Tumble Creek (31 page)

Michelle smiled. ‘Yeah … you're right.

‘But hey, never Rocky?' Rafael asked.

Suppressing a grin, Brock studied his boots.

‘Ooh no, never that,' Michelle waggled her finger at him, ‘what you just said.'

‘I'm glad to hear it,' Brock muttered behind a grin.

‘We'd better go.' Claudia pulled at Michelle's sleeve.

‘See ya, Raffie,' Michelle sang out, as they headed for the kitchen, giggling.

‘She's amazing,' Rafael drawled, watching the girls leave.

After a moment's reflection, Brock's head came up. ‘How long have you known?'

‘Everything was explained to me on my twentieth birthday.'

Jennifer came with their drinks, placing them on the table. Before going back to the hostess stand, she put a comforting hand on Sofie's shoulder.

‘I have so many questions,' Brock said. There wasn't a hint of ill feeling in Brock's voice or manner. He didn't appear to be offended that he hadn't been informed he had a son. Yet knowing the type of man he was, Sofie thought he would've had to have been pissed right-the-fuck-off for missing his son's growing years. He squeezed her hand, his way of preparing her. ‘Your mum and I didn't know each other well, but the brief times we connected were very happy ones.'

Something squeezed Sofie's heart. She quickly reminded herself, their romance was a long time ago. And good grief, the woman died horribly.

‘Yeah, Mum said as much when I asked where my father was. But at the time, she didn't, or wouldn't, elaborate any further. I know why she kept me away, or rather, you away.'

Brock's body froze, his hand on Sofie's stopped stroking, stopped feeling her skin.

‘I have her letters and journals with me. It's mostly boring stuff about me.' Rafael dipped to the floor and picked up a satchel; opening it he pulled out a couple of files and a few exercise books. He handed them to his father. ‘You're welcome to read them, and be certain on this, I won't be offended if you'd rather not. Mum can be long-winded about me.'

‘I want to read them.' Brock stared at the bundle then up at his son and took the files. ‘What made you drop the photos here? How did you find me?'

‘We searched the internet and eventually came across information on your courage in Afghanistan. We had a faded photo, and a town, that's it. We didn't want to cause gossip and weird sh— … um, stuff happening, but I saw you come in here, everyone seemed to know you well. I dropped the parcel off early in the morning, better chance that no one would see me.' Rafael clenched his hands, his throat working, probably to keep emotions in check. Brock waited. ‘I had no idea what anyone's reaction would be, so I went about it the only way I could … carefully.' Rafael gave him a tight, apologetic smile. ‘I wish it had been different. It's unfortunate, but it is what it is.'

Brock gave him a solemn nod. ‘How long are you staying and where?' It was a question but it sounded more like a demand. Sofie squeezed his thigh and hoped he got the message.

Rafael blinked but, to his credit, didn't let Brock's abruptness daunt him. ‘I took a break from university studies, sort of. I forgot my lecturers had my email address. They're making sure I don't fall behind. Not that I ever would, Mum would make sure of it,' he said, smiling, then added, ‘Rightly or wrongly, because years were taken from us, I intend to take as long as I … or
you
need. I understand this is probably stranger for you than it is for me. There's no such thing as Immaculate Conception; my dad had to be somewhere.' He laughed. ‘
Had
to be.'

‘Yeah,' Brock agreed, but his tone said something else. Perhaps he wished he'd known there had to be a son or daughter, somewhere. He would've gone looking until he'd found him, or her, definitely.

Rafael's eyes were fixed on his clasped hands resting on the table, knuckles turning white as his fingers dug in to the top of his hands, holding tight. He slowly raised his head, expression open, no hidden agendas, and nothing to hide. Sofie held her breath, but didn't worry, because her gut told her Rafael was beautiful inside and out, and it never lied.

‘Mum explains everything, it's all in the files marked “Afghanistan”,' he said, nodding towards the bundle in front of Brock. ‘You're welcome to read the others but, as I said, it'll bore the pants off you. It's like a diary of my life, you know, stuff like, first tooth, first steps, first bloody knee, right up until I left for university.'

Reflexively, Sofie's fingers dug into Brock's thigh and her heart began to thump so hard she had to catch her breath. She didn't know how he managed it, but Brock kept his emotions under control.

