‘What happened when she got to Melbourne?’ Hartley asked.
‘Jenny took her in and helped her as we knew she would.’ She sniffled again. ‘Erika has built such a wonderful life for herself, something to be truly proud of. And while we missed her, we were glad for her sake she never came back given all the misery she left behind. But now, here she is, not only dealing with it all again, but doing autopsies on her brother and discovering he was murdered.’ Her gaze bored into him again, accusing. His heart raced, his breath came more quickly, drying his throat, and he swallowed, looked away, prickling heat spreading over him. He thought she might berate him further—god knows, he deserved it—but she simply sighed and said, ‘Thank you for bringing her back here.’
He nodded.
‘Right.’ Pip came back in the room, running his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. ‘Jenny said to give her time to grieve. She needs peace and quiet, but also to know someone is there for her. She wants one of us to stay here with her until she comes out of this. If she isn’t better in the morning, then we’re to call again and she’ll arrange for us to fly her back to Melbourne where Jenny can get her the care she needs.’
‘It can’t be that bad.’ Mac shot his dad a disbelieving look. ‘She was fine only an hour ago.’
‘Jenny said she hasn’t had one of these episodes for years, and the last time she did, it only lasted for a few hours. Let’s hope after a bit of peace and quiet that will be the case here.’ Pip gestured with his head to the door. ‘Come on, son, let’s go downstairs. Let’s leave your mum and Coops to it. They’re the best thing for EJ right now.’
‘Dear girl. Dear sweet girl.’ Daphne cooed, leaning forward to kiss the back of Erika’s head as her husband and son left. ‘I’m here, EJ. I’m here for you, luv. Just like before you left. I won’t leave you. I’m here. I’m here. I won’t leave you. Okay? Okay, EJ? You’re not alone.’
Hartley wasn’t sure if Erika heard anything Daphne was saying, but she shuddered, let out a large sob, and in a fluid motion, moved from his arms and into Daphne’s, sobbing against her shoulder as if her heart were breaking all over again.
Hartley could barely stand the sound. He could barely stand the empty feeling now she wasn’t in his arms. He sat for long moments, wanting to pull her back to him, to deny her need of anyone but him, but that was selfish and more about his needs than hers.
It was Erika that mattered, not him.
He should leave Daphne to it. Erika needed a woman right now, female understanding and all that. He stood.
Erika’s hand shot out, grabbing his hand before he made it one step away from the bed. She looked up at him with red, tear-stained eyes that were still achingly beautiful to him. ‘Don’t go. I don’t want you to go.’ Her voice was barely recognisable, a twisted husk of a thing, but he could read the need in her eyes, the question there, the fear of his rejection—he didn’t need her words to ask him to stay. He sat, held onto her hand, not minding when she clutched it so tightly it was almost painful.
‘I won’t go. Not this time.’
She nodded, her breath hitching, and then she lay her head against Daphne’s shoulder like an exhausted child and closed her eyes.
He thought she had fallen asleep except her hand never stopped gripping his. The empty feeling that had smothered him only moments before drifted away like mist in the hot summer sun.
Eventually, Erika’s grip loosened on Daphne and she and Hartley were able to encourage her to lie down. She lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, eyes glazed. She held on to Hartley’s hand, her grip tight, as if she was afraid he’d disappear. Daphne stroked her hair over and over, fingers grazing across Erika’s brow and slowly, slowly, Erika’s breathing slowed, her eyelids drooped, and she was asleep. They both sat there, watching her, waiting for something to happen. But she had fallen into a deep, needful sleep and didn’t stir, her breathing slow and deep.
Without a word between them, Hartley and Daphne moved from the bed. Hartley took off Erika’s shoes while the older woman fetched a blanket from the cupboard in the corner. After placing her shoes on the floor under the window in the way she’d always done when they were kids, he returned to the side of the bed and stood there, staring at her, uncertain what to do. She looked so peaceful, so far from the uptight, cold, rational person others saw, that he’d tried to make himself believe she was. But he’d always known better than that. Her problem was, and always had been, that she felt too damn much.
