by Sasha Wasley
He was right, it hit her in the guts as he said it, but Tom’s life hung in the balance. ‘I can’t just sit here,’ she said, the dreadful helplessness spilling into her words.
Free jumped up and gave her one of her long, gently rocking hugs that their mother used to give. Tears ran down Willow’s cheeks.
‘But you have to, Will,’ her sister murmured. ‘There’s nothing else any of us can do.’
Waiting was an entirely new form of torture. Willow attempted to have patience. She tried to work, dividing her time between Quintilla and Patersons, but her focus faltered dozens of times a day as Tom’s smiling blue eyes, crinkling in the corners, came into her head. Regular reports arrived from Beth and Cathy: no change. All Willow could do was keep working and hope she would someday have the opportunity to explain herself to Tom.
How was she going to tell him she’d been wrong all along? Where the hell would she even start? If he were smart, he’d run the other way because she truly was a headcase. Thankfully, he’d never been smart about her before. If he got better, she would find the courage to lay her heart bare for him, new girlfriend or not, and show him she knew what an utter idiot she had been, and hope to hell he was willing to forgive her. Again.
Two days into the vigil, she pulled out Tom’s letters and read them through once more. This week has been one flood of tears after another, she thought as she blew her nose and packed the letters back into her bedside drawer. Maybe – maybe she could write to him and confess her feelings on paper. Explain herself, like he had ten years earlier. A flutter of hope ran through Willow. Even if she didn’t send the letter, it would be a practice run for the real thing. And if the worst happened – she clenched her fists in momentary dread – then at least she would have told him, in some way, while he still lived.
Willow hunted through her drawer for paper and a pen.
Dear Tom,
So I’m here at Paterson Downs and you’re lying in a coma in a Darwin hospital. It’s strange, waiting for you to wake up and get better. Getting hurt’s not your usual thing. I can’t remember you ever even breaking a bone before. I do remember when you stepped on that little freshwater croc in Herne River and got a bite on the back of the ankle. I’ve never seen you run so fast! I still reckon you thought it was a ten-foot saltie, although you claimed you were just trying to get out of the water fast to prevent infection in the wound. Uh-huh. Just like you never really tried to win our quad or horse races, yeah? That wasn’t race-face you had on. It was just a steady eye. You weren’t glaring at the finish line. You were squinting into the wind, right?
You always tried to make out you were tougher and cooler than you actually were. But I knew the truth. I knew you weren’t a tough guy. Remember that recess in primary school when Free was in year one and walking along chattering to the duty teacher, and she walked straight into a metal verandah pole? And, being her big sister, I exercised my right to collapse in laughter, but you raced over and scooped her up and sat there on a bench rocking her until she stopped crying, like the best damn unofficial big brother she could ever hope for.
You always surprised me. Still do.
When we first thought up our idea to collaborate and co-manage the stations, I believed I was the one who would drive the philosophy. I thought I was more interested in ethical, sustainable farming than you. But then one day you left me some printouts in the hollow boab, all folded up in a ziplock bag, as usual. You’d discovered the existence of Blair Canyon Ranch, industry-leading organic beef ranch in Colorado, and asked them if they took students for working holidays. And they said they hadn’t done so before but they were excited to give us a go when we turned eighteen, as long as we could get ourselves there. I was amazed, impressed, and even a little bit jealous that you’d made the discovery and taken the initiative. That was when I realised we were in this together. You cared just as much as me. I knew that day how important you were to me and it made me feel a bit wobbly. I have a vague memory of thinking I somehow needed to hang onto your friendship and make sure I never lost you. I believe it wasn’t long after that that I devised the infamous pact.
So, now I have a confession to make. Turns out I might have got this whole you-and-me thing arse-about. That stuff I said when we were bogged in Herne River, the stuff about not now, never before, and no way in future? I got it wrong. I’d like to amend it to yes now, probably before, and hopefully in future.