‘Your mum was a journalist, the best. Susanna would've made sure everything she wrote down was the truth of it, and how that made her feel.' Suddenly Brock's hand slid up to Sofie's forearm, as if he was about to make a move, but there was something stopping him, so his fingers wrapped around her arm and he hung on. He knew. So focused on this mind-blowing revelation, he had no idea he was causing Sofie pain. His eyes narrowed and deep furrows appeared above the bridge of his nose. Then his body jerked with every punishing thump of his heart. Back straight, muscles strung tight made him look a whole lot bigger. ‘University!?' his deadly whisper, a scary rumble.

‘Yeah,' Rafael answered, eyebrows arched in question.

‘We are talking about the same person?' Brock asked. ‘US journalist, Susanna Adumari?'

‘Okay, I get a feeling we're missing something here.' Rafael's brow slammed down, his dark, sad, intense eyes homing in on Brock's. ‘Yeah, Mum is one and the same.'

Sofie twisted around, peering at Brock's pale face. He'd moved his hand from her arm, and now both fists were clenched in his lap. Sharp eyes glittering dangerously, body shaking, and a tell-tale muscle above his jaw flexed, again and again, would make anyone run for the hills—not Rafael.

Eyes blazing, Brock muttered, ‘The way you were talking, I figured it was your way of keeping your mum close.'

Rafael reared back in his seat, and shoulders square, he said, ‘Something's wrong—very wrong.'

‘Yeah?' Brock ground out. Just that one word sounded barbed as well as menacing. Sofie wanted to step in and say something, she just didn't know what.

Not daunted one bit, forearms on the table, Rafael leaned forward towards Brock, mobile in hand and flicked the screen. Finding what he wanted, he passed it over. ‘That's Mum, taken just a few days ago.'

Leaning over Brock's shoulder, something inside Sofie cracked like fine porcelain. Susanna was stunning. She put on a brave face, and said, ‘Your Mum is very beautiful.'

Rafael nodded and turned his attention back to his father. ‘I insisted Mum tell me about you, my dad, but I don't get this.'

Brock held a hand up and shoved his chair back. ‘I need air!' he announced and stormed out the door.

‘Brock?' Sofie whispered, watching him run, long legs eating up the footpath. There was no way Sofie would be able to catch him up … and then he was out of sight.

‘Something's very, very wrong,' Rafael murmured again, staring at the door.

‘Raff?' Sofie called.

Reluctantly, he dragged his eyes away and turned to look at her.

‘This will come as a shock and there's no possible way to ease into it, but Brock believed Susanna died in his arms.'

This time Rafael turned pale. ‘Fuck!' he said on a low growl, dropping his head to his hands on the table.

Seconds went by and Sofie didn't know what to do in this situation.

‘Shit, Mum didn't know, she
didn't
know.' Rafael's was voice rough, anguished. He straightened, and his troubled eyes shifted back to the door. ‘I have to go after him.' Pushing back his chair, he stood.

Sofie grabbed his arm. ‘You find him, bring him back here, I'll be waiting upstairs.'

He gave her a brief nod and was out the door, running—fast.

Sofie moved away from the table and went straight to Jennifer.

‘What happened, what's going on?' her worried sister asked.

‘Um … shit!' Sofie didn't know where to start, then blurted out, ‘Susanna did not die in Afghanistan. Brock just found out she's alive.'

Jennifer grabbed her in a tight hug. ‘It'll be okay, Sis. It'll be okay. It's got to be. Someone's alive, not dead.'

Sofie nodded against Jennifer's shoulder and mumbled, ‘I told Raff I'd be waiting for them upstairs.'

‘Good.' She let Sofie go. ‘I'll come with you. The girls can manage here.'

‘I won't be alone, I'll have a stiff drink keeping me company.'

‘So, we'll both have one.' Sofie started to protest, but Jennifer's hand came up to cover her mouth.

Drink in hand, Sofie peered at the old clock on the mantel, again. It had been over an hour. Heart racing all the while, her imagination going berserk thinking outrageous and scary scenarios, Sofie continued pacing in front of the upstairs living room window. ‘Where the hell are they!' she muttered harshly.

‘Staring out at Grey Street won't make them appear any sooner,' Jennifer told her.