‘Daphne?’ He turned to the older woman, but she shook her head.
‘Not now. We don’t want to wake her. What she needs more than anything is sleep.’
‘You’re right.’
‘And so do you.’
He didn’t want to go. ‘I should help you make her more comfortable.’
‘You should do no such thing.’ She began to shoo him toward the door. ‘Go stop my boys from coming back up here. I know they will because they’re as bad as cats for curiousity. Tell them I have everything in hand, have a drink with them if you need a bit of relaxing, but then go and get some sleep.’
‘What about you?’
She looked back at Erika. ‘She’ll want you rested and ready to help her find the bastards who killed Peter. Get a key from Pip for the room next door. I’ll come and fetch you if she wakes.’
He sighed. There was little point arguing. He knew Daphne was right. He went down and got the key from Pip, but didn’t stay to have a drink with the two men. Daphne was right. He should try to get some sleep so he was ready to help Erika in any way he could in the morning.
But after a couple of hours of lying there, staring at the ceiling, he got up and went next door. Daphne was almost nodding off. ‘Go to bed, Daphne,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll sit with her.’
Daphne sat upright, blinking rapidly. ‘I’m fine. You should get some sleep.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not tired. You go and rest. If I feel tired, I’ll come knock on your door.’
She smiled gratefully and vacated the armchair she’d been sitting in. ‘Our room’s the one at the end of the hall.’
Hartley nodded. ‘Sleep well.’
Daphne took herself off, closing the door with a quiet snick.
Unable to sit, Hartley strode to the window and stared out, down Echo Parade to the heart of the town that was his home. There were only a few streetlights on to illuminate the quiet streets. A dust whorl whipped up under one of the pools of light across the way, disappearing into the dark of the vacant lot opposite. That lot had been vacant for five years since an investor had bought it to build a new set of shops, knocking down the Granger Grocery and Hardware Store that had stood there for a century despite the protests of a local ‘save our town’ group. The builder had lost his funding after the old Federation-style building had been knocked down, and the block had been vacant ever since. Although he’d heard through the gossip mill that the town council was looking at building a new tourist centre in that very spot.
He hoped so. Vacant blocks right in the middle of a town never looked good. They started a trend and there was no way he wanted Echo Springs to go the way of so many other country towns. Echo Springs relied on the tourists who came to visit the springs and tramp through the national park to the south. But if the rains didn’t come, the springs would become dryer, as would the park. If that happened, the tourists would stop coming and the town would lose the lifeline that had kept it alive after the mines closed thirty years earlier.
A sigh shook out of him as he stared at the outlines of the backs of the buildings that lined Main Street, the corrugated-iron roof of the police station standing out among all the other tiled and painted roofs, the silver glinting in the moonlight.
God he loved it here. He’d done the city living thing for a few years, thinking that he wanted to get away from his father and the constant feeling he was living in his shadow. But the moment a placement had come up here at the station, he’d jumped at it and never
looked back. Home. It was his home and always would be. Like his father and his grandfather before him, both coppers here, he knew he would never leave. His life’s blood was this town. He would never be the same man he was here anywhere else. He wasn’t just a country copper, he was a country man.
He turned back to look at Erika, walked toward her, stared down at her beautiful face. She’d just got more beautiful in the last sixteen years. She was a bright star, forever out of reach, while he was like the red soil, firm and hard packed. She was one in a trillion. He was a grain of red dirt, just like the trillions of other grains that made up this harsh and exacting land.
He hadn’t fully understood that until right now. Her past wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t stay. She had to leave and go back to the good, decent life she’d built for herself without him, a life where she could shine and be lauded for her brilliance, not brought down because of it.
He knuckled his fist against his chest. Damn. Knowing that shouldn’t still hurt as much as it had all those years ago when she’d walked away from him and never looked back.
