Sensing him there, Gemma had looked up, then immediately down at the open rubbish bag and the jar in her hand. Guilt had flashed across her face.
“He’d never forgive me.” She’d tried to smile.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I am. I—” She’d put the jar down, out of sight. “I just can’t believe he still has this.”
The room was good enough, they’d decided, and had taken Luna for a long walk instead.
Gemma was back from yoga, and the kids were up when Falk got home from his run. He showered and changed, and they all had breakfast and coffee around the table, then put on their shoes and jackets and walked together into town. Joel took Molly off to show her around, and Falk and Gemma strolled a little farther before he kissed her goodbye outside a café, waved through the window at Naomi and a couple of her other friends, and left them to it.
Alone again, Falk wandered back up the main street with Luna, stopping for a while to browse in the bookshop. The street was busier when he reemerged, and he noticed Charlie’s truck now parked up ahead. It was locked and empty, Falk could tell as he approached, but he slowed down anyway and looked around just in case. No sign of Charlie.
Falk called to Luna and kept moving. He passed the office block where Kim Gillespie and Dean Tozer had worked as next-door neighbors, and glanced over, as he sometimes found himself doing. The businesses lay closed for the weekend, their darkened windows overlooking the passersby and the police station across the road. Falk caught his reflection in the glass. It felt like more than six months since the day he’d been standing there on the pavement and run into Charlie. When Charlie had first offered him work at the vineyard and a glimpse of the life he led now.
Falk quite often found his thoughts drifting back to that afternoon, perhaps because when he looked back now, the moment felt like a true fork in the road. Sometimes he thought he’d made his decision then, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. It had been a good decision. As he walked on now, with Luna beside him and the sun on his face, Falk knew that if he could go back, he would make exactly the same choice again. No question. Because whenever he thought back to— Falk stopped abruptly.
A woman behind bumped into him, and he apologized, stepping to the side of the pavement and out of the way. Luna followed, staring up at him as patient as ever, but Falk ignored her for once. Instead, he simply stood there, with the Saturday-morning foot traffic bustling past him and his thoughts somewhere else entirely. Eventually, he felt Luna shift at his feet, curious what they were waiting for.
“Sorry,” he said to her, but still didn’t move. Instead, he glanced onward, the way they had been heading, toward home. Then he turned and looked back down the street. Falk’s eyes fell to Luna’s and he crouched down.
“We’ll be quick,” he said, rubbing her ears. She didn’t react. “I just want to check.”
If Luna could have sighed, Falk felt she would have as she followed him back the way they’d come, walking faster this time. Charlie’s truck was gone now, but Falk slowed as he neared the spot, anyway. Thinking—yet again, but more carefully now—about that day six months earlier. He stopped outside the office spaces—31A and 31B. Now a print shop and a law firm, formerly Kim’s and Dean’s places of work. Small-town coincidence. Sergeant Dwyer had told Falk that.
Falk turned and looked at the police station over the road. He hadn’t fully believed Dwyer then, as he’d sat in the sergeant’s office, distracted by a hundred other things. But the man had been right. Falk thought for a moment longer, then whistled to Luna, and they crossed the street.
He tied her leash to the railings outside the police station, then climbed the steps and opened the door. In the reception area, he paused for another long minute, debating silently with himself while the officer behind the desk regarded him warily.
“Is Sergeant Dwyer here?” Falk said finally. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted the answer to be.
“Back in an hour or so if you want to try then. Or you can leave a message?”
“No.” Falk was already moving to leave. “It’s fine. Thanks—”
He stopped again, though, one hand on the door as the thought lingered. Falk looked back at the reception area as he turned a question over again in his mind. It was definitely possible, he thought, but he wouldn’t be able to guess. He needed someone who had been around at the time. Someone who would remember. Falk’s eyes locked on the officer behind the desk, who was watching him now with mounting suspicion.
“Actually.” Falk walked back to the desk and asked the one thing he was suddenly very keen to know the answer to. The officer frowned, clearly baffled as to why this was of any interest at all. He had to think about it, cast his mind back a few years. But in the end, he looked at Falk and nodded. Yeah. He’d been here then. And that sounded about right.
Falk had suspected it would, but he still felt a jolt at hearing the answer. “Okay. Thanks.”
Luna seemed to be able to sense something was very wrong as she followed him home, and she had to scurry fast to match his pace. Falk felt bad and slowed a little, but he didn’t stop.
The front door of the cottage was shaded by the trees, and Falk caught the familiar tang of eucalyptus as he took out his key and let himself in. The house was empty and silent, as he’d expected it to be, but he was still glad. He walked straight down the hallway to Joel’s bedroom. Not as neat as Falk and Gemma had left it, but a lot tidier than it had been.
Falk stood alone in the middle of the boy’s room and looked around. He pictured Gemma, sitting on the bed, the dusty light slicing in from the window. Rubbish bag forgotten in one hand as she concentrated on what was in the other. He made himself focus and remember. Where had she put it? He turned and began scrabbling through the desk, working fast while he was still able to cling to the image he was holding in his head.
He found the small jar rattling around at the very back of the middle drawer.
Falk held it for a long minute, turning it over in his fingers. Then he left the bedroom, moving through the quiet house to the kitchen. He opened the back door and stepped outside. He sat down in his favorite chair on the veranda and looked out at the view, the jar feeling oddly heavy in his palm. The bushland could be a thousand different colors, Falk had learned as he’d gazed out so many times now with Gemma beside him. Today, as he sat there alone, the green was full and dark.
Falk dragged his gaze away and looked down. He really was too relaxed these days, walking around with his bloody eyes closed when they should have been open. But he felt wide awake now. He turned the jar over in his hand once, then unscrewed the lid and carefully tipped the broken splinters of wood into his palm. He held them like that for what felt like a long time, making sure he was really seeing what he’d expected to see. Only when he was completely certain did he put the pieces back. One by one, tightening the lid. He lost track of how much longer he sat there, thinking about all kinds of things. The past six months. The past six years. The jar in his hand. What people will do for someone they love.
Then at last, he stood. Because he was sure, so he wanted to do this now. Before anyone came home, and he had to explain.