Twenty-Seven
Reggie was buried ten days later. The funeral was held at a church in town, and the mourners packed the pews and spilled out onto the grassy surrounds. Acacia Junction all but ground to a halt as it farewelled one of its daughters.
The wake was held afterwards at the CWA hall, with a devastated Madge Smyth firmly in charge of the refreshments.
There was bucket loads of tea and she’d corralled everyone to make one of Reggie’s dishes, the recipes for which had appeared in every Acacia Junction CWA cookbook for over five decades.
The plates were arranged on tables covered with a selection of Reggie’s tablecloths. Beside each offering, a card stated the year the recipe had been published and if it had won a show ribbon. It was a touching tribute.
Silvano was the only exception. After consulting Madge, he’d brought several trays piled high with bomboloni.
No one objected.
Later that afternoon, the family gathered at the Blairgowrie cemetery for the burial. The news of Reggie’s sudden death had been shocking for all the family and they’d travelled to Blairgowrie from far and wide to pay their respects and say goodbye to their matriarch.
Reggie’s remaining daughters—Lachlan’s Aunty Katrina and Aunty Pamela—had arrived first, but the homestead had quickly filled with McCabes.
Rowena had no idea just how vast the McCabe family tree was but, as the bunkhouse beds filled and tents were pitched, she realised it was a big old spreading oak.
While the circumstances sucked, Rowena was humbled to be so readily accepted by everyone.
News of the baby was already common knowledge, but to feel the love for Lachlan and the baby, to know that her daughter had a fabulously demonstrative family on the McCabe side who already loved her and rejoiced in her existence, had made Rowena’s heart ache.
In a good way.
It had been a loud, busy, emotional time.
The days were filled with laughter and tears, and a lot of reminiscing and photo sharing.
Reggie with a baby on her hip at the clothesline.
Albert and Reggie, neither with grey hair, grinning at the camera as they sat on a horse, three little girls squashed between them.
Lachlan as a blond, skinny ten-year-old in fringed chaps, holding Reggie’s hand at the show.
Each photo was passed to Rowena and she’d laughed at the more outrageous ones and made all the appropriate comments.
His family had embraced her and that had been simultaneously wonderful and terrifying. Because, as heartening as it was lapping up the love from his family, she felt like a fraud. Should she ingratiate herself this way when she had one foot out the door?
But … how could she not?
This was a time for family and, wherever she ended up, the baby she carried made her part of the McCabe family.
The nights were very different. Behind Lachlan’s closed bedroom door there’d been just the two of them and he’d been able to let go.
He didn’t cry again but, lying in the dark with the family shut out, he didn’t need to be strong for anybody—to comfort anybody.
He was able to give in to the emotional exhaustion, and she was happy to be the one he leaned on.
And he leaned. Holding her tight—so tight—with his hand curled possessively around her belly. Like she was an anchor. Like he needed her to breathe. She’d tried to get him to talk about Reggie, about the accident, but he hadn’t wanted to revisit that day.
He’d wanted to get through.
Because that’s apparently what Reggie would have wanted him to do. So they didn’t talk. They just lay there holding each other, his head on her belly as she stroked his hair and he fell asleep.
Thank god for Albert. Reggie tasking the older man with keeping an eye on her grandson had been a genius move and Albert was never far away. The two men spent a lot of time together drinking tea and not talking, but it was clearly restorative for both of them.
It was like their own personal homage to Reggie and, no matter what else was going on or who else joined them, it always felt like they were at a tea party for two. Or maybe for three …
The sun was dropping lower in the sky as they put Reggie in the ground, nothing but the soft sigh of a breeze ruffling through the leaves disturbing the silence in the glade.
Albert, in his grey suit, threw the first handful of dirt into the grave.
Lachlan, wearing a charcoal suit, threw the second, followed by his aunts, and then everyone else took their turn in sombre solidarity.
Rowena was the last and she threw in two. One for her, one for the baby.
Lachlan ushered her to his side, his arm around her waist as they left the cemetery via the open wrought-iron gate where Red and Blue had sat and watched the proceedings.
Albert, flanked on either side by Reggie’s daughters, walked in front of them.
He was moving a little slower, his hair seemed a little whiter, but his big frame was as erect as ever.
On foot they all made their way back to the homestead, conversation low, murmured and contemplative. Red shadowed Lachlan as they passed the yards where Ryan, Brodie and Shaun had drenched all the sheep last week, allowing the family to get on with the mourning.
God … was it only last week?
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, not really expecting an answer but enquiring anyway.
‘I don’t know.’ Lachlan shook his head. ‘She’s been with me longer than my parents were. It’s …’ He shrugged. ‘Hard to believe I’m never going to see her again.’
Rowena understood that. Reggie had been in her life comparatively briefly yet it felt alien to walk into the kitchen and not find her at the Aga.
‘Did you know she was sick?’ he asked.
Albert had told Lachlan the day after Reggie had died about the cancer. Rowena thought it had been his way to help ease Lachlan’s mind. To let him know that Reggie hadn’t been long for the world, anyway.
Lachlan hadn’t said anything much about it since, and Rowena wondered how long the question had been on his mind.
‘She told me that day, when I was with her. When you were on the phone. But not before that, no.’
He glanced at her. ‘It didn’t surprise you, though?’
‘In retrospect, no. A few things fell into place,’ she admitted. ‘Her cough. Her weight loss, which I’d only remarked on a couple of days beforehand. And I remembered later Gina mentioning she’d seen Reggie at the hospital.’
