Page 15

Muir

"So…" Gramps lifts his fork with a twinkle in his eye. "I see that you and Fitz are still married."

I finish chewing my steak. "We are."

"And you two looked mighty cosy at his birthday party last week."

I arch a brow. "Cosy?"

"I was tossing up between cosy and head-over-heels in love, but I didn't want to push my luck."

I chuckle. "First time for everything, eh?"

He smiles warmly. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Jesus, mate. We're not here to fuck spiders, are you going to tell me what's going on with you two or not?"

"Oh, so you're fishing for info. I had no idea," I say dryly.

"The last time we properly spoke about things was right after you got back from the Goldie. You weren't sure about your feelings, and you hadn't done anything physical. That seems as good a place as any to start."

"Oh, gee. Thanks." The old man smiles, and even though he's prying, I don't really mind. To his credit, he has backed off these past few months and let me figure things out on my own. He cares, so I suppose it's only natural that he's curious about where things stand with Fitz and me.

I put my knife and fork down. "Like you said, we are still married, and things have…progressed."

"I see." He steeples his hands, fingertips pressed together, as he pauses to think. "Things like kisses?"

"Amongst other things." That's all he's getting from me about the physical intimacy front because as much as I love him, boundaries are a necessary thing. "And feelings. We both have feelings for each other. Strong feelings."

"Are you in love with him?" he asks, not beating around the bush.

I swallow, but the answer is dancing on the tip of my tongue, just waiting to be spoken. "Yes."

Gramps doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, doesn't miss a beat. "And is he in love with you?"

"I'm pretty sure he is, yeah."

"So you two are likely to stay married, then?"

"I don't know, Gramps. We haven't talked about it."

"Have you told him about my will?"

I nod. "I have. But that's not a reason to stay married."

Gramps falls silent, and I don't know what else to say. Even though Fitz and I are totally doing this backwards—getting married first and then falling in love—there is a certain logic to staying married. But I don't want to get Gramps's hopes up, and I definitely don't want Fitz to feel under pressure to stay married. It's a thin and complicated line I'm walking here.

"What are you thinking about?" Gramps asks.

"Everything that's going on." I tuck into my food again. "It's a lot, and I don't want to mess anything up."

"You won't. You're both good blokes. That's half the battle won already. Do you have any idea how many shitheads there are in the world?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I don't know how you kids do it with all the apps. How can you find love on a phone? Anyway…" He shakes his head and pulls himself back on track. "Just keep talking, and don't overthink things too much. Life is as simple or as complicated as you want to make it, Muir."

I smile at the words I've heard him say a million times before. I'd like to believe him, I really would, but life isn't like how it used to be back in his day.

After dinner, I'm loading the dishwasher when I spot Gramps leaning against the wall, looking a little pale.

I leave the dishes and make my way to him. "You okay, Gramps?"

"Just a bit tired. Might have an early night."

It's just gone seven, but I don't say anything. If he's tired, he's tired. "Sure. Want me to make you a cup of tea or anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Let me help you to your room."

"Stop making a fuss."

"Stop talking back to your juniors. Your generation has no respect."

He chuckles but doesn't protest when I take his arm in mine and guide him down the hall to his room.

"You sure I can't get you anything?"

"Positive. I'm just knackered. A good night's sleep, and I'll be right as rain in the morning."

"All right. I'll make you a big brekkie tomorrow, okay?"

"Sounds good." He looks deep into my eyes, the same ones he passed down to me. "I love you, Muir."

I give him a hug. "Love you, too, Gramps."

The next morning, I get up at my usual time of six thirty and engage in some mindless phone scrolling. Fitz's latest video, his take on the Cockatoo Shimmy dance where he's shirtless, naturally, bobbing his head, shimmying his shoulders, and doing a lot of arm flapping, which all sounds about as crazy as it looks on the screen, is going viral with a list of B- and C-list celebrities getting in on the action. B and C celebs are fine, but the second you get JLO or anyone higher up the fame ladder jumping on board, the trend officially dies. #RIPdemure

After a few minutes, I get up, chuck on some clothes, and make my way to the kitchen. The house is quiet, so I stifle a yawn so as to not wake Gramps up. I hope he got a good night's sleep and is feeling rested today.

I set about making breakfast. It sucks having to work today. I'd rather stay home and keep an eye on the old fella, make sure he's not doing stuff around the place while I'm gone. Could explain why he was so tired last night. The cheeky bastard, just when I thought he was finally listening to his doc and following advice. Yeah. Right.

I take the scrambled eggs off the burner, and when the toast pops up, I call out, "Food's up!"

I grab the plates and bring everything to the table, expecting to see Gramps appear any minute.

But nope, no sign of him.

"Gramps!"

No answer.

I step out of the kitchen and head down the hall towards his room. When I reach it, I knock on the door. "Gramps?"

A cold shiver races through me as I open the door. Gramps is still in bed, sleeping. Except, as I get closer…I see that he's not moving.

He's not asleep.

My heart sinks. "Oh no."

He's dead.

The next few days fly by in a blur of phone calls, paperwork, and a shit ton of food and flowers showing up at the house.

Nothing feels real.

I'm in the thick of it yet at the same time completely disconnected from everything and everyone.

Well, not everyone.