Chapter Ten
Erika woke to the sound of birds. And someone shouting.
‘Shoo. Shoo. You’re making a mess of my beautiful lawn! Shoo.’
She couldn’t help but smile at the aggrieved voice and the unconcerned chittering of the birds. She pushed up from the bed but the room spun and she sat back down with a plop. ‘Whoa!’ She must have got up a little too quickly. She put her head between her knees until the room settled and she felt steadier. She stood up slowly this time and made her way carefully to the window to see what was going on outside. She pushed the heavy curtains aside. The bright light and vibrant blue of the sky blinded her. She blinked rapidly, eyes watering, and shaded her eyes. She’d need to buy a darker pair of sunglasses if she was going to stay for longer than intended. She’d completely forgotten how harsh and unforgiving the light was here.
Her vision cleared and she was able to see what the commotion was about. The trees lining the street were full of corellas, their white feathers brilliant in the sunshine. They were stripping the trees along the street of all their nuts and pollens, the detritus of their feeding showering onto the nature strip below. Two doors down from the vacant block, a woman in a purple kimono dressing gown, her hair up in yellow rollers, stood on the pavement in front of a brick Federation-style house. She was waving her hands, jumping up and down, yelling at the birds in the tree that sat in her immaculate front lawn—a front lawn that was being slowly covered in bits of shells and pollen.
Corellas weren’t often seen in town at this time of year. They usually stayed out in the bush. Maybe it was the long dry that had brought them into town. Erika felt a little communion with them for being forced to come where they weren’t wanted.
‘Shoo. Shoo.’ The curlers on the woman’s head bobbed comically. They had to hurt, banging up and down like that. She touched her own head, feeling a sharp sympathy pain. Actually, it wasn’t sympathy pain. It was a real. As was the ache slowly overtaking every part of her body. She hadn’t felt like this since she’d had the flu two years earlier. And before that, the last time she’d felt this achy and tired was when…
No!
Memories flooded back in an overwhelming rush and she plonked down on the floor beside the window as her mind scrambled to keep up.
She’d had an emotional fugue. She’d fought for so many years to overcome them. Counselling with Jenny and a specialist friend of hers had given her the tools to help her cope with the dark memories and even darker emotions tied into the PTSD she had from the trauma of her parents’ deaths. She thought she’d had control of them. She had control of them in Melbourne.
It was this place. Coming back here had been such a mistake—although, how could she have done anything else? And how could she leave now? Peter needed her to make things right for him, to prove he wasn’t involved in drugs. She’d had to put up with the whispers, insinuations and outright taunts after her parents’ deaths. She hadn’t been able to do anything to save her mother’s reputation and preserve her memory in this prejudiced and closed-minded town, but she could certainly do something to save Peter’s memory from suffering the same fate.
She wouldn’t let him down. Even though the thought of facing Daphne, Pip and Mac had chills racing through her, she would carry on and pretend it hadn’t happened.
What about Hartley? She winced. He’d seen her like that once before, the year she’d left. He probably thought her crazy. She dropped her head into her hands. How was she going to face him? It was more than embarrassing. It was soul-destroying.
There was a creak on the floorboards beyond her door. The others were up. Which meant she should get up. Acting normal would make her feel more normal. Besides, if she acted like there was nothing wrong, they were unlikely to bring up her storm of crying and emotional overreaction. She hoped.
She made her way shakily into the bathroom, stripped out of her clothes and hopped into the shower. As she reached to turn the shower on, she saw the cuts and bruises on her knuckles. God, she had truly been out of control, still felt the echoes of it now, like she was emotionally raw. Before she faced the others, she had to regain her composure. As the hot water pummelled her tired, sore muscles, washed the blood from her hands and soothed the stinging cuts, she closed her eyes and put herself in her calm place. She built the image of the mountain in her mind, but before she could sink into the image as she always did, it shifted, changed. At first, she wasn’t sure where her mind had taken her and then she realised.
