by Joan Kilby
“I have to go,” Ian said heavily. “I’ve still got a few phone calls to make.”
Hayley said goodbye. She needed to call Dave. He was due here in half an hour. She couldn’t make herself do it, couldn’t bear to hear the sound of his disappointment.
Listlessly she picked up her mail. There was a notice from the electric company, warning if she didn’t pay her bill within two days she’d be cut off. Wonderful. The icing on the cake.
She glanced at the clock. She couldn’t put this call off any longer. Feeling sick in her heart, she reached for the phone and dialed. “Hey, Dave.”
“Not late, am I?” he said gruffly. “I was just about to head out to your place.”
Hayley pressed the phone to her chest and tried to pull in enough breath to continue.
“Hayley, you there?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news....”
* * *
ADAM DROPPED SUMMER off at school and continued on toward the main street shopping district, passing empty blackened lots interspersed with intact houses. He slowed as he passed a charred sign reading Hope Mountain Community Center. In the cleared area a large tent had been erected where donated goods were being redistributed.
He drove on, ruminating over how huge the loss of the community center was to a small town. His grandparents had relied on theirs as a hub of local social life. His grandmother in particular had spent a lot of time there with the Country Women’s Association.
His phone rang as he pulled into the grocery store parking lot. He glanced at the caller ID. Diane, finally. “I see you got my messages. Thanks for calling back.”
“Sorry I’ve taken so long,” Diane said, sounding harried. “I’m at the hospital day and night.”
“How’s your mother doing?”
“Not great. They’re trying to stabilize her blood pressure and sugar levels before they operate. It’s now going to be a quadruple bypass rather than a triple.”
“That’s rough. Give her my best. I guess a box of her favorite chocolates wouldn’t be a good gift just now.”
Diane gave a weary laugh. “No, and no flowers, either. She’s developed hay fever from all the bouquets in her room.”
“I’ve been trying to call you to talk about Summer.”
“Is she still going on about getting another horse? I told her you’d have to approve it.”
“She wants a horse, yes, but that’s not the problem. She was caught shoplifting. She stole a pair of earrings from the local gift shop. Luckily the owner didn’t press charges, but this is serious.”
“She’s going through a phase. All kids do at that age.”
“Not all kids shoplift. She’s got real problems that need to be addressed. I can’t understand why you haven’t talked to me about her before this. Apparently she’s been in counseling at school for months.”
“You would have gotten a letter, same as I did.”
“I’m not absolving myself of responsibility. But hell, Diane, this is our child. Regardless of our own issues we have to do what’s right for her.”
“What do you suggest?” A note of tension crept into Diane’s voice. “I’ve got all I can handle taking care of my mother. There’s not much I can do for Summer from Sydney.”
“I don’t expect you to do anything. I just wanted to let you know what’s going on. I’m trying to find her a counselor outside school.” He paused, searching for tactful wording. “Is there anything else I should know about, anything going on in your life that might be upsetting Summer?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” He’d never asked for details of her affair and he didn’t want them now—unless they were relevant to Summer. “That person you were seeing—”
“That’s over,” Diane said sharply. “And it had nothing to do with Summer. She’s fine, just moody like all teenagers. It’s hormones.”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“She barely speaks to me, either. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’ve gotta go. The cardiologist is coming to see Mom and I want to talk to him about the operation.”
“Wait a sec. Do you have any idea when you’ll be back?”
“Recovery from this kind of operation is measured in months. Hopefully by Christmas, but I don’t know. I’m seriously considering moving back to Sydney to be closer to Mom.”
“That’s the impression I got before you left. How would you feel about putting the house up for sale once school’s out? I’d just as soon get rid of it. The fire danger makes this an unsafe area.”
“Hope Mountain’s okay once you get used to how small it is. But do what you like. I’m over the place.”
She’d bought the property on a whim and abandoned it without a second thought. Even though her change of heart fell in line with his plans, he asked, “What about Summer? She seems attached to the town, and she’s desperate for a horse.”
“She’ll love Sydney, too. Once she sees the beaches she’ll forget all about horses. Oh, there’s the cardiologist. Say hi to Summer for me and tell her I’ll call her soon.”
Adam said goodbye and hung up. He doubted Summer would forget her love for horses that quickly. Diane had been less than helpful where their daughter was concerned, but he supposed she was preoccupied with her mother. At least he had her blessing to sell the property.
He went inside the grocery store and pushed his shopping cart around the aisles, stocking up on fresh fruit and vegetables and consulting his list for staples they were low on. He wasn’t much of a cook but he would have to learn. Man could not live on Diet Delight alone.
He threw in a couple of frozen pizzas and some chips to keep Summer happy and on impulse added extra items to drop off at the distribution center. At last he proceeded to the checkout.
“Hey, how are you goin’?” The thirty-something woman at the till had a high black ponytail, bright red lipstick and a cheerful smile. Her name tag read Belinda.
“Not bad, Belinda. Yourself?” He unloaded the groceries methodically, putting the cold things together, next the cans and finally the fruit and vegetables.
