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Chapter 1 

Beau

I was ready. It had taken me eight years to reach this point. But in each of those years, I’d found strength, resilience and something I’d never had before—self-belief.

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I stared out the window. Row after row of bare apple trees stretched before me, the last of the day’s light illuminating their starkness. Their uniformity and organisation were calming, though I hardly needed it. Once, my thoughts had been scattered, unreliable. Everything had scared me—life, living, my destiny. But not anymore.

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My phone rang and I turned away from the view. It was Mum’s monthly call, and she was right on time. The time difference between California and Tasmania was seventeen hours. It was mid-afternoon Friday there and nearly bedtime on Thursday for me.

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“Hi, Mum,” I said, smiling as her face appeared on my phone screen. I sat on the couch.

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“Hi, Beau.”

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“Have you been busy?”

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“Not really, but Dad and I are going to dinner at the Walkers’.”

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The Walkers?

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“It’s a birthday dinner for Clare. She’s turning twenty-five.”

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She didn’t need to tell me that. I knew exactly how old Clare Walker was. She always celebrated her milestones one year behind me. When I’d turned five, she’d asked, why do they say you’re a big boy now? You’re the same size as yesterday. At ten, she asked, how’s it feel to be ten? If you have two numbers in your age, do you get two scoops of ice cream? Then, do you feel all grown-up now you’re thirteen? You don’t seem very rebellious. Eighteen, is freedom calling you? That was the last time she asked.

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“John and Nancy are having a small family dinner for her. You know Clare, she doesn’t like big celebrations.”

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I knew exactly how she felt. But being an only child meant I couldn’t avoid them. Moving eight years ago had helped with that, though. My twenty-fifth had been celebrated here, in California, the other side of the world. Mum still made it special by sending some of my favourite foods like Vegemite, Twisties, Cherry Ripes and Milo.

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“Beau?”

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“Wish her a happy birthday from me.”

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“She’ll be delighted. Remember how close you two were?”

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I nodded. I remembered, alright. Images ran through my head—running through the orchard together, doing our homework side by side, holding hands and declaring we could conquer anything together. I shut them down. I needed to stay present for what was coming next. I focused on Mum as I prepared my words. I’d practised them a thousand times. They shouldn’t be that hard to say.

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“I’ve been thinking—” Once the words were out, there was no taking them back. “—I’ve been away for a while. It’s time to come home.”

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Mum’s mouth opened and closed. She swallowed. She sucked in a breath. She held her chest. She wasn’t having a heart attack, was she? Shit. Where was Dad?

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“Mum.”

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Silence.

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“Mum.” Louder. I stood up. Her face flushed red, and her eyes were unfocused. What the hell was I going to do from half a world away? Text Dad, maybe?

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“Mum. Are you alright?”

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She nodded and fanned herself. And then the tears came.

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“I’m sorry, Beau.” Her voice sounded thick. “We’ve been waiting eight years to hear those words.”

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My weak legs lowered me back to the couch. I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Dramatic much?”

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She laughed and cried. And then laughed so much she could hardly breathe. She better not bloody choke on the phone. I wasn’t going to be responsible for her death. She wiped the tears from her face.

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“You’re as dramatic as one of those huskies you share videos of,” I said.

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Her head turned.

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“What’s going on here?” Dad said, walking into the frame, glancing between her and the phone.

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“Beau called me a husky.”

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Dad’s thick eyebrows drew together. “And that made you cry?”

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Mum gave me a look that invited me to speak.

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I sighed. “I’m coming home.”

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Dad sunk onto the chair beside Mum. His hand ran through his wavy brown hair. He looked up at the ceiling, and when his eyes returned to the screen, he gave me a nod.

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“About bloody time.” He put his arm around Mum’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

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My stomach twisted. I’d been away for too long. They missed me. Their sadness was my fault. I pressed my left hand into my leg, hard. No. I’d had to get away. I needed to find my own way. I needed to learn who I was without expectations crushing me—their expectations, my expectations. I was a walnut in a vice. And that vice squeezed, ever so slowly. And ever so slowly, the cracks began to appear.

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I always thought I had no control. I thought that everything and everyone was turning the handle on that vice, except me. But I had been with them, twisting it all along. If I hadn’t gotten away, I would have cracked into shards.

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“When?” Mum asked.

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I took a deep breath, and the wretched heaviness disappeared.

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“In time for picking season.”

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Dad nodded, smiling. “It would be good to have another senior on board. You can give Clare and me a hand.”

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Mum nodded. Her eyes were far away. What was she thinking about? Unease settled in my stomach.

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“I don’t want a welcome home celebration.”

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Her eyes focused on me again, and I gave her the sternest look I could muster.

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“It’s OK, Beau. We know you don’t want to be in the spotlight.” Dad raised his eyebrows at Mum.

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“No. No. I wasn’t thinking about that.” She glanced between us. “Honest.”

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What was she thinking about then?

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“We need to get ready for dinner. Speak soon.” She reached out to disconnect the call.

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It was mid-afternoon. They didn’t need to get ready for hours. What was she up to?

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“No celebration,” I said.

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She crossed her heart and smiled before their faces disappeared.

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I leant back into the soft cushions and closed my eyes. Maybe it would have been better to just turn up on their doorstep. Mum wouldn’t have time to prepare anything that way. I shook my head. She wouldn’t. She’d respect my wishes.

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Was going home a good idea? Years apart didn’t mean they’d accept my differences now. They might welcome me with open arms, but would their arms stay open when they realised I was the same person I’d always been? Just because I worked in the apple industry, where they wanted me to be, it didn’t mean I’d changed as a person. The essence of me was still the same. And it was always me, the person, that they couldn’t reconcile with.

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I opened my eyes and went back to the window. The trees here were bare, but back home they’d be green and lush. Apples, the lifeblood of our family, would be growing bigger every day. Dad said he wanted another senior on board. Could I really be considered a senior? I hadn’t been there for eight years. I didn’t have the experience he and Clare did. What would everyone think? That I walked into the job because of my family connection?

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I pressed my hand into my leg. This was the wrong train of thought. I was letting anxiety win. Just because I didn’t have experience at Hart Apples, it didn’t mean I lacked experience. I’d worked on farms all around the world—Italy, Victoria, California. I’d worked as a picker, a foreman and a manager. I had experience and I’d prove myself. What they thought didn’t matter.

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What did matter was how Clare would react.