The Springs.
The sky was an endless blue, the crisp yellowing grass on the hill where she stood in her mind-image giving way to the heat of the red sand as it spread toward the purple-orange-yellow-red striations in the craggy rocks that hid the springs. The air around her was warm and full of spicy, mineral scents. How she’d loved that scent. She used to stand there, breathing it in, letting it fill her and wash away the bad. Then once she’d breathed in her fill, she’d run to the springs, sometimes alone, sometimes with Hartley.
Together they’d laugh as they ran, exclaiming over the colours in the rocks, the strange almost-greens of the shrubs and bushes, the scurrying nearness of the outback animals and reptiles. They’d strip to their bathers or to their underwear if they’d come unprepared, and jump into the cool springs first, gasping and laughing, then when they were ready, they’d slip into the hot springs, the effervescent water fizzing against their skin. Hartley would talk and splash about, but she would simply lay back and stare up at the vast blue sky, his voice muffled by the water lapping in her ears. Finally, Hartley would join her and there would be peace.
She smiled as she sank into the memory, into the image, a peaceful calm filling her even though the image wasn’t the mountains and hills imagery she’d used for years. She let the image play over her, filling her, as the hot water ran over her body, mimicking the waterfall at the largest hot spring. She and Hartley had gone there not long before she’d run away. She’d remembered laughing with him when she hadn’t felt like laughing. They’d looked at each other and smiled and he had stared at her in a way that made her stomach twist. The same way he looked at her now.
Her eyes popped open. Water from the shower filled them, her heart a loud beat in her ears. Heat flushed over her skin as her mind furnished her with an image of Hartley stepping into the shower with her, sun-browned skin glistening with the slickness of water as it rushed over his firm chest, arms, thighs and...
She turned the hot tap off with a jerk and hissed as the cold water bit into her heated skin. She forced herself to stand under the cool stream for two minutes and then, teeth chattering, turned it off and stepped out of the shower.
There. That had done it. Nothing like a cold shower to stop wayward thoughts. And before those thoughts could become wayward again, she grabbed a towel and dried herself, dressed her hands with the antiseptic and bandaids she found in the bathroom cupboard, then dresse
d and, chin held high, left her room.
She had to make everyone believe that she was fine. She had to be fine. If she was to help Peter, that’s all there was to it. She must keep her mind on the job at hand and off anything that might make her lose control again—and that included thinking about Hartley Cooper.
She marched downstairs and found Daphne, Pip, Mac and Hartley in the kitchen having breakfast.
Tension skated over her skin as they all turned to face her. She waited for one of them to reference last night, but after long, silent seconds, Daphne hopped up from her chair and said, ‘Oh good, you’re up. I’ll just get you a plate. You must be starving.’
Actually she didn’t think she could eat a bite, but if she admitted that, they would worry. So she accepted the plate and sat at the table, forcing herself to swallow a mouthful of the scrambled eggs. Concentrating on the food also meant she didn’t need to speak or look at any of them. Even so, she knew she was being watched, could feel it like a stroke on her skin.
She looked up, her gaze clashing with Hartley’s. There were unspoken questions in his eyes, concern, fondness, and something else that made her heart hitch. She looked away.
‘Do you want some tea?’ Daphne reached for the pot in front of her. ‘Mac, go and get one of the tea cups for me, dear.’
Mac pushed his chair back, but Erika held out her hand. ‘It’s fine. I’d just like some juice.’ Her voice sounded normal, thankfully, as she reached for the carton on the table and poured herself a glass. After a long sip, the cool tartness zinging on her tongue, she managed what she thought was a decent smile. ‘That’s better.’ She turned to Hartley. ‘So, when can we go back to the morgue? I’d like to do the post-mortem on the other body.’
Worry shadowed his eyes as his gaze roved over her. Her hands trembled, so she shoved them in her lap, met his gaze, tried to make him see she was okay. She needed them to treat her like she was fine.
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