Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(75)

“I can’t blame him; it was really good.” Falk held her gaze. “And hey, thank you for inviting me, by the way.”

“Thank you for coming.” She sipped her beer and glanced back at him. “It’s a very mixed message, isn’t it? I know that. I’m sorry. I just thought…” She considered for a moment. “Actually, I’m not sure what I thought. When are you leaving again?”

“Friday.”

She nodded and gave him a small sideways smile. “Maybe that was it.”

They sat together, drinking beer and watching the night for a while.

“I couldn’t find any clear weekends.” Falk finally broke the silence. “You were right.”

Gemma looked over at him. “No, well, a lot of people can’t. It’s modern life, isn’t it?”

Falk nodded. It did seem to be, at least in his experience.

“Raco and Rita think I work too much.” He frowned. He hadn’t really known he was going to say that. It was true, though. “They don’t give me a hard time about it, because they’re not like that, but I know they think I miss out on stuff.”

“And what do you think?”

“Well. I guess from their position, with their rock-solid marriage and great kids, I’d probably feel the same.” He would definitely feel the same, he suspected. “But at the same time, it kind of suits me now. Genuinely. I mean, yeah, the job has long hours and stress, but if I wasn’t getting anything out of it, why would I keep doing it? There’s a lot I really like about it.”

“Yeah?” Gemma had turned to look at him, interested. “Like what?”

“Working things out,” Falk said. He hesitated, but the night was warm and the beer was cold. “I really like that moment when you’ve been untangling something for ages—years sometimes—and it can feel like it’s all going nowhere, but then suddenly one thing changes and it’s like—” The memory of the sensation was enough to make him smile. “The world makes sense. Everything fits together and it’s so clear. I love that bit.”

“That must feel really good. Although”—she tipped her beer bottle knowingly—“I believe the official phrase you’re looking for is ‘cracking the case.’”

“Apologies, yes, I didn’t realize you were across the jargon.” He grinned and she laughed. “But yeah. That’s the one. It does feel good. Like it’s restored the balance a bit. Set something right.”

She said nothing, just watched him for a minute.

“The problem is all the late nights and weekends to reach that,” he said eventually and shrugged. “The resolution’s great, but it takes a lot to get there.”

Gemma swung her beer bottle thoughtfully between her fingers.

“I suppose there’s annoying stuff with every job,” she said. “I guess the key is knowing when you’re just tired of the paperwork and politics, and when the whole job isn’t right anymore. It’s hard to spot that line.” She screwed up her eyes a little, the way Falk noticed she did when she was thinking back. “It took me a really long time to decide to leave California.”

“Did it?”

“God, yes. So long.” She lifted her bottle and took a sip. “Mainly because it wasn’t terrible. Not at all. And in some ways, it was exactly right. It was challenging. I was good at it. But day to day, there were lots of things that started adding up. I had friends, but I never had time for them. I was always tired, I had this whole country on my doorstep that I never saw because I was working. But I’d put in so much effort to get that job, I thought it was what I wanted. And it actually was, some of the time.”

“How did you decide in the end?”

“I made a list.”

“Really? What, pros and cons?”

“Yeah.” She looked a little embarrassed, but there was no need. Falk was himself quite fond of a good long list. “But the thing was, it was actually pretty even. And I think that’s why I’d been finding it so hard to decide, because there wasn’t a clear winner. So at first, that felt worse because I obviously wanted to make the best choice, right? But one day I was at my desk, and I remember thinking if there was no clear winner, maybe that meant there was no loser, either. The decision was hard because both options were decent ones, with good and bad points. So if there was no wrong answer, maybe I could”—she shrugged—“choose, I suppose. What kind of life I really wanted to go after.”

Falk took a swallow of beer and thought about that. The house creaked and settled behind them. Out ahead, he could see the distinctive silhouette of the land and trees against the inky night. The sky was clear and he could smell the eucalyptus in the air. “Are you happy with what you chose?”

“Yeah, I am. It’s not for everyone, I get that.” Gemma smiled. “God, my teenage self would be furious with me. But that’s part of living, isn’t it?” She looked over and met Falk’s gaze. “What we want changes.”

He watched her for a moment longer and then, almost involuntarily, moved his hand. A distance both tiny and huge, across the arm of his chair, until his fingertips touched hers. A beat passed, then he felt a warm spark rush through him as she pressed back. They sat like that, side by side, looking out at the sky and the bushland, until the veranda door slid open with a clatter.