Long Hot Summer

by Victoria Purman

  She whipped off her glasses, placed them on her desk, and turned back to him.

  She squinted, rubbed her eyes, and shook her head.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just takes me a minute to focus after wearing these things.” She narrowed her eyes and Dylan was standing before her, his face a picture of concern. She waved him away, tried not to look at his sky blue eyes.

  “No need for first aid here, firefighter Knight. I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

  “I was just up to Mandy’s to see how she is. I thought I’d stop by.”

  Two visits in two days. Mmm. Maybe he’d been hoping that Alice was there visiting her mother with a fruit basket or something. Hannie knew the chance of that were slim to nonexistent.

  “She seemed good this morning when I was up there for breakfast,” Hannie said. “She wolfed down the scrambled eggs and bacon I made for her. And three pieces of toast.”

  Dylan chuckled. “If I’d known that I wouldn’t have just left her with a cherry pie.”

  Hannie gasped. “Are you talking about a cherry pie from Mel and Kaz’s Organic Café on the main road through Reynolds Ridge?”

  “Aren’t they the best?”

  “Oh, god, they’re to die for.”

  Dylan crossed his arms and chuckled. “If I’d known you were such a foodie, I would have brought you one, too.”

  “Thanks, but, while they’re delicious, a whole pie is wasted on me.”

  He narrowed his eyes playfully. “What makes you think I’d let you eat it all by yourself?”

  Was he flirting with her? She smiled at the floor.

  “And who’s this?” Dylan crouched down and held out a hand to Ted. It didn’t take a moment for her fearless guard dog to be licking Dylan’s hand as if it were smothered in one of Ted’s favourite things—dead birds or his own vomit.

  “Ted. And before you ask it’s not short for anything like Edward or Theodore. He’s just Ted.”

  “Why’s he leashed up like this?” Dylan rustled the long leash that was looped around the leg of Hannie’s desk.

  “See that shaved patch on his left hind leg? He’s had an anterior cruciate ligament repair. He’s not allowed to run until it’s properly healed.”

  “Mate,” Dylan said with concern, “you poor bastard.” Ted flipped over on to his belly and gratefully accepted the scratch he received.

  “Would you like a coffee, Dylan? I have one of those fancy capsule machines if that floats your boat.”

  “Sure. I’d love one.” He stood, a move which created a whimper of disappointment from Ted, and took a step closer to Hannie’s desk. “What’s all this? What are you making?”

  Hannie half-swivelled back to her desk as he moved closer. He looked over her tools, the half-moon cutout of the front edge of her tall desk, her high wattage lamp, her tray full of stones and old pieces. As he did, he absentmindedly scratched Ted behind an ear.

  “I make jewellery. Or, more specifically, I create new pieces out of old ones.”

  “Really?” Dylan looked back over his shoulder at her. “Upmarket recycling, huh?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  He picked out a stone from her tray and held up under the lamp. “This is a sapphire, right?”

  She moved forward to see what he was holding, accidentally bumping her shoulder against his hip. Her tingling alert dialled up to eight.

  “Yep. It’s an Australian sapphire, actually.”

  “No kidding? I thought they were all from Ceylon... Or should I say, Sri Lanka.”

  “Sapphires have been mined in Australia for more than one hundred years, mostly on the New South Wales Tablelands around Inverell.”

  “Well,” Dylan carefully placed the stone back in its tray and turned to her. “You learn something every day. You’re a jeweller.”

  “And you’re a firefighter.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well,” Hannie said. “Haven’t we grown up then?”

  His eyes took a slow journey down her body. “Yes, we have. This isn’t high school anymore.”

  Oh no. The tingles were moving up her body and now her tongue felt thick. She cleared her throat. “How about that coffee?” She took off without waiting for an answer, ducking her head to pass through the low doorway in the thick stone wall, down the hallway, her bare feet padding on the cool slate tiles, and turned left into the kitchen.

