Tara again was like a rebirth.
Ryan had to deal with all the raw emotion, the painful memories, the turmoil of indecision he’d held inside for so long. To overcome the reality of the wretched, haunting past that intruded into his dreams, that followed him during every waking hour of every day, was a challenge he wasn’t sure he was ready for.
Did he blame himself?
How could he not?
He’d had control, he’d been at the wheel and his reflex reaction had resulted in the horrendous collision that had left Tara without the use of her legs.
The moment he’d realised Tara’s future had been snatched away from her he’d desperately wanted to turn back the clock. If he’d seen the kangaroo twenty seconds earlier, if he’d reacted faster, if the massive tree had been a few metres further along the road, if they’d left the party ten minutes earlier, if he hadn’t insisted they stop to buy a bottle of wine on the way home, if he could change places with her, if … There were so many ifs he thought he’d dealt with, but deep down he still nursed a guilt that was so sharp, it cut directly into his heart.
Visiting Tara had made him wish he’d tried harder to convince her she’d been more important to him than a career or money or a tribe of kids. He’d felt sure they could pick up the pieces, but had been rejected when Tara had told him her love had dried up. He’d been devastated, but in the end had genuinely believed he’d done what was best for them, what Tara wanted. She’d not wanted to even give him a chance to provide the love and caring he’d thought only he could give. Tara had been determined and immovable in her resolve that getting a divorce was the only way she could put the past behind her.
And, in a way, she’d been right.
She now had a fulfilled life with a satisfying job and she was more beautiful than ever. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had dozens of admirers and could have the pick of the bunch. In fact Ryan was surprised she hadn’t remarried.
But that was her business.
He had no right to interfere with what she’d worked so hard to achieve.
It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d just have to ignore the churning deep in his belly and the ache in his heart and get on with his own life. Thinking that there was even the remotest chance they could get back together was an aberration. Tara’s attitude to him had verified that.
Ryan slowed down as he reached the outskirts of the town. He suddenly felt exhausted. It had been a long day and he’d had an early start, which made the prospect of a hot cup of coffee and a soft bed very attractive.
The Riverside Motel, Tara had said.
He travelled slowly through Keysdale’s sleepy town centre until he saw a sign pointing east towards the river. After about half a kilometre the motel came into view, and he shifted his focus from ruminations about Tara to the practicalities of organising his accommodation for the night.
Two rows of tidy units nestled on the banks of the Keysdale River. Most had views of the lush green paddocks beyond and it was quiet, away from traffic noise and had an air of relaxed tranquillity about it.
He pulled up in front of the office, got out of his black sports car and stretched. He’d done too much driving that afternoon, and his right hip ached from the bursitis he got when he sat for too long. A bell above the office door tinkled as he opened it but there was no one inside. He gazed around, noting the tourist brochures advertising the history museum, a dairy called The Milk Factory, whitewater rafting and half a dozen local restaurants.
He took a double-take and grabbed a leaflet, but before he had a chance to look at it more closely a plump, middle-aged woman emerged from a back room.
She smiled and greeted him.
‘Hello, sir. Do you want a room?’
‘Yes, just for tonight.’ He explained his requirements for regular accommodation and they came to an arrangement.
‘Here’s your key. Your room’s nice and quiet with a wonderful view.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘Dinner is served from six-thirty to eight-thirty and there’s a menu in your room for breakfast orders.’
‘Thank you.’
The woman glanced at the leaflet he was still clutching in his hand.
‘Well worth a visit if you’ve time.’
‘Maybe next time,’ he said as he turned to leave.
‘Enjoy your stay, Mr Dennison.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ he said cheerily, trying to convince himself, but he knew he’d spend most of his spare time soul-searching.
Before he climbed into his car he had a closer look at the brochure.
THE MILK FACTORY.
EXPERIENCE A WORKING DAIRY FARM FIRST HAND
Ten kilometres south of Keysdale, on Hill Park Road.
He scrutinised the photo then unfolded the leaflet.
Open for tours. Devonshire teas.
10 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekends and public holidays
Dairy tours including real-life milking 3 p.m.
Proprietors: Graham and Jane Fielding
He hadn’t even noticed.
There would have been signs. How could he have missed them? He must have been so focused on seeing Tara he’d been oblivious to anything else.
But it made him think.
Were the Fieldings struggling to make ends meet?
Did Tara have to go out to work?
Did the accident have anything to do with their situation?
He felt discomfort in the pit of his stomach.
So much had changed in the years since he’d lost contact with Tara and her family. His ex-wife certainly had.
He drove to his unit, grabbed his briefcase and overnight bag and let himself in. He rummaged in a tiny cupboard above the sink, found a sachet of instant coffee and filled the kettle. When the brew was made, he opened the sliding door which led to the veranda. The setting sun cast long shadows across the river and a cow’s gentle mooing echoed in the quiet. He seemed to have the place to himself.
With time to think.
About Tara.
It was impossible to erase her, and all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her more than a decade ago, from his mind.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and her fighting spirit had not been dulled by circumstance or time.
It suddenly occurred to him that he’d found out what he needed to know—he still loved her.
But
