Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
I have no greater proof of his devotion to me than right now.
We’re currently in an SUV, driving across the dry outback of Queensland, heading closer to the border with South Australia.
Heading to Windorah.
Behind us is another car with Maja, who is still spritely at her age, and Johan at the wheel.
And behind them is Henrik, driving the royal attendants.
Rich, red dust rises up behind our mini convoy, spreading across the desolate brushland.
We’ve been driving forever at this point and my hometown seems to get further and further away.
Of course, we could have flown in a little plane.
And, of course, Aksel didn’t have to drive at all.
But after what happened with his mother, I felt the need to make peace with mine. And even though my mother can’t be located by any means, and I know she’s no longer in Windorah, I figured I need closure in other ways. Just to see the pub, just to see the shack. Just to see the life I used to have and say goodbye to it. No more demons, no more pain. I’m moving on and the guilt can stay behind.
So Aksel insisted on a family trip to Australia and then he insisted on reliving his ex-rally driving days and driving us there. Naturally I’ve been keeping him from going too fast since we have our little princes and princesses in the car and with there being no bends or turns in the road whatsoever, it probably doesn’t feel like racing at all.
But to Aksel, it’s freedom.
Window down, arm outside, the hot air blowing back his hair, Aksel feels free.
And I will soon too.
It’s another three hours until we finally hit the outskirts of town and thank god for that, because everyone has had to go pee and there hasn’t been a single rest station or even tree on the side of the road to do your business behind.
The town is even smaller than I remember. It’s just a road with a few houses scattered about. There’s the petrol station/dairy and a farm and feed store and…the pub.
It looks the same as it did, all peeling paint and clapboard sides, dust that’s been permanently etched onto the windows. Aksel asks if I want to go inside but I don’t. I just want to see it in passing, to know it’s still there, to know it has no hold on me anymore.
We keep driving, past a cattle ranch and then down an even worse dirt road and then suddenly we’re here. Both the cars behind us have stopped further up the road to give me some privacy.
“Is this it?” Clara asks, peering out the window as we come to a stop in a dusty driveway.
“Yes,” I say, breathless already, as I slowly step out of the car.
I barely feel the cramps in my legs from being in the car all day, my eyes are focused on the shack.
It looks a lot better now or maybe it was never that bad. About three rooms, single story, tin roof. There’s a porch with a sagging couch and a screen door that’s not shut properly.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Aksel asks, getting out of his side.
I shake my head. “Take the kids to pee behind that tree.”
I walk toward the shack, slowly, as if in a dream. In fact, I have to pinch myself a few times.
Is this real?
Am I really here?
Who am I?
But then the screen door is pushed forward, and a black and white cattle dog comes bounding out, tail wagging.
“Hey boy,” I say to him as he comes over to me, happy and excited. I have no idea who this dog is, but I do love dogs and they do love me. I still have a sweater that says so.
I crouch down to pet him, and he starts licking me up the side of the face just as someone else comes out of the screen door.
It’s a woman, younger than me, and a little bit pregnant.
“Hi,” she says warily. She’s pretty, white teeth, very tanned. She’s in dirty work boots and a brown floral dress. “Can I help you?”
The dog runs over to her and now the woman is distracted by my kids, who all come running forward, and Aksel in the background, pissing on a tree.
“No,” I tell her, smiling big, hoping she doesn’t think we’re here to rob her or pee on her trees. “Sorry to just show up like this but I used to live here.”
She’s taken aback and walks off the porch, wiping her hands on her dress.
“You used to live here?”
“I did. Long, long time ago. I haven’t been back here for, maybe, fifteen years.”
“I hear your accent now,” she says, nodding. “It’s getting stronger as you talk.”
“Anyway,” I say, shrugging. “I just wanted to look at it and see if it’s still here. It is. Sorry to bother you.”