  Cursing herself, she filled the water well on her coffee pod machine before slipping in a pod at the top.

  “How do you have it, Dylan?”

  “Black. Thanks.”

  Hannie stared at the gurgling coffee machine.

  “Who’s in Cairns?”

  Hannie turned to see Dylan studying the postcard collection on her fridge. “Mum. She likes to send me postcards of where she lives now, in a barely-concealed attempt to lure me up there more regularly.”

  “It’s a beautiful part of the world, although, obviously, not as great as Reynolds Ridge. Do you get up there to see her often?”

  “I fly up once a year and she comes back once a year. I wish it could be more but, you know, a gal’s gotta make a living to afford expensive flights like that.”

  “She must miss you,” Dylan said. “It must be hard for her to have her daughter so far away.”

  His observation pulled her up. “It’s hard for me too, but you know, we Skype. And I have Mandy to fuss over.”

  Dylan looked around the room. “This is a great place. I remember it the way it was back in the day. No roof, a pile of old sandstone, weeds as high as your waist. Remember? We used to think it was haunted.”

  “You used to think it was haunted. I never believed that claptrap.”

  Dylan laughed. “Oh, that is total bullshit. You were totally scared of this place.”

  “Was not.”

  “You were too. I distinctly remember poking around in here with you and Alice and you getting a fright and running back up the hill. You were white as a ghost.”

  Hannie froze. He was right. But it wasn’t a ghost that had stolen the breath from her lungs. That had been the first time she’d seen Dylan and Alice kissing. She’d turned a corner into one of the old rooms and they’d been standing with their arms around each other, lips firmly locked. Hannie could still feel the cool, crumbling sandstone under her fingers as she’d run her hands along the wall, steadying herself so she didn’t tumble on the fallen stones hidden under the long grass at her feet.

  Hannie gave Dylan his coffee.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip. “So, there’s a story here.”

  “A story about what?”

  “About why you’re living on Mandy’s property.”

  It wasn’t that complicated, but Hannie suddenly felt shy about sharing her life story with Dylan. The reasons why were sad and complicated and brought back too many memories.

  She hesitated. “When Mum’s husband died... she couldn’t stay here in Reynolds Ridge.”

  Dylan put his cup on the table, came closer. “Oh hell, he died in a bushfire, didn’t he? Two years ago.”

  Hannie nodded. She studied her bare feet, felt the cool of the slate warm under her toes. When she looked up, craning her neck to meet his eyes, she saw something surprising. Tenderness. Concern. And then he reached a hand out and rested it on her bare shoulder, where the strap of her singlet top bared her skin.

  “I’m so sorry. That must have been... well, I don’t need to tell you what it was like for you and your mum.”

  She swallowed and took a deep breath in. “After what happened, after what she went through, Mum moved to north Queensland. She sold off the property which meant I had to move to the city, until Mandy invited me to come back. She’d done up the cottage by then, and was renting it out, but she became wary of having strangers living on her property. And, I needed a studio, so we did each other a favour, really.”

  His grip on her shoulder tightened. His eyes moved from her to her mouth. She
felt suddenly parched.

  “And Mandy needs someone to keep an eye on her, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s not exactly a spring chicken any more, I know that, but she’s pretty independent.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Hannie.” He’d seemed to have forgotten to take his hand of her shoulder.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His chest rose and fell. “Her injury. Tripping on the front steps. What else have you noticed?”

  Hannie closed her eyes. How did he know? In the eighteen months she’d been living on her aunt’s property, she’d seen the signs. She’d increasingly been doing more, when her aunt was unable to, but whenever Hannie had tried to raise the subject of her health, Mandy had flatly refused to discuss it.

  “I’m an old woman. And I’ll be a grumpy old woman if you keep nagging me about seeing a doctor.”

  And that had been the end of the discussion. So Hannie had tried not to notice her aunt’s shaking hands, the tremor in her voice, her increasing tiredness.

  “Is it Parkinson’s?”

