The Healing Season

by Catherine Evans

  ‘Good thinking. But people were keen?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’d think locals would have Paul’s photos already but no one does, and everyone wanted one. I’ll have to get more done. It’s mostly locals wanting to buy.’

  They fell into discussing the locals, the town, the new projects trying to draw people in. It was an easy conversation with people she’d known forever and although they didn’t directly talk of Paul, he was there with his family and she sensed him. As sweet as it was to be surrounded by Colydens, it also made her ache for him. She had to shove that aside for now. No falling apart yet.

  After an hour or so, Paul’s family started to leave. A few cousins first, then a couple of aunts, and then everyone seemed to be saying goodbye. Each departure shouldn’t hurt but they did. When Paul’s mum and dad wrapped her in their arms and kissed her goodnight, they were all teary and emotional. Waves of sadness competed with happiness, until she was all awash.

  Before she ended up a wreck, she called goodnight to Johno and headed across the street to home. A shadow on the stoop made her halt for half a step before she recognised Lachlan. He was still looking out for her and she wasn’t pleased. Not that she was going to say anything tonight because it would come out wrong, she knew better than to open the flood gates.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked when she was close enough.

  She shrugged. ‘Fine. You?’

  ‘Okay.’ His shoulders wriggled as his feet shuffled, boots scuffing the concrete. ‘Your folks didn’t come.’

  Air sucked into her lungs. She’d thought he was going to ask if she was okay about Paul, or seeing Paul’s family, or about the photographs. She hadn’t for a second imagined he’d notice her parents missing. ‘No.’ After digging her keys from her pocket, she reached past him to open the door.

  ‘Alicia.’

  She stopped and stared. His eyes were filled with sympathy or compassion or empathy or something. She didn’t want him feeling anything for her. ‘They don’t come to stuff like this.’ She shrugged to show how much it didn’t affect her, even if it was a lie.

  ‘Did you invite them?’

  ‘The whole town was invited, Lachlan.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘So you didn’t invite them personally?’

  She shook her head, trying to resist the temptation to bite her lips. She shouldn’t feel guilty. They hadn’t been supportive. Surely there was a point where you stopped expecting support?

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why’s it matter?’ Her voice was snappy. So much for not letting it affect me.

  Lachlan looked away across the street. It was dark, cooling quickly, and moist but there was no fog hanging in the air yet. The outline of the old buildings across the road could be seen. Under the streetlights, with their new coat of paint, the shops didn’t look so old.

  She pointed across the road. ‘The store fronts look great, don’t they?’

  Lachlan looked at where she pointed then turned back with a smile. ‘Are you changing the subject?’

  She gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Yes.’ It was her turn to shuffle her feet. ‘Are you worried I’ve upset my parents?’ She paused for a beat. ‘Don’t be. I upset them when I didn’t grieve the way I was supposed to, by leaving everything Paul and I had dreamed behind me. I upset them years ago when I went and studied agriculture. I upset them years before that by having Paul as a best friend. I continuously upset them. It’s nothing recent.’

  Lachlan nodded distractedly. ‘I didn’t understand. Just wanted to see you were okay.’

  When he turned to leave she put her hand against his arm. His coat was bulky and the outer canvas was cold, sending a shiver along her arm. ‘Did they say something to you? About tonight?’

  ‘No. I don’t see much of them. Sometimes on the weekend, that’s all. They keep to themselves.’

  She nodded and pulled her hand away. ‘Always have. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Alicia.’ He dipped his head and turned towards his ute. She watched until his lights disappeared into the inky black night. Her mood dropped as the lights faded. She shook herself. No. That feeling was all wrong. Lachlan was a work colleague. She should feel nothing when he drove away.

  Another deep suck of the night air had her lungs working again. It wasn’t him. It was the whole night. The whole emotional night.