“Oh, I’m okay. Or I will be once I sell my house and blow this crazy pop stand.”
Ah, someone else besides him who didn’t go into raptures about Hope Mountain. “You don’t like it here?”
She snorted. “It’s the pits. What’s so beautiful about burned-up mountains?”
“The fire danger’s a real concern,” Adam agreed.
“You’re telling me. Every house on our block went up in flames except ours. My husband went out and bought ten lottery tickets. Me, I called Mort.”
“Who’s Mort?”
“The real estate agent. Thank God his office didn’t burn. I listed our house first thing. Bob, my husband, thinks I’m a coward. I told him, ‘You can stay but I’m getting out.’”
Diane had been working part-time for a local Realtor before she’d gone to Sydney—Mort must have been her boss. “Well, Belinda, I happen to think you’re smart for not wanting to live in a fire-prone region.”
“Thanks very much. You’re pretty smart yourself.” She scanned a box of cereal and bagged it. “Are you a local? I figure you must be with all the groceries you’re buying. No one buys four bags of sugar for the weekend. But if you don’t know Mort...” She trailed off, waiting for an explanation.
“I live here for now.”
“How long are you staying?” Belinda seemed to have all the time in the world to chat. And apparently she thought he did, too.
“I don’t know. Four or five months. Six tops.”
She swung the filled bag over to the loading area and started on the next. “I’d say that makes you a local.”
“No, really, I’m just passing through.”
She cocked her head with an inf
ectious grin. “But slowly.”
He smiled back at her. “Yeah, slowly.”
Too slowly for his liking. In business he was the hare, not the tortoise. He moved quickly and decisively. Now he had to put on the brakes and wait for Summer to heal.
Belinda cracked her gum. “So what’s the deal, are you trying to sell your house and not getting any bites? Join the club.”
Now she had his attention. “Are that many people leaving? There seems to be a lot of building going on.”
“People are either determined to stay or determined to leave. It all depends. So what’s holding you up?”
“It’s complicated.” Did people really spill their guts to complete strangers in this town? He never had conversations like this with the guy at the convenience store below his apartment building. He liked Belinda all right, but he wasn’t sure he wanted a heart-to-heart with her.
“Hold your cards close to your chest, don’t you? That’s okay. We all got personal shit going on. I won’t even ask you about all the sugar.”
Adam smiled. “Two bags for me. Two for a friend.”
“Sweet on her, are ya?” Belinda winked at him.
He chuckled. Not likely.
“If you ask me,” Belinda went on. “The government should buy us all out and bulldoze the town. Everyone should move someplace where the firefighters have a chance to put out the fire and where residents can get out safely. There’s only one road in and out of this place. It was cut off in three spots. People were trapped.”
“But there were warnings of extreme fire danger,” Adam said. “People should have left earlier.”
“Maybe so. But folks have a legal right to stay and defend their property.” Belinda stacked the last grocery bag in the cart and rang up the total. “That’ll be one hundred and fifty-five dollars and twenty-eight cents. Any cash out?”
Adam handed over his credit card, then checked his wallet. He had only sixty dollars on him. “I’ll have an extra hundred, thanks.”
She rang it through and passed him two fifty-dollar bills. Adam dropped them both into the bushfire rebuilding donation jar on the counter. “I can’t believe the town is relying on spare change to fund a new community center.”
“There’s a long list of stuff that needs replacing. The primary school, the maternal health clinic, half the police station...” Belinda shrugged. “It’s all going to take time, I guess. They have to start somewhere.”
He threw in another fifty from his wallet, leaving himself ten dollars.
Belinda’s eyes widened. “Thanks, er...”
“Adam.” He gathered up his bags. “Nice to meet you, Belinda.”
“Same.” She grinned widely. “See you around.”
“I hope not.” When she looked surprised, he added, “If I don’t, it’ll mean you sold your house and got out.”
Belinda laughed and cocked a finger at him. “Gotcha.”
Adam piled the groceries into the car and continued on down the main street, brooding on the state of the town. Nine months on there was still the faint whiff of burned wood in the air. Or was that his imagination?
He wasn’t a coward, dammit. People like him and Belinda were being sensible. Why didn’t more townsfolk cut their losses and start new lives elsewhere?
Spying the real estate office, he parked out front and went inside.
A balding man with a perfectly pressed dark suit and a white smile rose from behind a desk, buttoning his jacket. He held out a hand. “G’day. Mort Brooks. What can I do for you?”
“Adam Banks. I live out of town at a place called Timbertop. Diane Banks is my ex-wife. I believe she used to work for you.”
“Yes, nice to meet you,” Mort said. “I was sorry Diane had to leave. Although business isn’t exactly booming so it’s probably for the best. How is she? How’s her mother doing?”
Seemed like the whole town knew your business if you spent any amount of time in the place. To be fair, Mort genuinely seemed to care, and that was kind of nice. “As well as can be expected. She hasn’t had the operation yet.”