  Hannie felt weak at the knees. “Parkinson’s?” Her voice echoed around the stone walls of her studio. “I don’t know, Dylan. I’m not a doctor. She won’t tell me anything. She flatly refuses to discuss it and I’ve been scared to push it with her.”

  Hannie pushed him back, away from her, her palm on his T-shirt, on his chest. She couldn’t seem to find any words.

  “How long since you’ve noticed things haven’t been quite right?”

  Hannie covered her mouth with a hand, as if saying it out loud would make it real. “Twelve months. A bit more. It was her birthday before last and I noticed her hand shaking when she was cutting the cake. Alice was too busy running around after her kids to notice. But I noticed.”

  “You don’t think she’s told anybody?”

  Hannie shook her head.

  “Not even Alice?”

  A cold shiver settled in her chest. “No. Not even Alice.”

  He took his hand away, stepped back. She dropped hers.

  “Are you telling me that Mandy hasn’t told her own daughter that she’s sick?”

  “No.”

  “What the hell is all that about?”

  Hannie but her lip in frustration. How on earth could she tell Dylan the truth about the relationship between Mandy and her own daughter? For years, Hannie had been caught in the middle, a keeper of Mandy’s secrets, a bulwark against Alice’s bullying opinions and Mandy’s stubborn intransigence.

  “That’s between them. I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure them out and I can’t so I don’t try. But you can’t say anything to either of them. Do you understand?”

  Dylan shook his head. She could see the frustration in his face.

  “If it was one of my parents, I’d want to know.”

  Of course he would. He’d come home at the drop of a hat to buy his parents’ property when they had to sell up.

  “Me, too,” Hannie said.

  He ran a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it.

  “I can’t say I understand any of this shit, but you have my word. I won’t say anything.”

  From outside, a gusty, scorching wind invaded Hannie’s studio, swirled around the room, catching her hair and teasing it across her face. A pile of papers on a sideboard were swept up and tumbled to the floor.

  “Oh, shit.” She scooped them up and clutched them to her chest.

  “It’s another bad fire day today,” Dylan said.

  “Isn’t every day a bad fire day in Adelaide in February?”

  Dylan reached down behind him for a stray piece of paper and passed it to her. She gathered it with her others.

  He paused, looked around the room. “Well, I’d better be heading back.”

  “Thanks for checking on Mandy.” Hannie could see in his face how much he cared for Mandy. If Hannie hadn’t kissed him that night, he might have been her son-in-law now instead of an old neighbour.

  “I’m glad she’s okay.” Dylan reached down to give Ted a final scratch, then walked to the doorway, ducking his head to make it under.

  “See you.”

  He took a step back and looked over his shoulder. “Bye.”

  When she was sure he’d gone out the front door, Hannie moved to the window of her studio, and watched Dylan walk up towards her aunt’s house where his car was parked. It felt as if he was walking out of her life.

  And perhaps that was for the best.

  Hannie pulled the old sash window closed.

  The wind felt more dangerous as the morning wore on and became midday—menacing, fierce with heat and ferocious in its speed. Hannie didn’t like days like this but had learned to bear them. She’d had almost thirty two summers up here at Reynolds Ridge, alive to the possibility of fleeing at a moment’s notice. She and Mandy were fully prepared to get in the car and get out if the fire experts said so. The Bureau of Meteorology forecasters and the emergency broadcaster were a lifeline during the summer months. Hannie knew to follow all their instructions—to listen to the broadcasts, keep a battery-powered radio and spare batteries handy and leave before it became too dangerous to do so.

  She had ensured that both properties – Mandy’s house and her cottage – were as well prepared as they could be. There were fire breaks around each one, and sprinklers too. The large water tanks were full after a wet winter, but the rain meant there was growth everywhere which had dried into fuel.

  Hannie checked the backup generators every three months, because the sprinklers wouldn’t work if the power was cut off, which sometimes happened on days of extreme fire risk. There were no second chances if things got hairy.

