Part of her wanted to knock on the front door to emphasise her visitor status, but it was a long walk from the back of the house and no matter how furious she was with William, he would be on crutches. She didn’t want him to walk further than necessary so she walked around the side of the house, opened the squeaky gate and entered the cottage garden. The scent of lavender hit her nostrils and she breathed in deeply, trying to use its calming properties. To her left, an enormous grapevine grew over a frame, providing shade to what William had always called ‘their outdoor living room’.
Her gaze extended beyond the deck, through the large, glass doors and into the kitchen. She saw William sitting at the long, Baltic pine table, with crutches resting on one end as well as a cane. A book lay in front of him, and he held a glass in his hand. Her heart rolled over despite itself. When had he got old? The last time she’d seen him his hair had had flecks of silver streaking through the black. Now all his hair was silver grey.
Go in, talk to him, and make sure he’s okay.
She tossed her head as she grumbled quietly to herself. ‘Yes, I’m going inside but after that, I’m checking into the motel.’
Blowing out a breath, she tried to capture a semblance of composure because everything to do with William always generated a mass of contradictory feelings. She rolled her shoulders back, raised her hand, knocked and walked in.
‘Hello, William.’
The man she’d called her father for twenty-six years looked up from his book, shock draining his face of colour. ‘Lucy.’ He stared at her and blinked, as if he didn’t believe his eyes, and then slowly his mouth curved up into a wide and familiar smile. ‘What a wonderful surprise.’
She bit her lip, not knowing what to say because ‘Just passing through, thought I’d drop in’ didn’t allow for the seven hundred kilometre journey from Perth. She tilted her head toward the crutches. ‘You’ve been in the wars.’
He raised his leg, the cast white against the dark material of his trousers, and gave a self-deprecating grimace. ‘Came off my bike dodging a kangaroo. Big red hopped away and now I’m hopping too.’
His humour circled her like it always had—warm and loving—but she refused to give in to it because being a doctor was so much easier than the minefield of being his daughter. ‘So I see. Any other damage besides a fractured tibia?’
His smile faded slightly. ‘How do you know I have a fractured tibia? I haven’t mentioned what bones I broke.’
Busted. But she had no qualms telling him the truth because she had no need to protect the source, especially given what had happened. ‘Your Spanish doctor emailed me.’
For some reason her face felt suddenly hot, which was crazy because she hadn’t even said the man’s name. However, since she’d stormed out of the clinic, each time she’d thought about the raven-haired, accented doctor, this heat-fest flared inside her. She wanted it to stop.
‘He’s not Spanish. He’s from Argentina.’ William’s face sagged, making him look more haggard than ever. ‘So, the only reason you’re in Bulla Creek is because Marco asked you to come?’
She shrugged trying not to let his palpable hurt touch her. She was hurting too, only her reason was much bigger and more life-altering than his. ‘I’m here to make sure you’re getting the right medical care.’
This time William shrugged and when he spoke his voice held the well-modulated tone of a country GP giving a report to a colleague. ‘You can set your mind at ease immediately. Marco is more than competent and the break wasn’t complicated, but even so he insisted on me going to Geraldton to see Jeremy Lucas, the orthopod. As you can see, I’m doing well and I’ve graduated to a walking stick.’
She wanted to believe him, but evidence to the contrary was in front of them. ‘So why the crutches?’
‘I was tired tonight after more walking more than usual so I’ve been using crutches. If you don’t believe me about the break, you can look at the X-rays if you wish.’
‘Dr Rodriguez wouldn’t let me look at anything.’
He frowned again. ‘You’ve been to the clinic?’
She shifted on her feet realising there was absolutely nothing wrong with her father’s lightning-quick brain. It was a good thing except when it pertained to her. ‘I had to drive past the clinic to get here so it made sense to call in first.’
You’re big on self-delusion today.
She kept talking to silence her conscience. ‘But like I said, he wouldn’t give me any information and he told me in no uncertain terms …” she found herself gently stroking the tops of her arms and dropped her hands away fast ‘… that I had to talk to you.’
‘As it should be.’ His lips twitched. ‘Still, I imagine that would have been very frustrating for you.’ The words held the type of understanding that only came from knowing someone for a very long time, and they held a slight hint of censure.
‘It was.’ She braced herself, expecting him to say something about the fact she hadn’t spoken to him in months.
He cleared his throat. ‘As you can see I’m doing fine and the cast comes off in a few days. Sharon comes in each day to cook and clean just as she has all year, and Sue calls in as well. There’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about.’
William rose to his feet and ignoring the crutches used his cane to rest against. ‘Cup of tea?’
She hesitated, rationalising that he sounded fine and he seemed to have everything organised without her help so she didn’t have to stay.
He doesn’t look fine. He looks tired, old and sad.
She didn’t want to think about that because it tempted her to question the decision she’d made months ago. ‘Um … thanks, but it’s been a long day and … um … I still need to check into the motel.’
‘The motel?’ William’s movement stalled and his face paled. ‘Lucy, you know you always have a room here if you want or need it.’ He stared at her silently, not asking her to stay in words but with his hazel eyes which filled with quiet hope.
She swallowed, trying to hold herself together as the long drive, her horrible last two days and the fracas in the clinic slammed into the comforting scent of bergamot, fresh mint and leather-bound books—some of the many fragrances that defined her childhood. Despite the catastrophic disclosure that had changed everything, despite her anger and confusion regarding William and Bulla Creek, the aromas of yesteryear pulled at her strongly, upending her plan of a quick, clinical visit.
Fatigue clawed at her like sticky mud on boots and the thought of having to deal with the questioning looks of Loretta, the gossipy motel owner, was more than she could bear. She was a grown-up, not a child, and surely she could get through one night in this house with all its ghosts. One night of duty to really make sure William was doing as well as he said.
She sank into the comforting depths of the chesterfield before she could talk herself out of it and said, ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’
Lucy squinted against the bright sunlight which poured into her bedroom through the now thin and faded pink curtains. She flipped onto her side, pulling
