5
Camila
Never in my life did I think the day would take such a radical turn. And when I say “turn,” I mean having Darana Calloway—the woman who hates me the most in all of Australia, on planet Earth, and in the neighboring galaxies—sitting in the driver’s seat just a few inches away from me.
The silence inside the Ford Ranger is absolute.
I stay pressed up against the passenger-side window, with my hat casting a shadow—what a rich vocabulary I have today—so she won’t notice that I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye, while my right foot keeps tapping frantically against the floor.
It’s a lifelong nervous tic as I try to convince myself that everything is going to turn out all right.
After all, she’s just doing me a favor by guiding me through the twenty-seven hectares of Birdsong Hills for my preliminary visual inspection.
There’s nothing wrong with sharing a little oxygen, right?
Well, actually, there is. Because I feel like I can’t breathe.
To break the ice that threatens to freeze my eyelashes, I clear my throat and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind:
“I’m glad you’ve carried on the family legacy, to be honest. You can tell all the changes have your personal touch.”
Darana doesn’t bat an eye. She keeps her hands firmly on the steering wheel, devouring the distance amid clouds of dust clinging to the windows.
“Elizabeth and I have kept it going as best we could,” she says with a coldness that stings me. “All of this was supposed to be Elijah’s, but that’s just how things are. Not all of us can go far away, take off, and fulfill our dreams as if everyone else didn’t exist.”
Great. I knew full well this wasn’t going to be a pleasant little drive through the countryside.
“Yeah… I’m sorry,” I murmur, swallowing hard.
I’d love to get inside her head to find out what the hell she’s really thinking.
I bet she’s wondering whether I regret leaving, abandoning my ex-husband, or not sticking around when things got ugly around here.
I can see Darana’s jaw tense. I’d bet anything she’s holding back the urge to yell at me that she’s not the least bit happy about my triumphant return and that studying the storms in the area isn’t going to magically erase the months of drama and drunkenness she had to put up with because of Elijah after our breakup.
The truck lurches forward, bouncing violently over the uneven terrain and sending me flying in my seat.
“The new feeders are on the right,” she says, breaking the tension as she points out the landmarks. “And farther on, across the creek, is the geranium plantation, near where the cows are. I don’t want you or your team messing up that land. Is that clear, Bennet?”
“Perfectly, Miss Calloway,” I reply, jotting down the information in my notebook—the only equipment I’ve brought for this initial visit, aside from my portable anemometer.
I have to admit—even if only to myself and under the seal of confidentiality—that Birdsong Hills is absolutely spectacular and that it screams Darana’s name from every corner. Her obsession with control and her studies in agricultural management are evident in every nook and cranny.
We climb a small hill, and in the distance, I spot the main barns. On one side, the damage from the collapse on that fateful night is still clearly visible. Immediately, my stomach lurches.
“You’ve done a great job here, Ran…” “Darana,” I correct myself immediately when I see her glaring at me through the rearview mirror.
“We do what we have to do to survive,” she declares.
The next moment, she jerks the wheel to the left so sharply that I almost spit out the croissant I’m still trying to digest. The truck screeches to a halt in front of a weathered wooden fence, kicking up a tremendous cloud of dust. The Ford Ranger’s engine dies with a sigh.
Darana leans back against the seat, glances at me out of the corner of her eye, and flashes that smile—which is anything but friendly and more of a venomous challenge.
“If you’re so eager to get started,” she says mockingly, “I think the northern area will be a good place for you to begin taking notes and planning where you’re going to run your cables.”
“What a way to put it.”
“Well, Miss Calloway, how generous of you,” I reply, holding her gaze with equal calm. “I hope your cows don’t mistake my future sensors for grass when I set up the equipment. It would be a real shame if my valuable scientific instruments ended up as ruminant droppings.”
Her eyes flash with a dangerous gleam. And the air inside the vehicle becomes stifling.
“If they do, it’ll be a good durability test for your technology,” she replies without losing her composure. “Although, knowing you, I’m sure you have a Plan B. You’ve always had a Plan B for running away from problems, haven’t you?”
She’s really pushing my buttons.
I narrow my eyes and open the door before throwing professionalism to the wind and jumping on her to strangle her.
