And outside, in the darkness of the early autumn night, the cane rustled in a wind that smelled of smoke, and dust, and the faint, impossible sweetness of something beginning again.
“I know.”
Inside, the house was cool and dim. Leo had put ice in a jug of cordial—passionfruit, her favourite as a girl. Mira noticed. She also noticed the dust on the ceiling fan, the stack of unpaid bills by the phone, the way her father moved now: slower, favouring his left hip. april in australia
“Did you ever find out where she went?” And outside, in the darkness of the early
“I never told you about your mother. Not really.” Mira noticed
She arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, stepping off the Greyhound at the junction of the Bruce Highway and a gravel road that led nowhere except to him. She wore a linen dress and sunglasses that cost more than his first tractor. Behind her, the cane fields stretched like a green ocean, already beginning to gold at the edges.