Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(93)

Gemma’s eyes left his face, and she turned back to the view over the valley. Falk watched her as she gazed out. The town below looked far away and peaceful in the dusk.

“I understand it’s not only about the festival, though,” he said.

“No.” She smiled. “But it’s hard to explain without sounding really insular.”

“Have a go.”

“I suppose…” Gemma thought for a minute. “There’s a lot of good everyday stuff that comes with living here. Little things add up. Having close friends, recognizing faces in the street. No commute. I like having time to read the books for book club, being able to stop for a spontaneous coffee with someone. I love the seasons here, the way the vines change. I always have. I missed that when I was away. And it’s our friends and neighbors, obviously. The way they stepped up and were there for Joel and me when we needed it.”

“You don’t get that everywhere.”

“No.” Gemma’s eyes were still on the valley. “You don’t. And I’ve met people over the years—like when I was in the U.S.—people who you just know will spend their whole lives chasing after something they hope will make them happy. And, okay, that looks different for everyone, and I’m not saying I couldn’t be happy somewhere else. Because of course I could.”

“But you’re happy now? Here?”

“I am.” She turned to him now. The sun was almost gone, the sky was growing deeper above them. The first star was out. “I think our grass here is really green.”

Falk looked at her. Stay or go? The question felt bigger out here. He took a breath. “Charlie asked if I wanted to work at the vineyard.”

Gemma said nothing at first, and he could almost hear her thinking.

“Well, now. That would be highly convenient for me.” She smiled. “A big change, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Too big?”

Falk paused, then nodded. “I think it might be. I’m sorry.”

“No.” Gemma squeezed his hand. “Seriously. You don’t have to be sorry for not wanting to chuck in your whole career. Especially for someone you barely know. I mean, neither of us should be.” She rested back against the table. “It’s good that work’s important to you. And the AFP still needs someone to crack all those cases.”

Falk smiled. She was close enough that he could detect the faint scent of her shampoo and fabric softener. When he breathed in, it reminded him of being in her bedroom, with the sun on the sheets. He could feel himself slipping into somewhat uncharted territory.

“I suppose work is pretty important to me. Definitely on some level.” When he spoke again, he took his time. A quiet truth that he’d rarely, if ever, acknowledged was slowly shaping itself into words, and he wanted to explain it right. “That’s not really why I can’t see myself leaving, though.”

“No?”

“No. I mean, that’s part of it.” Falk hesitated. “But it’s more that walking away from the job doesn’t feel like a real option, because—” He stopped again. He knew what he wanted to say, but he’d never voiced it out loud before. “Because I feel like I’ve sacrificed too much for it. I don’t just mean the long hours and evenings and weekends, I’m talking about things going back years. Okay, for instance—” Having started, Falk found he couldn’t stop. “Why did I stay at uni to study all the time instead of going home to visit Dad?” The example presented itself to him fully formed. “There were so many weekends when I could have gone to watch the footy with him, or catch up for a drink or something. So many. I knew he wanted me to. But I never did, because I was working hard to get the grades I needed to move ahead. And I did get them. But Dad and I didn’t get to the footy.”

The words carried the acid prickle of a shameful admission, but when Falk looked over, Gemma didn’t seem disapproving or even surprised. She was simply listening, and he could feel the soft, steady movement of her breathing next to him as he spoke.

“And there are other times. I let people I really cared about slip away,” he went on. “And I could give you lots of reasons why, but the fact I couldn’t find much time for them has always played a part. Always. I’ve skipped birthdays, things that matter. Stuff that doesn’t, but kind of does as well. Friday-night drinks, swims at the beach. Relationships have just … faded. I barely see the Racos, who are honestly the best friends I’ve ever had.”

The hills were dark outlines against the night now. Falk could hear the soft hum and rustle of the bushland around them, the familiar sounds like fragments of conversations and faces he hadn’t realized he even remembered.

“The job is demanding. It is. But I knew it would be. And I knew I’d have to give up all kinds of things over the years that I can’t get back now. And maybe that’s okay. But to drop it mid-career, it would feel like—” He found it physically hard to say the words. “Like that was for nothing.”

Gemma nodded, her face hard to read in the dark. The sun was completely gone.

“Anyway, so, yeah. That’s why.” Falk cleared his throat and dredged up a small smile as he checked his watch. “But, look, it’s probably time we—”

Gemma didn’t move other than to touch his hand. Her palm was warm and solid. “We can be a little late.”