Sometimes the blood.
Sometimes both.
This morning, in my father’s bedroom, the air is thick with the scent of flowers.
The room is empty. Colleen came over with her big rubbish bags, holding them open while I dumped in everything that belonged to my father. She gave me space when I needed it, letting me take my time with each object, an emotional anchor.
Before she left, she paused at the front door and asked if she could visit more often. I said I’d like that very much.
“I think Trav wants to drop by, too,” she said carefully.
I don’t tell her that he already does. That my windows are crowded with his love letters. That we meet in the Wicked Woods for a hot collision of teeth and flesh that leaves my brain fizzing. I don’t tell her that he is patient and indulgent while I am sick with need. And I don’t show her the teeth bracelet he made for me. Molars and incisors and canines all polished to a smooth shine.
I love it.
I bring my phone up to my face, re-reading the most viewed news article of the day, published this morning.
The outlaw ocean: Murder, illegal shark fishing, abalone poaching, and a thirty-year missing person case, solved
Kangaroo Bay: A Lawless Frontier
Trident Magazine
April 7, 2024
Jessie comes bounding in, football crammed in her mouth. I smile, slinging my arm around her, tucking my chin atop her head. I stare up at the windowsill where a trophy is set alight by sunlight.
Heath Greenwood
Surf Lifesaver of the Year
Maybe he’s a villain in someone else’s story. But he’ll never be in mine.
Jess drops the chewed football in my lap, and I think of the fish postcard that arrived last week, and the two lines scribbled on the back:
I love you so much.
No trout about it!
Last month, I went back to Newcastle. Heath and I fished side by side on the back beaches as Jonah stood between us, clutching his rod with both hands, barely able to keep it steady. His line lurched, and my nephew instinctively pulled back, his movements jerky but determined. Heath coached him through it, and I cheered him on as he reeled the fish to shore. His first.
It meant a lot that I was there to watch it.
Actually, it meant everything.
There is no mention of my brother in this article. There never will be. They raided Terry’s place and seized eleven thousand abalone, at an estimated street value of $250,000.
Terry Hargrave pleaded guilty to fourteen charges of possessing, receiving, and consigning abalone and three charges of illegally hunting great white sharks. He received a lifetime fishing banAustralia-wide and was sentenced to four years’ imprisonment. He’ll probably be out in two.
Soon enough, he’ll be back, sitting at the bar of the Roo Bay pub, a hero to Heath and Trav because Terry took all the blame and never dobbed them in. I forgive him now for that. Whatever debt I felt he owed us has been paid. For good.
Heath’s talking about coming home. Jonah starts school next year. Heath wants him fishing our beaches, diving off the pier with his mates, and learning how to skipper theDeep Sea.Tara’s coming around to the idea.
I told him that as long as the shark fishing business is over for good, I’d like that. I’d like to be here to watch it all. Next week, I have an interview with the Pine Bay newspaper. I wish I could tell Chris.
I carry the heaviness of his loss with me. Sometimes it’s a constant ache, a sadness that shows up without warning. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all real. After Chris’s death, the town faced a media flood. For weeks after, reporters parked outside the petrol station, snapping photos, standing breathlessly on the shore, gesturing sadly to the water. The town became a sort of morbid landmark.
The locals did what they always do. Closed ranks. Stopped talking. They wanted their silence back. Their town back. But with the VFA tightening its grip on the coastline, some of the blood men vanished overnight, forced to abandon their abalone trade before the law caught up. One of the men who left was Steven Newton, Luke’s dad. The reporters camped outside his house every morning, shouted his name when he stepped outside. Shouted things like “How does it feel, having a killer for a son?”
