by Fiona Lowe
‘The ceremony is for Mia so you have to come, and bring her with you.’ Walter turned and left, walking outside to wait for Ruby and Jimmy.
Flynn’s chest tightened as the reality of Walter’s request hit him. He had no choice—he had to go to the ceremony. He couldn’t refuse Walter’s request. As an elder on Kirra, Walter had made Flynn a ‘brother’, teaching him many of the Kirri ways. It was a relationship that was very special to him and one that helped with his work on the island.
Images of his quiet day fishing, his day of relaxation and regrouping, burst like a balloon.
Mia.
Instead of fishing, he would have to spend the day with Mia at the ceremony. Mia, who was wound so tight she threatened to implode at any moment. And without work to talk about, there’d be those long, anguished silences.
It was going to be a really long day.
*
Mia silently chanted some important details in her head while she walked alongside Flynn, his long strides sending tiny whirls of dust up into the air. The sun was rising high in the sky, promising even more heat later in the day, and already she could feel the familiar trickle of perspiration down her back.
She ached to write up her daily report and a note to herself about the bread, but Flynn had unexpectedly but firmly insisted she lock up the clinic and come with him straight away.
She supposed she could have asked him to wait five minutes but the inquisitive and bemused look he’d given her earlier that morning when she’d pulled out her notebook had made her hesitate. She didn’t want to have to justify why she kept notes on almost everything. Unless someone had lived with a parent who had slowly and insidiously lost their memory, they just didn’t understand.
Lists had become part of her life. Initially they had been there to help her mother. Now they were her lifelines, her attempt to stave off the inevitable.
Working with Flynn had been very different from what she’d expected. They’d managed a cooperative approach, which had been a pleasant surprise. And he’d taken the time to help her decipher the ultrasound. He was a natural teacher and she planned to drain his brain while he was on the island to her advantage. The faster she learned and the more she knew meant her position at Kirra was secure.
And thinking of Flynn in terms of a teacher was a lot less disturbing to her equilibrium than thinking of him as a man. She glanced up at him from under her straw hat. He radiated such boundless energy despite his apparently laid-back approach to life. Bright board shorts had replaced yesterday’s pleated shorts, and today he wore a pink and black shirt with a local design reminiscent of the palm leaf. He looked like he belonged on a beach or riding a wave.
An image of salt water running in rivulets over a broad chest slammed into her, sucking the air from her lungs and causing her to stumble.
A large hand firmly closed around her elbow, sending ribbons of sensation spiralling through her.
His eyes flickered with amber lights as he looked down at her. ‘You have to keep an eye out for rocks and potholes. The roads here aren’t in the best condition.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled, trying to act relaxed and calm despite the fact she’d never felt so unnerved around a man in her life. Her body seemed to go into a ‘hyper-awareness zone’ whenever they were together. It completely drained her of energy.
Yesterday, as they’d dealt with Jimmy’s accident, she’d lurched between clear-cut professional admiration and straight-up, bone-melting desire. The combination made her head spin. ‘So, are we doing a home visit?’
‘No.’ He dropped his hand from her arm and pointed to a gathering of people. ‘We’re going to a ceremony.’
‘Cool.’ She stopped walking as a thought struck her. ‘Is it culturally sensitive for us to go?’
He smiled, dimples carving into his cheeks. ‘It’s very OK for us to go. You’re the guest of honour.’
She stared at him, her mind emptying of everything as his smile shone above her, driving out the darkness that cloaked her soul. Then his words echoed in her head, forcing her to speak. ‘Me?’ She struggled to think past the black hole that was her stalled and uncooperative brain. ‘But why me?’
‘For helping Jimmy.’
Amazement flooded her that the community would do something like this. She’d never had such an acknowledgment in her working life. ‘But I only did my job.’
‘And the locals want to say thank you.’ He stood waiting for her to move, a patient smile on his face as if he dealt with stunned women every day of the week. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to people.’
