’d undertaken to Casoli and had formed a strong bond with them that lasted well beyond their death. Marion and Stefano both missed his parents almost as much as he did. It’d been an emotional experience for him, seeing them that first time after so long without them, but it hadn’t taken more than a day for them to fall back into a comfortable rhythm with one another.
Still, he couldn’t help wondering why his sister hadn’t replied to the last two letters he’d sent or answered the phone when he rang her before he travelled to Australia. He’d left a message on her answering machine to let her know he’d be visiting, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong, since she’d never called him back.
He recognised and chatted with several different people on his way back to his car, surprised at how many he knew instantly or after only a few moments of hesitation, from his childhood. Everyone was excited to see him although most were vague about the details of when they’d last seen or heard of him — seeming to forget that he’d been thought dead after the war. He was happy to let them believe he’d simply moved away after the armistice. It was easier that way.
He stopped in at a bakery and grabbed an iced bun to take to Sylvia’s with him for morning tea. She’d always loved their mother’s iced buns, and some things didn’t change. He found he was nervous to see her. She hadn’t been to Italy to visit him and the family, and he hadn’t made it to Bathurst before now either. Which meant, they hadn’t set eyes on each other in almost forty years.
The edges of a photograph slid out from inside the folded map on the passenger seat of his rental car as he climbed in and set the bun in the back on the seat behind him. He slammed the door shut, then tugged the photograph free. The woman who stared back at him, a smile pulling the corners of her mouth wide, looked like a stranger, and familiar all at the same time. Sylvia had been only fourteen years old when he’d left home to join the Royal Australian Air Force. Now she was fifty-two years old with greying curls. Her eyes still twinkled the same way they always had and there was a shadow of a dimple in one cheek where a deeper one had been in her youth.