by Ryn Shell
“And I thought I was bringing you home to become your caregiver.”
“Did you now?”
“Yes. I apologise.”
“Accepted.” Linton squeezed Rose’s hand. “We are going to take care of each other from now on.”
Rose turned on to a highway that would lead them back into the suburbs.
“Hold on.” Linton’s head twisted reading signage in a row of shops. “Slow down.”
Rose slowed to a crawl. A couple of cars passed them. “What are you looking for, Linton?” Rose’s heart thumped wildly.
“It’s here.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” Frustration rose in his voice. “Damn it! I don’t know. What am I looking for, Rose?”
“It’s all right, Linton.”
“It’s not all right, dammit.”
“I’m sorry. Give yourself time—you’ll remember.”
“Bugger next time. Stop the car!”
“We’ve gone past it.”
“Then go back.”
“Don’t get cross with me.” Rose pulled into the parking spot.
“Don’t patronise me, Rose. I know plenty of football players with frontal lobe damage, and they aren’t stupid.”
“I never…”
They both got out of the car in silence. Rose joined Linton on the pavement. A knot was in her throat, and she wasn’t far from tears. Next thing she knew she was back in his arms.
He rocked her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s…”
“All right.” Linton tilted her chin and wiped her eyes with his handkerchief.
“I so wanted today to be perfect, but I’ve tried too hard and ruined it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“What happened here, Rose?”
Discordant coloured lights flashed from the front of the gaudy take-away food store. There were a few empty chairs and a red-and-white plastic cloth with impregnated grime in the window alcove. Fatigue and a rancid smell of cooking oil and cheap coffee flooded their senses.
“I’m too choked up to explain.” Rose’s stomach rumbled; she realised she was hungry, despite the unappetising smells. “Can we eat first?”
“This dump?”
“It’s the only food shop here.” Rose grabbed Linton’s arm. “I want a hamburger with the lot.”
“Eat in or take away?”
“Eat in.”
Linton raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. Rose took the only available empty table, the grimy one beside the window. A rerun of Happy Days played on an old black and white television set in the corner. It had to be the most unromantic setting—a jarring contrast to their beautiful day at Mount Donna Buang.
The hamburger was delicious—but messy.
“No wonder the tablecloth is putrid,” Rose said as burger juices dribbled through her fingers and over the cloth.
The paper napkin was inadequate to clean up the mess. Linton devoured his burger too. They sat in silence, focusing on stuffing their mouths full and eating, before they lost the battle to contain an abundance of awkwardly positioned egg, bacon, pineapple, lettuce, tomato, onion, double beef burger—with the television droning on and on in the corner. As the burger reduced in size, they slowed down, and their eyes returned to gaze at each other as they ate.
Linton finished eating. He licked his fingers while his eyes were still locked intently on Rose’s. Blocking out the nonsensical noise coming from the TV, she didn’t speak, as her attention was focused only on Linton.
Linton took Rose’s hand in his. “When we get married…” He spoke slowly and thoughtfully. A smile crossed his lips, and he went on, speaking with more confidence. “We will have to buy a television set so that the children can learn to talk.”
“Yes!”
“That was it?”
“Yes,” Rose squealed. “It was here, and that was how you proposed.”
Linton lifted a quizzical brow. “On our second date?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you said yes.” Linton grinned.
Rose laughed. “You proposed to me like that because I’d not said a word to you after you had kissed me for the first time at the top of the Mount Donna Buang tower. I’d just stared at you, and you back at me, except for when you drove here for dinner on the way home.”
“You can’t believe how good it is to have remembered you way back to when we first fell in love.”
Rose nodded. She could imagine. “What brought back the memory of how you proposed?”
“The memory came to me as I looked into your eyes—it was as if you were feeding me the right words. The words were so ridiculous, I knew they had to be for real.”
34
Rose and Linton arrived home from Mount Donna Buang, happy but tired. Carl and Helen tiptoed around the house when their parents slept in the following day. Alvin happily pottered around the kitchen, singing, and Helen helped him make rock cakes for morning tea while Carl made the percolated coffee.
Linton strode into the kitchen, smelling of Old Spice aftershave. “What would you think of heading back to tour the country together?” He grinned at Helen and Carl.
Rose emerged with glowing skin and her hair wrapped in a towel. “Your dad can convert the truck into a motorhome,” she said.
“It’s too big,” Carl protested. “But I’d love to travel.”
“Yes, I thought it might be overkill for a mobile home.” Linton grabbed a hot cake and dropped it, laughing. “Want to come to a truck yard with me?” He blew on his fingers and picked the cake up again. “We can downsize to something smaller. You can give me your ideas on what we need.”
Carl helped choose the truck. Linton taught him to drive it on the private farm roads, and once again Rose planned to take that official one year of separation from any contact with Trevor to make their divorce easy to obtain.
Linton and Carl fitted out the truck. It was given a solar power panelled roof, panoramic view windows, and a practical small bathroom. Meanwhile, Rose took professional truck driving lessons and earned her heavy vehicle licence. She sent her out-of-date clothes to the local charity store and outfitted herself in easy-care, smart travel clothes.