  She loved Paul. She’d always love Paul. She couldn’t like Lachlan. It wasn’t possible. A sob strangled in her throat. Caught by unshed tears. The emotion of seeing Paul’s family, of not having support from hers. The emotion of creating Paul’s gallery. With Lachlan. She was such a huge mess. Her shoulders slumped and her feet scuffed as she dragged herself inside.

  She didn’t turn any lights on but stood in front of each of Paul’s photos seeing what the streaks of streetlight allowed.

  He was close to her, Paul, and she let her mind dance back in time. She’d stood next to him as he took so many of these shots. If she thought hard, she could almost smell his scent, hear his calm, light breathing. Feel his warmth. She tipped her head trying to catch the sight he could see, the light he was trying to frame and capture but she never saw the world as he did. In every instance, she would have framed the shot differently. It had always startled her to see what he had captured.

  Paul saw the world differently to everyone. It’s what she loved about him. He made her look at everything twice or three times. He saw beauty in everything. He was special, so very special. But he was gone and she was here. Alone. She didn’t know how to carry on.

  She came to one of the photos she really loved, and hated, and paused in front. The shadows of the night exacerbated the shadows in the photo. The image captured dusk, with all the colours of a magnificent sunset streaking across the sky. Three silhouetted figures trudged across a paddock strewn with hay bales. Hats were pulled low on their heads, their boots kicked up dust, jeans rode low on their hips. There was a man, tall, lean with wide shoulders. A woman who was shorter, skinny but with female curves. And a smaller, leaner figure who could have been male or female. The distance between the figures indicated a rift of some sort, or maybe they were all heading in different directions. It was possible the two taller people might intersect if they kept walking but the smaller person was moving in their own direction, never to meet up with the others.

  She stared at the image until her legs became tingly. She had to shake her head to wake herself from the trance. She must have been standing there for far too long as her feet throbbed, her legs hurt and she was frozen to the bone.

  Rubbing her hands against her damp, icy face, she was bereft. Alone. Stamping her feet to get the blood circulating, she rubbed away the last tear. Then she headed upstairs. A hot shower and bed. No more memories. Not tonight. The ghost of Paul was just too close. And she wanted him, not a ghost.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Does it make the world different?’ Alicia asked, pointing to the magazine he was reading. For the last few weeks they’d both worked hard so he could quench his thirst for agricultural information. His confidence was growing, thanks to Alicia, and long strings of words no longer intimidated. He was conquering them. Today he was reading short articles and advertisements in one of the rural magazines. He could read most of it too, which gave him such a burning feeling in his chest. Pride, not indigestion.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how much. It’s like I couldn’t see half the world and now it’s available.’

  ‘I wish Mum felt like that.’ Alicia sounded so dejected, it put a dampener on his own enjoyment of reading.

  ‘Has she never wanted to read?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not interested,’ she said as she got up to check on dinner. The roast was filling the kitchen with the most delicious smells. Lachlan’s stomach grumbled as soon as the oven door opened and the scent of lamb and veggies became even stronger.

  While Alicia turned the vegetables, he asked her, ‘How did you manage at school without her to help?’

  Alicia shru
gged. ‘I did it myself.’ She waved the tongs. ‘Are your parents supposed to help?

  He gave a rueful snort. ‘You’re asking the wrong person.’

  ‘Oh?’ She slid the tray back in to the oven.

  He didn’t want to talk about his past or himself. He wanted to find out more about her. As he got to know her more, he couldn’t help wondering why she lived in town, and why he was on her parents’ farm. It seemed wrong.

  ‘Do you get out to your parents’ farm much?’ he asked.

  The oven door slammed, making him jump. He might have asked something too personal.

  ‘No. Why?’

  He closed his magazine and tilted his head slightly as he stared at her trying to decide how far he could push with questions. ‘Do you miss farming?’

  She twisted her lips and narrowed her eyes. Then she tapped her finger on her chin. ‘Not so much farming. I miss the silence and darkness of living on a farm at night.’