Men and women were sitting around, some on upturned milk crates, some on chairs, and a few on the ground. At their feet yellow and red ochre and white chalk was being mixed with water on large, flat rocks. A couple of old mirrors were passing around the circle so they could see their faces to paint them.
‘Hey, Mia, we dance for you.’ Walter waved to her, his eyes ringed with red ochre, edged with chalk.
She waved back before turning to Flynn. ‘What can you tell me about the face painting? The designs look pretty intricate.’
He tilted back his hat. ‘It’s really body painting. Today they’ll decorate their faces and arms but in a full ceremony they’d paint all their bodies. It’s been practised for thousands of years and the design is passed down from generation to generation, from father to son.’
She watched fascinated as the dancers prepared themselves. ‘The dots on their faces and the fine crossed lines on their arms—I saw that design on their carving and on your shirt yesterday.’
Flynn nodded. ‘That’s right—it’s called cross-hatching. Their traditional body art and the decoration on their traditional carving form the basis of today’s screen-printing and artwork. It’s all connected with their creation story.’ He spoke warmly, his enthusiasm for the topic obvious. ‘Their dreaming dance is handed down from their fathers too and it can be naturally occurring things like a crocodile, shark or wind, but some have a sailing boat.’
She glanced at him in surprise. ‘A sailing boat?’
He spread his hands out in front of him. ‘Probably from the first time the Europeans sailed past.’
She loved learning about these sorts of things. ‘What about mothers? Is anything passed on from the mothers?’
He grinned. ‘Your feminist side will be thrilled to know that they inherit their skin group and totemic dance from their mothers. This is often an animal like the magpie goose or brolga, but it could be scaly mullet fish.’
‘I’ve been amazed at the number of geese. Their honking keeps me company at night.’ As do thoughts of you.
He chuckled. ‘The locals love that sound as it means there is plenty of good hunting.’
She walked over to the shade and sat down on the ground. She was immediately struck by how quickly she was losing the expectation that to sit required a chair. ‘I’m slowly getting a handle on the skin-group issue. Who can talk to whom and who can’t talk to each other.’ She grimaced, suddenly remembering her forgetfulness.
He tilted his head, taking in her expression. ‘Problem?’
She traced her finger through the fine dirt. ‘Oh, it’s just that I had a lapse the other day when I made the mistake of asking a fourteen-year-old boy to give a message to his mother, forgetting he can’t talk to her. I’ve now put up the skin group compass on my wall so I always remember.’
Understanding wove across his face. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. It seems complicated at first because it’s so foreign to us. But this law has served them well for thousands of years and has avoided inbreeding and the genetic disaster that brings.’
She knew too well the damage a faulty gene could inflict. Picking up a fallen palm leaf, she fanned herself. ‘The separate men and women’s entrances to the clinic are a great idea. It must have been a lot harder to deliver culturally appropriate health care when you only had one waiting room and one examination room.’
His keen gaze suddenly intensifie
d, hooking with hers as if he was seeing her for the very first time. Seeing her as herself rather than a RAN.
A shimmer of wondrous pleasure streaked through her, immediately chased by thundering unease. Remember, no man can be a part of your life.
Flynn pulled his hat off his head, breaking the moment. ‘You’re right about the old clinic. It was tough and we were fortunate to have a consultative approach when designing the new building.’
Susie, the health worker, came over. ‘You two can’t sit down yet. Time for you to become Kirri for a bit.’
Flynn laughed at Mia’s confused look. ‘Face painting.’
‘Oh, right.’ Mia rose to her feet and followed the health-care worker back to the group. ‘So, Susie, what colour group do I get to wear?’
‘Sun, fish, rock and pandanus. I’ll give you all the colours.’ Susie peeled layers from a reed until she found the firm centre. With experienced fingers she frayed the end until it acted like a brush. She made three brushes and put a circle of dots, yellow, red, white and black, across Mia’s forehead, down her cheeks and across her chin.