They headed out for a long family holiday around Australia.
“Rose and I plan to marry as soon as the divorce papers come through,” Linton said. He poured himself into reconnecting with his family, listening keenly to Helen and Carl’s stories as they shared with him their interests. Emotions swelled within him. “I’m so grateful to be given this fresh start with my family.”
“We will always be close from now on.” Linton rode a wave of joy. There were things that he could hardly wait to show his children, and Rose was content to let him be the navigator while she drove.
Helen’s school year consisted of writing travel journal of essays and drawings she’d begun when Rose, Carl and she had set out to find her dad. The tour journal grew with stories about major swamps that had similar lights to the Min Min, although not from the same cause. Helen drew sketches of gas bubbling from beneath the ground and igniting, light shining on animals’ eyes, insects, and dozens of other mysteries of the inland.
She learned more in that year of travel and had more fun than she’d ever have in the traditional school system. Her mystery short stories for her English composition class asked, “Who covered up her father’s truck being struck by space junk?” Helen sent her year’s home schooling journals to her correspondence class tutor. They won Helen a young writer of distinction medal, and a buzz began to build about Linton’s chunk of Skylab.
The family visited the Balladonia Museum, not far from where Linton’s truck was destroyed in the blast. Together, they looked at two large pieces of sheet metal, one labelled in large red letters “SKYLAB”, another piece labelled “Airlock/Danger”.
Carl clasped his father’s hand. “That would have done some damage if it had come through your windscreen.”
They
drove to the coast, to Esperance, camped and bushwalked in the coastal parkland and enjoyed the scenic coastal drives before visiting Esperance Museum to see more chunks of Skylab and part of an oxygen tank from the orbiter. While other tourists took delight in viewing the pieces, Rose and Linton clutched their children’s hands tight and viewed the exhibits with sombre expressions on their faces.
A tour guide told the family, “Many Australian prospectors uncovered Skylab artefacts and never reported the finds to authorities after tales of confiscated booty made the rounds.”
“Can’t people say if they found a piece?” Helen asked.
“Yes,” the guide said. “Lots of people found and sold bits.”
Carl grinned. “How much do you get for a chunk of Skylab?”
“It varies,” the museum guide said. “It was an attractive cash crop idea at the time to encase small bits of found metal shards in acrylic and sell them as Skylab memorabilia.”
“So Aussies managed to get some benefit from the rain of particles,” Carl said.
“Oh yes,” the guide said cheerfully. “Souvenirs of Skylab still sell at auctions—no vouching for their authenticity. But then, what is the truth?”
“Maybe…” Rose said, “…the release of more documents as a part of The Freedom of Information Act, fifty years following Skylab’s re-entry, in 2029, will reveal more information.”
“I hope that I live to see things change…” Helen said. “It shouldn’t be considered ‘too costly’ to safely return space vehicles to earth or to clean up the garbage mankind has left in outer space.”

Helen entered puberty, seeking the advice from books in public libraries at the all too infrequent brief stops in towns.
Rose, like her mother before her, had insufficient awareness of her pre-teen daughter’s needs. For all her desire to be the best mother she could be (and she tried), Rose, like generations before her, still managed to fall far short of her daughter’s expectations for a parent.
At eleven, Helen had a face that reflected her determination—high cheekbones, like Linton’s, slightly angular, and without any sign of her mother’s dimples. She’d worked diligently on her travel journal. It had split off into several directions with many stories. There was a secret one (Remembering Rose) that she kept hidden from her parents. She planned to make that into a novel one day.
Her favourite work was the one based on her dad’s accounts of sci-fi books that he read and his knowledge of the space race. Helen longed to be at a school with an enormous library where she could reference all of her interest. The home learning on tour had allowed her to develop communication and research skills. There were stories she had accessed from other travellers, and the locals had shared interesting tales about the past with her. She’d learned more of Australia’s history than she’d have ever learned in books.
With the campfire yarns of the inland to kept her stories fresh, Helen was writing at young adult standard. She’d begun submitting those stories to publishers and magazines, boarding schools and colleges, with a clear résumé stating that she sought entry to an advanced education.
The reply came in the form of a letter, and as a shock to Rose. She let out a hiss of breath. It was not usually Helen who stunned her by revealing secret ambitions. She knew her daughter as a bright, happy and loving girl who always went along with whatever was offered her. The letter might have been expected if Helen were more rebellious.
Rose lowered the letter and tucked it back inside the envelope. “Helen,” she called.
Helen took a deep breath and prepared to explain. She knew by the tone of Rose’s voice and by the letterhead on the envelope that it was showdown time. Never having asked her parents for more than they gave, Helen had no idea what to expect.
“I’m not a little girl any more, Mum.”
“I can see that.” Rose smiled and looked closely at her daughter.
Helen’s golden hair was caught at the nape of her neck and knotted once. How could a child so young appear sophisticated and alluring? A cold shudder ran down Rose’s spine, recalling her own under-age pregnancy. “A girls’ school could have its merits.”