  ‘What? Dulili has a thriving loud nightlife I’m missing?’

  She turned, laughing, almost tripping over her feet. Then she came and sat down, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. Maybe he hadn’t overstepped yet.

  She chuckled. ‘There’s no thriving night life but there are cars, drunks sometimes, streetlights. Nothing major, just things I notice.’

  His fingers tapped against the magazine, a muffled sound of drumming on the paper-covered wooden table. He had to ask her the question. He needed to know the answer and she seemed relaxed enough that maybe she could cope with this invasion of privacy. He knew he was asking so much more than the deceptively simple question but he was prepared for whatever answer she could give him. ‘How come you’re living in town?’

  She squirmed. ‘Gravy.’ She jumped to her feet and got busy making gravy. Attacking the flour with a fork more vigorously than the last time she’d made gravy, he worried he’d pushed too hard and asked too much. He remained silent.

  When she finished with the gravy, she pulled the shoulder of lamb from the oven and cut it to pieces. He could hardly call the harried attacks she made carving. She hadn’t rested the meat at all, and the pieces that fell from it were nothing like slices. He’d really upset her and he didn’t know how to change that.

  She dropped vegetables onto each plate, dolloped gravy over it all then served up the meals.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly as she slid his plate in front of him. No matter how thrown together the meal looked, Alicia’s cooking was always good. He began to eat. He wondered if he should talk about his reading again but he didn’t mind the quiet. Alicia didn’t seem to mind either, so they ate in silence.

  He was halfway through his meal before she spoke. ‘My parents and I clash when it comes to how I want to live. Paul’s uncle knew so he offered the flat with the shop. It was a good solution.’ She took a forkful of food and kept eating.

  ‘Oh, right.’ He had no idea what to say to that, so he didn’t say any more on the topic. ‘The meal’s fabulous, as always. Thank you.’

  He kept eating, one mouthful at a time, and she did the same. It wasn’t a completely comfortable silence but he’d experienced much worse silences.

  Knowing how confronting questions could be, he tried not to ask her too many. He’d guessed she had a huge rift with her folks, which had added to the burden of grief she carried. It surprised him that the town hadn’t been able to get through to her but she had thick walls in place. The town were supporting the shop, so maybe that was their way of offering her support.

  He knew well enough that what went on in families was not always something others saw. You could hide a lot within a family, and for some reason, families were places people rarely ventured in to even after reports of problems.

  His thought about no one looking into families scared him. He didn’t want to ignore her but if she had a problem, he didn’t want to be making it worse.

  ‘Alicia.’ He waited until they’d both finished their meal before saying anything. Now that he’d said her name, he wasn’t sure he could say anything more.

  ‘Did you want something?’ She spoke a little too breathlessly.

  He fiddled with his fork, while he thought of what he could say. The fork slipped in and around his fingers. He concentrated on the movement, glancing at her occasionally trying to work out what to say.

  ‘I want to ask you something but I don’t know how.’ The fork went around his fingers again.

  She bit her lips together before saying, ‘Do you need to know the answer?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Then you have to ask the question. Just blurt it out. I can probably cope.’ Her smile was forced and her voice tense. Regardless, he had to ask. He’d come this far and had her worried, when that wasn’t his intention.

  He did one more cycle of his fingers with the fork, then put it carefully onto his plate. He placed his hands flat against the table on either side of the placemat, resting them against the wood but they weren’t relaxed. Even after the exercise, there was a quiver in his fingers.

  His mouth opened but it took a few seconds before words came out but once started they fell out in a big rush. ‘I feel awful about living at your farm when you’re in town. I wondered if you wanted to swap houses or something.’

  Alicia’s right palm smacked against her lips as she tried to halt a gasp. She closed her eyes.

  When her shoulders shook and the tremors ran right through her, he got up and clasped her shoulders, holding her upright and in the chair. He held her for a long time, before he felt her strength return.

