Falk looked over at Joel.
“I’m sorry none of this gave you any more answers about your dad, mate.”
Joel shrugged, but his paintbrush slowed against the surface. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Falk said. “It’s still shit.”
Joel smiled at that, despite himself. “Yeah. It is, a bit.”
“Sometimes things are. For what it’s worth, I always think no one really gets away with something like this.” Falk nodded at the memorial. “Not really.”
“They have, though.”
“I dunno. Having to live with it, knowing what you did. Worse than facing up to it, I reckon. But still,” Falk said, “I get it. It’s hard, not knowing.”
They worked together in silence for another minute, then Joel took a breath.
“What if I never find out?” His voice was quiet, and Falk shook his head.
“I’m not sure. Realistically, that might be the case now. I think all you can do is try to focus on what’s ahead. Try not to let it hold you back from all the good stuff waiting for you. Because, honestly”—Falk stopped until the boy looked up; he wanted Joel to know he meant this—“there’s a lot of good stuff ahead for you, mate.”
Joel didn’t reply but at least seemed to be considering that as he carefully painted around the plaque itself, his face relaxing for once as he concentrated on the immediate task in front of him.
They worked on, listening to the rustle and call of the bushland and the gentle wash of the water below as the warm air helped dry the paint. It had been a while since Falk had done something like this, but he was enjoying the task. It reminded him of painting fences around the farm in Kiewarra with his dad as a kid. Whatever bad times there had been over the years, he found he was remembering the good times a lot more lately.
Amid everything, it seemed Charlie had gone straight home after their conversation in the main street earlier that week and, true to his word, had emailed Falk some figures. What it might look like if he came on board at the vineyard with Charlie and Shane. Falk had looked at the numbers, then closed the email. He’d thought about it for a while, then opened it up and looked at them more closely. He had done some sums on a piece of paper. Tried again. Got the same answer each time. He had closed the email once more. He hadn’t opened it since.
“Hey, here they come,” Joel said now, glancing back along the track.
Falk wiped his paintbrush and turned at the sound of barking. Luna was racing down the path toward them with Gemma following some distance behind, her hair catching the light. She raised a hand and broke into a smile as she saw them.
“So, this is what you’re both up to?” When she reached them, she ran her eyes over the clean, fresh barrier. “Wow. Great job. I’ve honestly never seen this look better.” She flashed a smile at Falk. “You know this is technically private property. Owners’ permission pending, I’m guessing?”
“Something like that.” He smiled back. “I thought, what’s the worst that can happen? They send someone along later to do a better job than us?”
“Strategic rebellion. I like it.” Gemma ran a hand over the plaque, careful not to touch the paint. She turned to Joel. “And what do you reckon? Do you think your dad would be happy?”
“Yeah.” Joel shrugged. “Probably. But…” He paused, concentrating on wiping away a stray drip. “I dunno. I’ve been kind of thinking about what you said a while ago.”
“Really?” Gemma looked up, surprised. “What was that?”
“Just about how Dad’d be happy if I was happy.” Joel still didn’t look at her, focusing hard on his brush. “I was thinking maybe you’ve got a point about that.”
“Right.” Gemma looked at Falk over the boy’s bowed head, andher eyebrows lifted toward her hairline. She mostly managed to suppress the delight in her voice. “Well. Yes. I mean, it’s a thought to mull over, I suppose.”
She watched Joel for a moment longer, then put her arms around his angular frame and squeezed. A quick, tight hug that Joel returned, smiling a little to himself as she let him go.
Gemma turned back to Falk, her hand reaching out instinctively for his. He could feel her palm warm and dry against his own and hear the soft in-out of her breath. She stood close to him, her shoulder solid against his own.
“So,” she said. Falk’s eyes met hers. “What now?”
38SIX MONTHS LATER
Falk stared at the computer screen and scanned the report in front of him, frowning at a couple of the numbers. He clicked open a second spreadsheet to see the corresponding figures, then did a quick calculation in the margin of the notebook in front of him.
Check this,he wrote, circling the results. The office was quiet around him, and he glanced at the time. It was later than he’d thought. Falk rubbed his eyes, switched off the computer, and stood, stretching. He gathered up his keys and stepped out from behind the desk.
“Luna.” He whistled softly, and she followed him out of the office, waiting at Falk’s feet while he locked the door behind them.