‘I wish she’d told me.’
‘She probably didn’t want you to worry. Or try and talk her into treatment.’
‘Yeah.’ He didn’t say anything for long moments as they walked side by side. ‘She’d have hated being in hospital in the city.’
‘Ooh yeah,’ Rowena agreed with a wry smile.
‘She always said the only way they were taking her out of here was in a box,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I just wish she’d got to see—’ Lachlan’s voice cracked and Rowena heard his throat work as he swallowed. ‘The baby.’
A lump thickened and pressed against her own vocal cords as Rowena leaned into him and said, ‘Me too.’ She might not know exactly what their future looked like right now, but Rowena had always pictured Reggie being in it.
Lachlan drew in an unsteady breath. ‘How do you feel about the name Reggie, for the baby? Doesn’t have to be a first name. It was my mum’s middle name, too.’
His request caught her by surprise. Not because it was left of field but because they’d studiously not talked baby names. Rowena hadn’t wanted to tempt fate.
But his suggestion felt so right in this moment. ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea.’
‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘It means a lot.’
Rowena nodded. ‘To me too.’
*
Over the following days, most of the family departed.
Rowena was in and out with work but it seemed every time she came home, another few cars had left.
A week after the funeral there was just Katrina and Pamela—their husbands had since left—who were sleeping at the homestead, and three lots of cousins and their families still in the bunkhouse.
If Lachlan and Albert minded the extra bodies, neither said. Personally, Rowena thought the company a good distraction for the two stoic men. Maybe still having family around was delaying the inevitability of an empty house, but there was nothing wrong with a slow transition, surely?
They were both back at work doing whatever it was they did all day, every day, but neither had to come home to a dark, quiet house or a cold stove. Not that they were going to have to cook for a long time with all the food donations arriving regularly from the community.
Rowena came home one afternoon after working two hours overtime, to find three of Lachlan’s little second cousins petting Shirley, giggling as she nuzzled their heads. Lachlan was with another second cousin on the veranda—Tamsin, a teenage girl—teaching her how to play the bagpipes.
Lisa, their mother, was watching it all indulgently, sitting on a blanket on the grass. They were leaving in the morning and she was clearly lapping it all up.
‘I hope you and your neighbours are prepared for the racket you’re going to have to endure if your daughter wants to continue that when she gets home,’ Rowena said as she approached.
Lisa laughed. ‘I’m not worried. Tamsin is going through a cool stage. Bagpipes out here might be okay, but I’m pretty sure they’ll be cringe’—Lisa shuddered at the term she’d obviously heard way too many times—‘with her friends.’
‘Gotta love peer pressure,’ Rowena said as she sat.
‘Busy day?’ Lisa asked.
Rowena blew out a breath, ruffling her fringe as she eased her aching legs out in front. ‘Yep.’
Of course, that was all relative. A busy day in the Acacia Junction ED was nowhere near as full-on as a shift could be when a critically ill neonate was involved. But both sure made the hours fly by.
They watched the scene in companionable silence, the strangled noise of the bagpipes their backing track, until Lisa turned a speculative gaze on Rowena.
‘So …’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘When on earth is that cousin of mine going to put a ring on it?’
In case Rowena didn’t get the meaning, she waggled her left hand. Lisa needn’t have bothered—the question, and the meaning, hit Rowena like a ton of bricks.
What the what?
‘I mean, you’re obviously crazy for each other and you’re having a baby together. I know he’s been divorced twice but we reckon you’re a keeper.’
There was so much to unpack in that statement Rowena didn’t know where to start, so she went for the lowest hanging fruit. ‘We?’ she asked faintly.
‘The family. We have a pool going.’ Lisa grinned, completely oblivious to the hot rocks of trepidation sinking to the pit of Rowena’s stomach. ‘I have a Christmas Day proposal so, if you guys have been talking about it, maybe convince him to hold off until December twenty-five, yeah?’
Right then, one of the smaller kids tried to climb up on Shirley’s back and Lisa vaulted to her feet. ‘Hey,’ she called, ‘don’t even try that, buddy,’ and she scurried over to sort the situation.
Which left Rowena reeling on the rug.
The family were betting on Lachlan proposing? It should have been a terrifying thought and it was.
But … it wasn’t?
Because she could see that life being played out in front of her now. Their daughter giggling in the yard with a pet sheep. Lachlan teaching her how to play the bagpipes. It was beautiful and real and so very tempting and that made it the most terrifying thing of all.
Because she was leaving in two weeks. For the city. Back to her job.
And that’s when Rowena realised she had to leave—now.
Not in a fortnight. Now. As soon as she could arrange it.
Because sitting here watching the kids laughing and playing with Shirley, watching Lachlan patiently tutoring, made her want things—different things—and a hot surge of panic rose like bile in her throat.
For the first time in weeks, the urge to vomit returned. She was a NICU nurse. A proud NICU nurse. That’s who she was. She thrived on the high-tech environment. On the bells and whistles. On the challenge.
And even if none of those things were true, she still had to leave.
There was this internal kind of … imperative that demanded she go back and face the music. She’d screwed up—she had to go and repair the damage. To her reputation. To the person she’d always prided herself on being.
Until she did that, she couldn’t move forward with anything in her life. It was a stubborn mental roadblock to her priorities. One she couldn’t go around or over or under.
The only way to the other side was through it.
Her heart heavy as a stone in her chest, Rowena stood, grabbed her phone from her back pocket and dialled her boss as she headed for the homestead.