“I can go?” Helen jigged on the spot.
“I should have had the foresight to see this coming.” Rose smiled. “This school has a program for high achievers, and they want you to take their entrance examination.” Her lip trembled. “Boarding school was never in my plans for you. I never thought you would want that.”
“It’s exactly what I want.” Helen’s usually softly shaped mouth set in two firm lines.
Rose threw her arms open. “I’m so proud of you. Of course you can go.”
35
The Fife family visited Morton High Ladies College, and the principal made Rose and Linton aware that Helen was exceptionally gifted. The college presented opportunities their daughter would not get within the regular school system. That part, Rose agreed with. Helen was hungry for knowledge.
Helen chose Skylab as the subject for her scholarship essay. By the time Helen’s essay had been published and circulated throughout the education department system and forwarded on to be printed in major newspapers, it was too late for any diplomatic services to hush up the cause of Linton’s accident again.
Then the invitations came for Linton to take his chunk of Skylab to the US.
“You should go and tell them off,” Carl said indignantly.
Linton lifted his gaze to Carl. “I’m proud of my young man. Since you enjoy travelling, why don’t you take that rock to the US in my place?”
“You mean that, Dad?”
“Sure. Extend your school gap year into another year touring the US. Come back and tell me what I missed. I can’t go.” Linton hugged Rose. “Besides, I’m taking your mum on our honeymoon.”
Rose snuggled into Linton’s neck, then peeked over his shoulder to wink at Carl. “Well, no time for any more of that.” Rose pressed away from Linton’s grasp. “We have a lot of wedding planning to do.”
“What planning?” Linton asked.
“Oh, Linton.” Rose tugged his arm. “The island gazebo for the symphony orchestra.”
“Huh!”
Rose had everyone’s full attention. “Then you have to do something about the black swans.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Linton jolted his head back.
“Well, who ever heard of black swans at a wedding? You will have to get rid of the black ones so I can order a dozen pure white ones.”
“Take a joke, Dad.” Carl laughed at his father’s startled expression. “Don’t you know Mum well enough to know when she’s fooling with you?”
Linton raised his eyebrow at Rose. “That was a joke?”
“That was a joke.” She smiled. “Sorry if it seemed to be in bad taste to you.”
“So black swans are invited to the wedding?” Linton stretched his legs and relaxed.
“They better come.” Rose stretched her legs until their shoes touched. “They will be the only music accompaniment.”
“What, no church organ music this time?”
“Nor a minister threatening me to say my vows—or else you might get sent to a delinquent boys’ home.”
“Oh God. Don’t remind me of that day,” Linton uttered. “I never want to relive anything so dreadful.”
“That’s why I want us to relive one of our happiest moments—finding Carl—the day you came back to me the first time.” Rose leaned forward and gripped Linton’s hand. “I want a simple wedding—family and friends and a few refreshments at a picnic by the dam.”
“Hmm.” Linton rubbed his chin. “So I have to cancel the white doves, coach, and horses?”
“They might do a trade for picnic baskets,” Rose said cheerily.
“And it has to be this weekend,” Helen called out brightly. “Because you have to get back from your honeymoon to take me to boarding school. I want to show you around.”
“And to get me to the airport
.” Carl grinned. “Not going to miss my flight to the US with our chunk of Skylab and Helen’s story about our family.”
Trevor and Alvin knocked on the doorframe and entered the room, greeted by smiles.
“I’d like to suggest that Linton and Rose focus on planning the honeymoon; Helen, Carl, Trevor and I can handle a country picnic wedding.”
Carl turned a serious expression to Trevor. “Do we have time before Saturday to clear the peony paddock for the entrance of the horse race?” He leapt to his feet.
Trevor grabbed several full peony flowers from a vase and hurled them after Carl as he ran howling in laughter from the room.
“Great idea,” Helen shrieked in joy and spat plant material from her mouth. “Peony petal confetti.”

Rose stroked the white, clean-shaven skin on the side of Linton’s face.
“I had to trim it.” Linton kissed her cheek. “I was not going to risk having grandchildren laugh at our wedding photos one day.”
“What about me in a white cotton crochet maxi dress?” Rose pulled a loose sprig of blueberry blossoms from her hair. “I’ve had it since the late 1970s. This has been my first chance to wear it.” She held the skirt out to be admired.
Helen seized the moment to take a photograph.
Taking the blueberry blossom from her fingers, Linton took his time reinserting it into Rose’s chestnut curls, giving Helen ample time to take several photos from varied angles.
Rose whispered to him, “I don’t care who laughs in the future if our photos become dated; I’ll have such fun today.”
“You had the good sense to wear a slip under it and not wear it see-through, as some do.” Linton laughed. “You look timeless—beautiful.”
They walked together to the arbour decorated in peony blooms and made their wedding vows to each other. They were simple and borrowed from Emily Brontë’s novel, Wuthering Heights.
With hands joined, Rose and Linton turned to each other.
Rose spoke first, looking into Linton’s face and enunciating clearly, “My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees.”