The highland heat hits my face the moment I set foot on the ground. I sling the strap of the portable anemometer over my shoulder, clamp my notebook firmly under my arm, and head down the path toward that damn northern enclosure. I can feel her gaze fixed on my backside as I walk away.
“The northern fence is just a few yards away!” she yells at me from the car, as if I were stupid and didn’t know how to find my way or didn’t remember these parts. “I don’t think you’ll get lost, but if you need someone to go with you so you don’t get eaten by a bug…”
“Don’t worry,” I shout back without turning around, raising a hand. “I can read maps. And clouds. I’ve been doing this on my own for years.”
· · ·
Stepping onto the land makes me feel alive, even though the sun is roasting the back of my neck.
I tuck my hair behind my ears as I walk—I curse myself for leaving my hat in the car—and when I finally reach the damn northern enclosure, I understand why she assigned it to me: it’s the most uncomfortable, exposed, hot, and problematic spot in all of Birdsong Hills. Just like Darana.
I sit down on a dry log, place the portable anemometer next to me so it can record the wind gusts in the area, and open my notebook.
It’s the same notebook I’ve been using ever since I got the job.
It’s full of notes, storm diagrams, and little drawings of clouds that I make when I’m bored or need to concentrate.
I start jotting down the geographic coordinates of the optimal spots where Ethan, Kira, and I will set up the relay stations over the next few days.
I’m completely absorbed in my work, frowning and pressing my tongue against the inside of my cheek, cut off from the rest of the world. A serious mistake in these parts. Because suddenly, I feel a sharp, violent tug that yanks the notebook right out of my hands.
“What the hell…?”
When I turn around, I’m stunned. A damn gray donkey with gigantic ears, a suspiciously smug look on his face, and his jaw moving from side to side… is chewing on my notebook.
“It can’t be…” I murmur, dumbfounded.
The animal does it with heavenly composure. And suddenly, I realize that my data is turning into mush inside his mouth.
“Hey! HEY!” I yell, jumping so high I almost drop the anemometer. “Spit that out, you big mule! That’s not alfalfa, damn it!”
The donkey stares at me with his big, placid eyes, as if to say, “Well, it’s tasty, lady.” Then he takes a step back.
“Don’t you dare…” I warn him, stepping toward him with my hands outstretched, trying to look intimidating.
The beast turns around with astonishing agility and breaks into a trot.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening to me!
“Come back here, you four-legged criminal!”
And there I am. Camila Bennet, a scientist at the Institute of Meteorology, running like a madwoman through the middle of an Australian pasture after a kleptomaniac donkey, dodging bushes, jumping over holes in the ground, and feeling the sweat make my shirt stick to my back in the most undiva-like way possible.
“Drop that!” I yell at him, gasping from the effort. “It’s science, for God’s sake, and it costs money!”
The traitor seems to be having the time of his life. He takes a playful little hop, kicks up his hind legs, and picks up the pace.
“I swear, if you’ve ruined my graph page, I’ll turn you into mortadella!” I threaten, desperate.
I trip over a rock, slip badly on a patch of loose dirt, and slide in a way worthy of an ice rink, but miraculously manage to regain my balance by flapping my arms like a dizzy duck. I can’t take a massive fall right here. Mainly because, when I look up, I see the Ford Ranger in the distance.
And leaning against the hood, arms crossed, her hat tilted to one side, with a smile stretching from ear to ear across her face, is Darana. Watching the whole spectacle from the front row.
Of course. Of course she had to be there to witness my public humiliation.
“Don’t just stand there enjoying the show!” I yell at the top of my lungs without stopping my pursuit of the donkey. “Do me a favor and get your butt over here to help me!”
Darana doesn’t bat an eye. She just lets out a burst of laughter that I can hear perfectly from a distance.
Luckily, the donkey decides he’s run enough for today and comes to a screeching halt near the truck. I approach him slowly, hands held out in front of me, panting as if I’d just run a full marathon in the desert.
“That’s it… good boy…” I plead in a faltering voice. “Drop the notebook… be a decent donkey… come on…”
The animal looks at me, bored with the game, and opens his jaws, letting the notebook fall to the ground. I dive for it, pick it up, and examine it. It’s covered in drool and teeth marks, and the edges of several pages are completely torn. It could be worse, I suppose, but it’s a mess.
I close my eyes, clutching the notebook to my chest.