Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(112)

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.

“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, and her 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.”