weather had thankfully cooled slightly—enough that Phoebe felt the need for a light sweater one night. She had planned on putting up the tree over the weekend, but on Sunday she had slept in and read some patient notes to prepare for Monday’s surgical schedule, so it was still packed away.
Ken invited her over on Wednesday for ‘hump day takeout’. This time it was just the four of them. And that night Heath took the seat next to her.
Oscar smiled at his grandpa.
And his grandpa hoped Heath was taking his advice on board.
They chatted about work, and then about their lives outside of work. The conversation between Heath and Phoebe continued on the patio as a light breeze picked up and Oscar was tucked up in bed.
‘Does it feel like second nature, being in Adelaide now?’ he asked.
‘It does. In fact this whole experience is strange in that it feels almost like déjà-vu in familiarity. Your family are wonderful—so down-to-earth and welcoming.’
Phoebe looked out across the garden from the wicker chair where she sat. The landscaping wasn’t modern and manicured, like Tilly’s, it was more like a scene from The Secret Garden. The flowerbeds were overflowing with floral ground cover, large old trees with low-hanging branches lined the perimeter of the generous-sized property, and there was an uneven clay brick pathway leading to an archway covered in jasmine.
It was beautiful and timeless and she felt so very much at home in Ken’s house. All that was missing, she thought, was a Christmas tree and a hearth in the living room. The hearth would never happen in temperatures over one hundred degrees, but perhaps she could work on bringing a little bit of Christmas to the three men who lived there.
‘My family have their moments,’ Heath told her.
‘Don’t they all? But yours don’t appear to interfere in your life, which is great.’
Heath shook his head. ‘Believe me, they try—but I put a stop to it quickly.’ Then he paused. ‘The way you said that sounded a little Freudian. Am I to gather that your family does?’
Phoebe ran her hand along the balustrade next to her. ‘Sometimes.’
Heath sat down in the armchair next to hers. ‘Did they try to interfere in your decision to come to Australia?’
Phoebe rolled her eyes and sipped her soda and lime as she recalled the last conversation she’d had with her mother, by the waiting cab.
‘I’m taking your expression to be a yes,’ Heath commented.
‘Well, a yes to my mother—but my father was supportive from the get-go,’ she said, putting the glass down on the table.
‘Why was that?’
‘He knew I needed a break from Washington and he wanted to help.’
‘But your mother didn’t think you needed a break?’
‘Hardly …’ she lamented. ‘She wanted me to stay and work it out.’ Phoebe instantly realised that she had said too much, but the words were already out.
‘Work what out?’ he asked, leaning forward in the chair with a perplexed look on his face.
‘Oh, just things … You know—things that she thought needed to be worked through and I thought needed to be walked away from.’
‘No, I can’t say I do know what you mean, Phoebe.’
She sighed. She knew she had to elaborate, but she had no intention of going into all of the detail. ‘Relationship issues. Some of those just can’t be sorted out.’
‘With another family member?’
‘No, thank God—he never made it into the family.’
‘Ah … so an issue with a man, then?’
‘Yes, with a man.’
‘So you ran away to the colonies of Australia to get away from a man?”
‘Uh-huh …’ she mumbled, and then, looking at the question dressing his very handsome face, she continued, ‘Now you know everything there is to know about me, it’s your turn. What is Heath Rollins’s story? Have you ever run away from anything?’
As she said it she wanted to kick herself. She knew his story, and it was a sad one that begged not to be retold. He had lost both his mother and his wife. And Phoebe suddenly felt like the most insensitive woman in the world to be asking that question.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Please ignore me.’
Heath considered her expression for a moment. There was sadness in her face, almost pity. ‘You know about my wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you know I did run away from something, then. From overwhelming grief and a gaping hole so big that I never thought it would heal.’
She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I can’t begin to know what that feels like.’
He sat back in his chair again in silence, with memories rushing to the fore. ‘Did my father let you know or was it Tilly?’ His voice was calm—not accusing, but sombre.
‘Neither,’ she answered honestly. ‘It was Oscar. He told me the other day, when we were in the garden at Tilly’s. He said that he was very little when his mother died and doesn’t remember anything. I assume he must have been a toddler.’
Heath was surprised that Oscar had opened up about it to Phoebe. He rarely spoke of his mother, and particularly not to anyone he didn’t really know.
‘He was five months old, actually—when Natasha died. He never had the chance to know his mother. To walk beside her or even to hold her hand.’
‘Oh … I don’t know what to say except that I’m so sorry, Heath.’ As she sat on the chair next to him she felt her heart breaking for him. ‘After a loss as devastating as that it must have been so hard for you to even begin to find your way through the grief and cope for the sake of your son.’
‘It was hard for all of us, watching her die. Knowing there was nothing we could do. It was the hardest time of my life and I was powerless to stop it. I felt guilty for allowing it to happen, for not making her have treatment earlier.’
Phoebe didn’t ask what had taken his wife’s life. It wasn’t for her to know. But she could see he was still wearing the guilt. ‘You can’t make a person do what you want if it’s not their wish. They have to do what is right for them, even if it’s not what we see as right. I’m sure she had her reasons for not starting treatment.’
‘Yes—Oscar was the reason. She was twenty weeks pregnant when Stage Three breast cancer was diagnosed, and although she could have safely undergone modified chemotherapy during the pregnancy she refused. She wanted to wait until she had given birth, then start the treatment but with the hormones surging through her body she understood there was a chance it would spread. But it was a risk she wanted to take. In my mind, with the oncologist’s advice, it