‘Smile.’
Mia glanced over and saw Flynn holding a small digital camera.
‘The relatives down south will want to see this.’
She gave a tight smile. He was being thoughtful and she didn’t want to break the moment by telling him there was no one down south, and she was the only person left in her family.
‘Now you can go sit.’ Susie instructed, and pointed to where Mia should go.
‘Thanks, Susie.’ She walked fifty metres and sat down again.
Flynn bent down next to her, his breath caressing her ear. With a mighty effort she held her head erect despite the temptation to lean toward him.
He spoke quietly so only she could hear. ‘Take your hat off so the bad spirits can leave you.’
Bad spirits? Her breath caught in her throat. Surely he couldn’t know what lurked inside her? She pulled the hat into her lap.
Susie approached her, holding smoking green leaves from the ironwood tree. Waving them over Mia’s head, she chanted in Kirri, touching her head and her shoulders firmly with her hands.
Mia closed her eyes, letting the smoke waft around her, desperately wanting to believe that the smouldering leaves and a foreign language could remove from her the illness that dogged her family. The illness that had taken her mother and brother from her.
Knowing full well it would have no effect at all.
She breathed in long, slow breaths, pushing away the thoughts that permanently hovered close by, and willed herself to focus on the here and now. She tried to take life one day at a time and grasp every opportunity that came her way, but it wasn’t always easy.
Opening her eyes, she looked around as fifteen dancers with their dark skins decorated moved in front of her, swaying to the beat of the clapping sticks.
‘Crocodile dance, Mia.’ Walter led a group of men in their dreaming dance, followed by a group of children.
‘Rainbow Serpent dance!’ Susie enthusiastically stamped her feet with her arms outstretched.
‘This is amazing.’ Mia’s throat tightened as each group danced for her, showing their thanks.
‘It’s pretty special, isn’t it?’ Flynn’s voice had a reverent quality to it that she’d not heard before.
Walter stopped in front of them. ‘Flynn, you do the turtle dance, turtle man.’
Mia’s head snapped around. ‘Turtle man?’
Flynn shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s a long story.’ He lurched to his feet, his face creased in a huge smile and he joined the dancing throng.
White skin flashed pale against the black but the dance didn’t differentiate colour. It accepted whoever chose to honour it. Voices merged as the song soared into the hot air, the joy of the dance evident on everyone’s faces.
Mia couldn’t help it, her eyes zeroed in on Flynn, so much a part of this group. How many sides were there to this man? Doctor, pilot, teacher, advocate and now ‘turtle man’.
Flynn came toward her, stamping his feet, waving his arms, his black stubbled cheeks giving him the look of a powerful warrior. Her heart pounded hard and fast, but she felt no fear from the man, only fear for herself as need and longing swirled inside her.
He stood above her tall and commanding. ‘Come on, Walter and I will teach you the whirlwind dance.’
She shaded her eyes from the sun so she could see his face. ‘Why the whirlwind dance?’
Walter laughed. ‘Because since you’ve come to Kirra you’ve been a whirlwind.’ He danced away, showing her the moves.
Flynn’s large suntanned hands hovered in front of her, emanating strength, with tendons flexed and ready to pull her to her feet.
She hesitated, knowing she should rise from the earth on her own, but the temptation to touch him overwhelmed her and she slid her hands into his. These were not soft-palmed city hands. Yet his calloused grip closed over her with a tenderness she hadn’t expected. Tantalising heat whirled through her, easily stripping away her intentions of only thinking about Flynn in terms of a doctor and teacher.
She gazed straight up at him and the noise of the dance receded as she lost herself in golden brown eyes the colour of maple syrup.
The moment drew out—his hands still holding hers, his heat flitting along her veins, both intoxicating and energising. With a firm but gentle tug, she rose to her feet, her mind and body spinning with newly discovered need.