My timing, as usual, is spectacularly bad. Not only are you in hospital, critically injured, but you’ve also been working on getting over me and, for all I know, might not even be interested any more. I understand you’ve been dating a girl in town. I don’t know how things are going with her but if that relationship is looking good, then you’ll just have to ignore this letter. But (and no malice intended) I hope it’s not going that well because if it’s not, I’d appreciate the chance to go on another date. Obviously we’ll need to wait until you’re better but when you are, what do you say to dinner in town? This time I’ll pay, since I’m asking. I liked the place we went last time but I’m happy to go anywhere in town, even if it’s for the ‘vegetarian’ option at Mount Clair Resort. Or if you don’t want to go out anywhere, we can have our own date at home. One of our old campouts to watch the stars and listen to the bats.
What do you say? Would you give your emotionally stunted best friend another chance?
Love, Willow
She folded the page and wondered if she had the courage to give it to him. One way or another, she had to tell him the truth. She pictured him unfolding the letter, his clever blue eyes scanning her words. No. This letter was all wrong. It was too casual, it wasn’t clear enough. How could she say he should ignore her letter if he was in a relationship? This was Tom, the one and only man she’d ever really cared about – and it could be her last chance to secure his love as her own. She had to be brave and tell him exactly what was inside her heart. She snatched up a fresh bundle of paper and scrawled down her true feelings, tears dripping off her cheeks on to the page as she wrote.
Dear Tom,
Please, please, please forgive me. I was so wrong, so utterly and completely wrong. I love you and I think I always have but I haven’t been able to face the truth.
Please try to understand why I screwed everything up. The pain of losing Mum was so big I decided somewhere inside me that I could never go through that again. I must have known you and I were getting closer and suddenly I couldn’t handle the thought of getting too close to you, because if I lost you it would hurt again like it hurt when Mum died. So I tried to control how close we got.
Hence the stupid pact. Deep down, I knew we had more than just friendship, but I had to protect my heart. I had to lock it down so you couldn’t get in. The thing is, you got in anyway. I couldn’t keep you out of my heart. You’re in there like a second self. You know me better than I do, even after ten years apart. The pact failed. I failed.
So now I’m in a position where I could lose you, but it will be agonising no matter what – whether I acknowledge how I feel about you or keep denying it. And I could still lose you, even if you survive this. There’s cancer and helicopter crashes and grumpy cows and a hundred thousand other things in the world that might claim you at any moment. I could keep fooling myself I don’t love you, or I could admit to myself that I do, but my choice isn’t even a choice any more – either way, losing you would kill me.
I’m laying my heart on the line here. If you still want me, I’m yours. Even if you don’t want me any more, I’m still yours and always will be. Please – I’m begging you – give me another chance. I will never screw you over again.
All my love,
Willow
This letter was better. More real. It left no room for uncertainty. Even if Tom was interested in Phoebe, it might be enough to make him reconsider. Her hands trembled as she folded the paper. Could she really show him either of these damn letters? She sat with both on her lap, looking from one to the other. Finally, she
shoved them in to her bedside-table drawer and got back to entering Quintilla’s cattle count figures into a spreadsheet.
Best to stick to what she was good at.
Willow still longed to go to Darwin to be with Tom, but Quintilla and Paterson Downs demanded all her time. At one point, she almost resolved to book a flight, but a text message from Cathy Forrest stopped her.
Willow, Bob spoke to the staff and they told us what you’ve been doing for us. We can’t thank you enough for looking after the station like you have. We’ll never forget this. Love from Cathy, Bob and Tom.