The one constant, the one person who's been by my side ever since I made that panicked call to him, is Fitz.

"Here, have a cuppa." Fitz walks into the living room and hands me a cup of tea. I'm about to place it on the coffee table and forget about drinking it, as I'm prone to do, when he adds, "This one has whiskey in it because I'm not above using alcohol to get you to drink something."

"I'm sorry," I say, taking a sip. "I just don't feel like drinking or eating."

"I get it." He sits down next to me and says gently, "Do you think you should maybe stop reading that?"

I glance down at the local paper in my lap and shake my head. I know re-reading Gramps's obituary incessantly might not be the healthiest thing, but it's what I need right now.

I still can't believe he's gone, which makes no sense because, hello, he was in his frigging eighties, and these few paragraphs feel like a connection to him.

It is with deep sadness that we announce the passing of Sid Landers, aged 81, of Scuttlebutt, Queensland. Sid was known for his stubborn streak and razor-sharp wit, qualities that endeared him to all who had the pleasure of knowing him. His humour could light up any room, and his kindness touched countless lives in his beloved tight-knit community of Scuttlebutt.

Whether sharing a laugh at the local pub or lending a hand to a neighbour, Sid's warmth and generosity knew no bounds. He was a devoted husband to his late wife, Shirley, and a proud father and grandfather, cherishing every moment with his family.

A funeral service to celebrate Sid's life will be held at The Scuttlebutt Community Hall. In lieu of flowers, the family kindly requests donations be made to the Royal Flying Doctor Service, a cause dear to Sid's heart.

Rest in peace, Sid. Your laughter and spirit will echo in the outback forever.

"Maybe you're right," I concede. I carefully fold the newspaper, making sure the obituary doesn't get creased, set it down on the table, and take a few sips of tea.

"What do you need from me?" Fitz asks, worry etched all over his face.

"Nothing right now. You've been incredible," I say, looking him in the eyes.

He really has been.

He hasn't been able to get out of work since the clinic can't afford to be two vets down, which I totally understand, but he's been with me every single moment he's not at work. He's cooked. Tried to get me to eat. Helped me interact with well-wishers. Dealt with some of the legal stuff I don't have the capacity to handle.

"I'm so grateful to you for everything you've done, Fitz. Especially…" My eyes drift down the hallway to my bedroom.

He's stayed over every night since it happened since I can't handle sleeping in the house alone, but I also can't bear the thought of leaving.

I'm probably not making much sense at the moment, and he's been fine with that. More than fine. I don't know how he's putting up with me, but he's been amazing.

It's taking me by surprise just how much this is affecting me. Logically, I knew Gramps was getting on and that he was going to die at some stage, but it still feels so unexpected, so out of the blue.

And since he was as much a father figure to me as he was a grandfather, it's bringing back the memory of losing Dad, too.

At least our last words to each other were I love you. I'll always be thankful for that. That I hugged him and told him how much he meant to me. We didn't always do that. Normally, we just said goodnight and left it at that. It's a good reminder to always tell your loved ones how you feel because you never know when you might not be able to say those words to them again.

"Are you tired?" Fitz asks.

"I am." Even though I have no idea what time it is. I look out the window, and it's dark, but it could be seven, or it could be past midnight. "Don't know if I'll be able to sleep before the funeral."

"That's okay. Let's go to bed, and we can stay up and talk if that's what you want."

"Sounds good."

We get up and get ready for bed. We haven't done anything sexual obviously since neither one of us is in the mood, but it's been nice having a warm body to fall asleep and wake up with.

Once we've showered and are lying in bed with the lights on, Fitz turns on his side to face me, propping himself up on his elbow. "There's one thing I've been dreading bringing up, but since I'm assuming she'll be here tomorrow."

"Ah, my mother."

"Yeah. What time is she getting in?"

"Don't know. Sometime in the morning. She's flying in on a charter plane to Billabong Downs then driving in from there."

"Is she coming alone?"

"Don't know that either. We've only spoken briefly a few times, and it's mainly been about legal and admin stuff like obtaining the death certificate, notifying the bank and insurance company, and starting the process of settling the estate."

Fitz's eyes narrow. "You mean the house?"

"Amongst other things, yeah."

Gramps wasn't rolling in it, but he had some savings, a few investments, and some valuable personal items like his precious war medals and artwork that had been in his family for generations.

"Did you get a vibe from her?"

"Not really. She sounded…sad? Maybe. I couldn't really tell. It was weird, and I'm not exactly in the best headspace to be psychoanalysing her."

"Of course. What can I do for you when it comes to her?"

"Are you asking if I want you to take my mother out, like in a mobster way?"

He smiles, and the tension that had been creeping into his voice loosens a little. "No. I mean, like, do you want me to hover and take you away when I see her upsetting you, or do you want me to leave you alone and give you guys some space? Am I being nice to her? Or just bare-minimum polite? It's all your call."

"You'd do that for me?"

His eyes shimmer, and he reaches out, grazing his fingers up and down my arm. "I'd do anything for you."

"Except for taking her out."

His smile grows. "The one exception."

"Just…just be you. That's all I need."

He nods even though my response is super vague because I honestly don't know what I need until I'm standing face to face with her. So much of it depends on the moment, on what she's being like, on how I'm feeling. It's hard to pre-plan these things.

"Consider it done."