  Despite all of that, living in the hills meant she was constantly on edge; adrenalin was always flowing on high fire danger days. She had to be ready to make the snap decision about whether to stay or whether to go. It was not only physically exhausting but emotionally draining, too. And Hannie had two people to think about now—one of whom had increasingly limited mobility.

  Speaking of Mandy, it was almost time to take up her lunch. Hannie stocked her cane carry basket with the quiche and salad she’d had in the fridge, and added a bowl of fruit salad.

  Working on her own meant she had a lot of time to herself, so it was never a chore to walk up the gravel road and across the main lawn to the house to have lunch with Mandy. As she walked over, Hannie thought about why Mandy had invited her to stay in the cottage. Had she known eighteen months ago that something was wrong? Had Mandy decided back then that she needed someone around to care for her if she got worse? Was Hannie her insurance policy for living up here at Reynolds Ridge on her own?

  Hannie blinked away the image of the “For Lease” sign in the shop window next to the Organic Café on the main road.

  She couldn’t think about that now.

  And she couldn’t think about Dylan Knight, either.

  Chapter Five

  Just as Hannie was taking the warmed quiche out of the oven, a car pulled up outside, its tyres loud on the gravel of the driveway which snaked up from the main road and curved in front of the back door to Mandy’s house.

  Hannie popped her head up and peered out the kitchen window. Her heart sank. It was Alice, in her late model fancy schmancy gleaming clean car, which looked like it had just been washed by a team of young men at a car wash. Alice fixed her hair in her rearview mirror before stepping out, as if she was on her way to a job interview, not a visit to her mother.

  She was immaculately put together, as always. A sleeveless white linen shirt knotted at her waist topped navy linen shorts and a pair of wedge heels completed her chic look.

  Hannie looked down at her outfit. Cut off denims, a bright pink tank top and Indian leather sandals. She was never going to be glamorous. She had never been vain or concerned enough to make sure she looked just right whenever she stepped out of the house. She made ornaments for a living – but she had no desire to be one herself. And, anyw
ay, there was simply no competing with Alice – Hannie had learnt that a long time ago – so she should stop being envious of her. She tried to ignore the flicker of it in the back of her mind.

  Hannie slipped the quiche onto a large platter and tucked a knife beside it. She gathered three plates instead of two and three glasses for the table.

  The back door opened and a hot breeze followed Alice inside. It ruffled her straight bob and Alice quickly tucked it back into place.

  “Oh, Hannie. Hi.” Alice looked her up and down.

  “Hi, Alice. You’re just in time for lunch. Ham and cheese quiche.”

  Alice came over to the kitchen bench and stared at the dish as if it were road kill. “Oh, no. I’m vegan. I don’t eat eggs. Or dairy.”

  “Oh. Well. There’s a Greek salad, but”—Hannie paused—“I’m sorry. I’ve already put feta cheese in it.”

  Alice shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  Hannie sighed as she took the third plate and put it back in the cupboard. Just another thing for Alice to be cross at Hannie about.

  “Where’s my mother?”

  “She’s in the living room, reading. I was just going to take this in to her.”

  “Wait a minute on that, will you? I’ve been anxious to have the chance to talk to you. Alone.”

  Hannie sighed. “Can it wait until after lunch, Alice? The quiche is still warm.”

  “It can’t actually. I’m going to talk to Mum – again – about finding her a new place to live. It’s just not safe up her for her anymore. She’s not as young as she used to be, and that fall the other day scared the pants off me. God, Hannie, what if she breaks a hip next time and she’s lying out there for hours and then there’s a fire? I mean, she was all alone.”

  For fourteen years, Alice had found new and imaginative ways to stick the knife into Hannie’s back. “You don’t have to worry. You know I work from home. I’m here most of the time.”

  Alice crossed her arms and frowned. “You clearly weren’t the other day when she needed you.”

  Hannie gritted her teeth. “I was with a client on the other side of the city. I wasn’t far away.”