She was touched – and yet, God, she just wanted to go to Darwin and sit by Tom’s side. But that would be selfish, she realised. She was needed on the stations. It was a good feeling to have been forgiven by Cathy for hurting Tom, too, and she didn’t want to damage that new sense of trust. So she kept accounts, ordered feed, tested samples, counted cows, and managed muster for two cattle stations. Each morning she started before daybreak, spent a couple of hours on Patersons, then drove to Quintilla for the rest of the morning. After lunch she returned to Patersons, but she was on call for the Forrests’ staff all afternoon. Her father helped where possible and she fell into bed as early as she could each night, aching and exhausted. In bed, she used the last few minutes of wakefulness to worry about Tom and wonder if he was making any progress. The reports didn’t indicate improvement, although at least he wasn’t getting worse.
It had been almost a week since the crash when Beth called at night, startling Willow out of sleep. Her heart immediately went into overdrive.
‘Beth?’ she croaked.
‘Did I wake you? Sorry!’
She took a shaky breath. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes. I’ve got some promising news. Finch heard from his friends at Royal Darwin. Tom’s showing signs of improvement – he’s trying to move. They’re reducing the drugs to see if he’ll wake up and breathe on his own. They’re even planning to do the surgery on his leg now he’s doing better.’
Willow was silent, digesting this information. When she went to answer at last, she couldn’t form any words. A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped her.
‘This is really good,’ Beth told her. ‘They still don’t know about brain damage but at least we know he’s probably going to wake up – and there are no obvious signs of damage to the brain, so everyone’s hopeful.’
‘Thank you,’ Willow said stupidly.
Beth laughed. ‘Not sure why you’re thanking me, but no worries. Anytime.’
‘For letting me know.’
‘I figured you’d want to know, even if it’s past your bedtime. You can go back to sleep now.’
But Willow was wide-awake. She sat up, switched on her lamp – heart still hammering – and leaned back against the headboard to stare at the wall opposite. He’s waking up. She was desperate to be with him now. If she could just be there when he actually woke, to look into those blue eyes and see for herself if he still had his same intelligent spark, if he knew her. Maybe he would be years in rehabilitation. What if he . . .
Abruptly she pulled her thoughts back, forcing herself not to think about what things would be like if Tom had permanent brain damage. He’s alive. He’s going to be okay.
She climbed out of bed and checked her workload for the next day. Could she delegate the key tasks and put off the smaller ones? The staff would probably forgive her a hasty trip to Darwin and back within a 24-hour period. She made up her mind before she could second-guess herself. She would go. She would fly across in the morning, stay the night, and be back by noon the following day. Not enough time to cause any drama, but just enough to restore a little peace in her soul by seeing Tom’s face again, especially if there was a chance he might be awake.
She was ready early. Willow arrived in town at nine, but her flight wasn’t until ten-thirty so she killed time running errands. Her last stop before driving to the Mount Clair airport was collecting Patersons Downs’ mail. Outside the post office a man in a police uniform, tattoos all down one arm, held the door for her. He stared at her as she gave him a quick smile of thanks.
‘Willow?’
‘Uh, yes . . .’ She glanced at his name badge. Senior-Sergeant Sean Briggs.
‘We went to school together. I’m a friend of Tom Forrest’s.’
‘Yes! Briggsy, of course, I remember you! You just look so different. Especially in the uniform.’
He smiled. ‘It’s been years, but I’ve seen you on Tom’s Facebook feed recently. How’s things?’
‘Not bad – I guess. How about you?’
He shrugged. ‘Same. It’s been a hell of a week, huh?’
‘Bloody awful.’
‘You up to date with the latest?’
‘I think so. Beth and Cathy have been keeping me in the loop. I’m heading up to Darwin this morning, so I can report back if you like.’
He did a double-take. ‘You are? Going to visit Tom?’
‘Of course!’
‘Good on you. It’ll mean a lot to him.’ He glanced down at a bundle of papers in his hand. ‘Want to play postie for me?’
‘You’ve got something for him?’
‘A bunch of us wrote cards and notes. I was about to put them all into a package and send them off to Tom, but if you’re heading there today, you might be willing to deliver them, yeah?’
‘No problem.’
Briggsy smiled again. ‘Thanks. I wanted to get away to go see him as well, but we’re already understaffed down the station.’