  He wasn’t sure what had upset her so much to lose control like that. She was always so tightly held, even when she cried about Paul she only let teardrops fall. She didn’t sob or moan or make any hysterical sounds. She cried, silently, as she was doing now.

  He stroked the top of her shoulders and then down her arms, in an effort to soothe. His fingers kneading against muscles that were rock hard.

  ‘Sh. Sh.’ He crooned softly to her as he held and stroked her back.

  Her tears lasted but a few moments, the tension in her body lasted much longer but finally she relaxed a little. He kept touching her gently and speaking softly until she wriggled beneath his hands and he let her go.

  He went towards the kettle but spoke softly as he walked. ‘Damn. I’m sorry. I knew there was something. I’m sorry I crashed right into it.’

  She leaned forwards with her elbows on the table and buried her face into her hands. She rubbed them over her face. ‘It’s not your fault, Lach. I should have told you and not avoided it.’

  The abbreviated form of his name rolled off her tongue and right across the back of his neck. He liked it.

  Did an abbreviation, or a nickname, mean anything? He’d like to think it meant they were becoming friends. He’d not had a friend in so long, not a real one. He had work mates who he’d hung around with but they weren’t people you shared things with. He’d shared with Alicia. Maybe not much but she knew more about him than any person living on earth, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds before she slowly let it escape. ‘Paul and I were doing up that house.’ She paused but she had his full attention. He’d filled the kettle but now held it in front of him like a shield.

  ‘We re-stumped it a few years ago, did up some of the inside. We got the wiring and plumbing fixed. We planned to live there.’ She stopped for a moment and folded her arms, then grabbed herself around the waist as if holding herself together.

  He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need to know. He wanted to apologise for asking. But he knew she had to say this. He hadn’t forced her. She had to get this out if she was ever to move forwards. He knew about leaving hurt behind, he’d left years’ worth of hurt in the Territory.

  ‘When Paul died, my parents told me I shouldn’t come back to town, shouldn’t live out my dream. To make sure I didn’t come back, they put the house up for the rental scheme
and told me I had nowhere to live in Dulili. They wanted me to find work elsewhere, or study again. Anything but come back here, where they believe I have no future.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘I thought giving away the house was an empty threat, just another way for them to get me to do what they wanted. I didn’t believe they’d done it. You were here before anyone said a word.’

  Lachlan had moved back to his chair, the kettle abandoned on the bench. Placing his hands on the table, open, stretched towards her, he hoped she’d take them if she needed to hang on to something.

  She’d started up the business before he got here, why not move him elsewhere? The question came out before he could stop himself. ‘Why didn’t they put me somewhere else?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess no one thought about it. Besides, the house was given to the scheme.’ Alicia blew a breath through her nose. ‘It’s my parents’ farm; they’re entitled to do with it what they want.’

  ‘What?’ How could she be so accepting?

  She shrugged. ‘I’ve got no claim on the place. It’s not mine, it’s theirs. I guess they thought if they did that, I’d give up my dreams or something.’ She shrugged again. Maybe she didn’t understand any more than he did.

  ‘They threw you out a few months after your boyfriend was killed?’

  She nodded, while he swore.

  ‘Hell. How have you managed working with me?’ He slumped in his chair, fingers of one hand clawing through his hair. ‘And you teach me to read, in your home. You must hate me.’

  She slipped her hand over his, and their fingers gripped. ‘It’s not your fault, Lach. You walked into a mess, you didn’t cause it. Besides, you drive a forklift and lugging all that stuff was killing me.’

  He gave her a bashful grin.

  She squeezed his hand. ‘Truly, Lach, I don’t think about it. That night you told me, I thought the daily reminder would kill me … but it doesn’t. I don’t think about the house. A couple of times you’ve gone to say something about it but then we’ve gotten busy or you’ve changed your mind, or something. It’s really been okay.’