“So who’s going to look after her now?”
“Honestly, I don’t know yet,” Raco had said. “But we’ll make sure she’s all right, Zara.”
“Yeah. Okay. Good.” Zara had looked relieved, then she’d shrugged. “I actually don’t think she looks too much like Rohan, you know. She reminds me more of Mum.”
It had taken nearly thirty-six hours to recover Kim’s remains from the bushland below the lookout. The dense terrain had challenged even experienced searchers as a team had attempted to navigate a way through. When the first night had fallen with still no news, Falk had felt his own doubts start to creep in. But he’d think again about that drive from Melbourne to Marralee. Pulling up at the lookout beside another car, finding Rohan Gillespie there. What had Falk seen? A grieving husband and father, taking a break to care for his young daughter and stare at the view? A controlling and violent man, composing himself at the scene of his worst act, before pulling down his mask? Falk would picture that single moment and feel sure that the team would uncover what they were all searching for.
Finally, they had. Kim Gillespie, lost for so long, was at last found. It was only then, Falk heard, that Rohan had started talking.
“Zara seemed okay, actually,” Joel said now. He turned his head and squinted out at the reservoir, the water bright with reflected light. “Sort of better, even. Better than she’s been for a while, at least. She said the visit this morning went well.”
“Yeah, it did,” Falk said. “It was needed, I think.”
In the early predawn chill, every present member of the Raco family had gathered on the driveway outside Charlie’s house. Falk had joined them as they’d driven in convoy up to the lookout, the darkness close around them. They’d arrived in time for first light, getting out of their cars at the end of the thin track and standing together in the clearing. Falk had seen Raco reach out, as always, for Rita.
Charlie had walked over to the edge of the lookout alone. He’d stared down at the dense bushland below, then covered his face and cried. His brothers had joined him, standing on either side, their heads close and their hands on his back as they spoke in soft, low voices. Eventually, Charlie had straightened and wiped his face.
“Hey, do you remember that terrible old bike Kim used to ride?” he’d said suddenly. “The one she had that first day we saw her?”
“I remember it still took you bloody long enough to catch her on it,” Raco had said, and Ben had grinned.
“Yeah. That’s true.” Charlie had smiled, too. “Worth it, though.”
They’d stayed up on the lookout and swapped stories as the sky lightened around them. Charlie had taken the lead, his memories spilling out. What he’d said to Kim when he’d finally caught up with her all those years ago, how she’d quickly become his favorite person, their happiness when their daughter was born, the way Kim used to sing made-up songs to Zara as a toddler. Zara had laughed in unexpected delight at that, brushing away her own tears as she nodded. She remembered that, and other things as well. So they’d all taken turns, standing in the clearing and reliving their favorite times with Kim, while the little kids had played on a picnic rug at their feet and the sun rose over the hills behind them.
Falk, who hadn’t known Kim, had simply listened. When invited, he’d spoken briefly and from the heart about how lucky he thought Kim had been to have had all these people in her life. Lots of good people who cared about her and each other.
“Yeah, Zara reckons it was really nice in the end,” Joel said now as he leaned against the barrier, his back to the Drop.
“It was,” Falk said. “They’re working out the funeral details, but it was good to do something like that just for—”
He stopped, a little unsure how to finish.
“Yeah, just for family,” Joel said, like it was obvious.
Falk started to correct him, but then stopped. Maybe that was right. “Anyway,” he said. “Let’s get started, hey?”
He handed Joel a screwdriver, and they crouched to open the paint can at Falk’s feet. Falk pulled a couple of brushes out of a bag and together they set to work. They painted side by side as the sun grew heavier in the sky. The shadows of the graffiti marks were still there, despite their earlier cleaning efforts, and there was something deeply satisfying about seeing them disappear as the paint restored the barrier to a clear, smooth white. After a while, Falk stopped and found a cloth to wipe a stray speck from the plaque.
In memory of Dean Tozer. Loved and missed.
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.