‘I’ll make sure Tom knows you’re thinking of him.’
He nodded, his brown eyes watching her keenly. ‘Make sure he knows I’m not the only one thinking about him.’
She hesitated. ‘Oh – okay.’
‘He’s got a lot of people who care about him round here. When he gets back, we’ll take care of him no matter what sort of shape he’s in.’
This was a beautiful thing to hear. To her embarrassment, it caused tears to jump into her eyes. Briggsy’s face immediately softened and he gave her a swift pat on the arm.
‘Silly bugger’ll be fine, don’t you worry.’
She sniffed and nodded wordlessly, manoeuvring the bundle of letters into her handbag. ‘I’d better grab my mail and go catch a plane.’
‘Good to see you again, Willow, and thanks for delivering the well-wishes. Might catch you around, yeah?’
She couldn’t resist flicking through the letters when she was seated on the plane. There was a printed sheet featuring a sad-looking Labrador puppy with a bandaged leg and the caption I haz an owie. She smiled. Briggsy had scrawled a message on the page to say that Tom would go to any lengths for a bit of attention, including crashing a helicopter. The cards were in envelopes but other letters were loose, all written in different hands: Hendo, Karlz, Blackers. The messages ranged from gentle ribbing to heartfelt exhortations to get better. It was abundantly clear how well-loved Tom was. One of the notes was written on notepaper decorated with what looked like hand-drawn red roses.
Dear Tom,
You scared us so much! SO glad you’re okay. I know just what you need – more of my patented big squishy hugs. See you soon to deliver them!
Love, Phoebe xxx
Whoa. That seemed intimate. She read the others but kept coming back to Phoebe’s note. Were Tom and Phoebe together? She thought about herself, impulsively flying up to Darwin to see him. Who the hell was she, abandoning the station to visit Tom for twenty-four hours? This must look utterly insane to his family and friends. Especially if he already had a girlfriend.
As the plane took off, Willow tucked the letters back in her handbag, mentally shoving away her worries. No point dwelling on it. First Tom had to get better. She’d have plenty of time to worry about who he was in love with after that.
Darwin’s air was more humid than Mount Clair’s, and within minutes of disembarking, Willow’s top was stuck to her skin. She checked herself in to a hotel near the Royal D
arwin Hospital and left her bag with concierge since it was too early to get into her room. Sitting in the bright, tropical-themed lobby, Willow sent a message to Cathy, half-fearful the woman would be displeased she’d abandoned the stations for a spontaneous visit. However, Cathy replied kindly, saying she and Bob looked forward to seeing her.
Willow caught a cab to the hospital. The thought of seeing Tom made her heart hammer at her rib cage like it wanted to get out. Clouds streaked the sky, emphasising the hospital’s squat, block-like structure as her taxi drew up to the drop-off zone. She paid the driver and made her way into the air-conditioned hospital foyer, pausing to examine the directory.
This hospital was nothing like Mount Clair’s modest facility. It was expansive, noisy and bustling with people. The directory didn’t tell her what she wanted to know quickly enough, so she approached the admissions desk to enquire after Tom. The attendant told her Tom’s ward was Orthopedics, on the sixth floor, but when she got there the nurse at the desk informed her he was still in surgery. Cathy appeared in the hall and spotted her.
‘Hello, love.’ She hurried across and gave Willow a tight hug.‘I can’t believe you came all this way. They’ve had Tom in for his leg op this morning.’
‘Has he woken up yet?’
‘He’s been awake, of sorts. He’s opened his eyes a few times. Hasn’t said anything yet. They couldn’t let the leg go any longer, though. The fracture needed to be tidied up and pinned.’
‘God, that sounds painful.’
‘He’s been in for a couple of hours already, so I’d say they’ll be finishing up soon. Come through to the waiting room.’
They joined Bob where he sat beside a water cooler, staring at the newspaper.