“If you talk to her, tell her I said hey.”
“Will do.” Adam glanced around the empty office. “Diane doesn’t plan on returning to Hope Mountain, and I don’t intend to stay long. I’d like to have Timbertop valued and put up for sale this summer.”
Mort’s smile dimmed. “You and a hundred other folks in the area. Nothing’s moving in this glutted market.”
“My place isn’t burned. It’s intact. Great location with views, horse stables and paddocks, five acres...” He trailed away as Mort, looking more like a funeral director than a Realtor, shook his head glumly.
“I’ll value it for you and I can put it on the market, no problem. But fantastic properties are going at bargain-basement prices. The question you have to ask yourself is—are you willing to take a bath on the place?”
Adam thought about it for all of five seconds. “I’ll take whatever I can get for it. It’ll be worthless to me if it burns to the ground.”
“Is it insured?” Mort asked.
“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t rebuild.” He dragged a hand over the back of his neck. What if he was stuck with this white elephant? It wouldn’t hurt him too much financially, but the house was part of Diane’s divorce settlement and she would need another place to live. Morally speaking, he didn’t owe her another house, but he still felt responsible for her. And of course he was responsible for Summer.
Unless Summer could be persuaded to live with him.
He hadn’t realized until he’d come back to Hope Mountain just how much he missed his daughter and how nice it was to have her around, even in her black moods. They’d grown estranged over the past year and he wanted to reconnect. If she moved to Sydney with Diane he’d have an even harder time seeing her.
But she would stay with him if he kept Timbertop....
No way. The trees hadn’t suddenly grown asbestos bark.
Mort made a note in his day planner, a big book open on the desk. “I’ll come out next week and take photos. You never know. There are people picking up properties simply because they’re cheap. And there’s talk of a government buy-back scheme. You might qualify.”
“Can you time your visit during school hours? My daughter doesn’t know yet that I’m planning to sell.”
“No worries.”
No worries. He wished. Not telling Summer his intentions felt like a betrayal. Would she want to live with him after he sold the home she loved—even if he was doing it for her own good?
He drove back through town past the many construction sites. The townsfolk determined to rebuild were misguided. It was like building on a flood plain or in an earthquake zone. Just plain dumb. And yet people did it over and over again—that was how strongly they felt about a certain geographical location they called home.
A tiny part of him admired their resolve. Maybe he just wished he had a place that felt like home no matter what. Having a father in the armed forces, he’d been uprooted as a child more times than he could remember. The closest he’d come to a permanent home had been his grandparents’ farm. He and his brothers had spent most summers there with his mom while his dad was serving overseas.
Later, after he’d married, he and Diane had owned two houses in the city. Diane was into decorating, and they’d felt more like showrooms than homes. Give him a lived-in look any day. His apartment...well, he didn’t spend enough time there for it to look lived in.
Someday he would build his dream home. He’d designed it in his head many times, changing small details as he refined his ideas. It would be by the ocean, with a special place for him to put his drafting table. Mostly he worked on computers, but he still liked drawing by hand. The house would be filled with light from floor-to-ceiling windows. Bifold doors would o
pen the house to the elements and let out onto a huge deck looking onto the water.
He pulled into the parking lot next to the distribution center and unloaded two bags of groceries. He carried them through the group of people milling in front of the counter. One half of the tent was given over to clothing, kitchenware and smaller items like books and even CDs. In the back were the major appliances. A man was trying to wrestle a fridge off a dolly and into place next to a washing machine.
Adam caught the eye of a fifty-something woman who was volunteering behind the counter. “Where do I put these?” he asked.
“I’ll take them.” She peered into one of the bags. “Meat, eggs, cheese... Fantastic. Thank you so much, er...?”
“Adam Banks. No big deal.” He nodded at the man with the fridge. “He looks like he could use a hand. Should I?”
“Oh, please do. There’s a whole truckload of heavy appliances to bring in. People have been so generous that some days we don’t have enough manpower to sort and store stuff.”
Adam thought of his own groceries growing warm in the trunk of his car. It wasn’t a hot day. How long could it take to unload a truck? The milk and meat would keep for an hour. Too bad about the ice cream. “How do I get back there?”
* * *
HAYLEY PARKED HER truck in the main street, on the diagonal, outside Molly’s Gift Shop Café. Shane sat up beside her in the passenger seat. He went everywhere with her, and she was especially glad of his moral support today. Sensing her discomfort, he put a paw on her leg and gave her a soulful look.
She ruffled the fur around his neck. “I’m okay, Shane. Just girding my loins, so to speak.”
Working with horses was what she did—lessons, trail rides, therapy. Selling postcards and pouring coffee was a big step backward, to the days before she’d found a way to make a living working with horses and being outdoors.
Being in town wouldn’t be so bad. At least there were the cheerful sounds of rebuilding going on. The clock tower in the middle of the main street had already been repaired and colorful petunias had been planted around its base. The pub on the corner was nearly ready to welcome locals back for counter meals and karaoke nights. It would be good for her to be around people more often.