Chapter 14

Brock entered the living room, Rafael coming in behind him. Sofie stood silhouetted against the big window looking out. Absorbed in her thoughts, her trembling fingers absentmindedly pulling at a blonde curl, she didn't notice they'd come back. That piercing feeling stabbed his chest and took his breath; his Sofie was nervous, worried. What the hell was she thinking? He shouldn't have taken off like he had. Jennifer lounged on the couch, saying nothing and keeping her thoughts to herself, which Brock was grateful for. The less speculation the better.

‘Sofe,' he carefully whispered into the silence, but she jumped anyway.

It only took a few long strides to get to her side. She studied his face, but especially his eyes. Arms wrapped around her, he smiled, hoping it would allay her fears, whatever they were. Up on her toes, arm tight around him, she buried her face in his neck. He kissed her cheek and Sofie popped down again, turned her attention to Rafael, and then back at him.

‘Sorry, didn't mean to worry you. But, as I explained to Raff, I needed to run it off. Seeing me explode in Veronica's wouldn't have been pretty.'

‘Well, I for one appreciate your thoughtfulness,' Jennifer mumbled.

‘Hmm, there
was
no thought, Jen,' Brock told her.
Just need.

‘Explode?' Hand on his chest, Sofie's eyes widened even further. ‘No-no, forget I asked. Under the circumstances, I do understand.' She turned to Rafael and asked, with feeling, ‘You okay?'

His son gave her a genuine smile. ‘It's all good. It didn't take me long to catch up with, um, Dad, he's getting on a bit.'

Brock laughed softly, enjoying that Rafael was a confident young bloke, a good person. The surroundings, and the people were totally foreign to him, yet he was relaxed enough to banter and joke with his new dad.

‘I caught up with Dad, we had a few beers at the Sapphire Pub … interesting place.' Eyes lighting up, Rafael chuckled. ‘Definitely have to eat there.' He turned to Jennifer. ‘No disrespect.'

‘Hey, I understand.' Jennifer waved his comment off. ‘Sometimes men need a side of bloody beef slathered in gravy and tomato sauce.'

‘Please sit,' Sofie more or less ordered. ‘You both need to fill me in.'

Brock took Sofie's hand and sat next to her on the couch, while his son sat on the edge of a lounge chair.

‘I'll get some drinks from the upstairs kitchen, I'll only be a sec.'

‘Well,' Sofie broke into the silence, ‘it's been one hell of an afternoon.'

Brock took her fidgeting hands in his, holding them firmly, without words trying to convey nothing had changed between them. He hoped it worked. ‘Yeah,' Brock muttered.

Jennifer came in carrying three glasses, the stems tucked in her fingers, and a bottle of sparkling wine sitting in an ice bucket in the other hand. Brock immediately stood and took everything from her, placing it on the coffee table. ‘Thanks, Jen. There's a glass missing, I'll go get one.'

‘Shush, nothing's missing.' She turned to Rafael, ‘Raff, take a sip, you'll enjoy it.'

‘Thanks, I will.'

‘Aren't you staying, Jen?' Brock asked.

‘Uh-uh, I'll hear soon enough.' She moved to the door, stopped and turned to face them, and with a worried smile, she said, ‘Be gentle with each other.' Not waiting for their reply, she was out, down the hall, and gone.

Brock filled their glasses and passed one to Sofie and one to his son, hoping with everything he had that she would welcome his plans.

Sofie searched for the tissues he'd given her earlier, and to his amusement she found them tucked up her sleeve.

She dabbed her eyes, mumbling, ‘Someone please tell me what happened to Susanna?'

Brock could feel Sofie's eyes on him, but his were on Rafael, then he gave his son a quick nod.

‘Okay.' Rafael took a deep breath. ‘And this is all secondhand, or maybe even third. The surgeon, nurses and anaesthetist at Kandahar hospital saved Mum's life. They stabilised Mum before evacuating her to Germany for further operations, and a stint in ICU. They said if she made it through the night, she had a chance.' He grinned. ‘Mum is stubborn, doesn't give up on anything.'

‘Why didn't either of them get in touch?' Sofie asked.

Brock stepped in. ‘I believed Susanna died in my arms. I just wanted—needed—to find out what happened to her body. Remember I told you, while off duty I did everything possible to locate her. My wounds healed and I was ordered out on a mission, we were gone for two weeks. When I got back I tried again, getting in touch with people that were recommended to me, but they had nothing.'