Finally she found her voice. ‘Thank you.’
An unusual huskiness clung to the words as he let go of her hands. ‘No problem.’
Yes, big problem.
It was impossible to feel cold on Kirra but her palms ached with an unfamiliar chill. She instinctively clapped her hands together, joining Walter in the dance. Dancing the whirlwind to gain control.
Dancing the whirlwind to lock down the maelstrom of emotions that one brief look and touch from Flynn could unleash.
Dancing to forget.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE short flight between islands had been uneventful in the glorious conditions of late-afternoon winter sunshine. It didn’t matter how many times he flew, Flynn never lost the feeling of complete awe when he caught site of Kirra. Ringed by aquamarine sea, edged by red and white sand, and dominated by the lush green of the canopy of trees, its naturally occurring tearshape looked like paradise.
Pity about the crocodiles, mantra rays and the snakes.
He lined the plane up with the Kirra airstrip and brought the Cessna down easily, thankful there were no gusting crosswinds. They’d come soon enough as the wet season approached. The moment the front wheels bounced on the tarmac, he opened the window to let in a breeze because the tiny plane was like a hotbox once it was on the ground.
He taxied down toward the gate, catching sight of the clinic ute barrelling along the gravel road in front of him, a plume of dust streaming out behind it. A honey-tanned arm waved to him.
Mia.
For the last few days he’d been busy running clinics on the other islands. Usually his mind was completely focussed on the place he was working on, dealing with that community’s issues, and giving scant thought to the other islands. But during the few quiet times on Mugur and Barra his mind had wandered back to Kirra and the ceremony. Back to Mia.
Back to the touch of Mia’s hands in his. Back to the flickering shadows in her eyes. Back to the way she’d given herself up to the whirlwind dance as if she’d been shedding part of her soul.
He’d watched her dance and deep inside him something had ached.
But he wasn’t thinking about that.
Whatever had caused those shadows was her secret. Everyone who came this far north had secrets. He didn’t want to know and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. Asking questions meant involvement. Asking questions opened him up to having questions asked back so he didn’t do that any more. Getting involved meant getting hurt so the only way he got involved in people’s lives now,
was as their doctor.
Mia’s secrets belonged to her and he intended to let her keep them.
He turned off the ignition and logged his times in the logbook. Then he grabbed his backpack, locked the plane and walked around toward the gate.
Mia leaned against the low fence, her long, blonde hair blowing out behind her as she fanned herself with her hat.
Every nerve ending fired off a volley of hot and hard need that swooped through him, leaving no place untouched.
Her rigid stance of two weeks ago had completely vanished. Instead, an aura of relaxation shimmered around her. In the place of neat and fitted cargo shorts with a blouse tucked in at the waist, she wore a simple island print dress that fell from her shoulders, the green and blue intersecting lines giving way to a band of yellow and red turtles that hovered around her knees. Cut for comfort, designed for coolness, it should have hung like a sack.
But the oncoming breeze blew it against her, outlining pert breasts, a slim waist and toned thighs. A supple body designed for touching.
Don’t go there. He started mentally reciting the names of the bones in the body, driving some blood back to his brain from the pool in his groin. By the time he reached her, he could make coherent conversation.
He raised his brows. ‘You’ve gone native on me?’
She laughed, the shadows in her eyes lifting for a moment. ‘I know it’s not regulation uniform but a baby vomited all over me. I figured you’d prefer to share the truck with me in Susie’s spare dress than in my uniform, which reeks of curdled milk.’
‘You’ve got me pegged.’ He grinned at her. ‘It might not be uniform but it suits you.’
She gripped the dress by the side seams and held it out as she glanced down at the fabric as if she was looking at it for the first time. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ The word came out overly low despite his attempt at making it sound casual.
She flicked her gaze up, her eyes shimmering like the sea. A flash of yearning, a flare of naked need broke through the shadows for a moment before receding. His blood pounded.
