Unconditional (33 page)

I took it all in, filled my soul with all the memories, all the moments. And then rose to my feet.

I had to get dressed. I had to get dressed, pack, drive up to the main house and say my farewells to Mrs. P.

But first, I had to ring Qantas and change the return flight date on my ticket home to tomorrow.

I had to get out of here. Out of Australia. Away from Raph. Now.

Before I doomed him to a life burdened with me.

I loved him too much to curse him with that.

Mrs. P was, to put it mildly, very surprised by my announcement. She frowned at me, consternation and worry etched on her normally reserved face. “I’m not sure I understand what is going on, Maci. Is everything okay? Has my son done something wrong?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or does this have something to do with the Crown Princess of Delvania’s unexpected visit? My daughter’s sister-in-law seemed quite interested in you, I must say. Asked quite a few questions about your relationship with Raphael.” She paused, a pointed expression on her face. “I must
also
say that I don’t think much of her.”

I shook my head, my smile wan. “No, Mrs. P. It doesn’t have anything to do with the princess.” Taking her hands in mine, I drew a slow breath, bringing forth the story I’d settled on during the short drive from the guesthouse to the main house. “My mom is unwell, she has a condition that requires constant care, and I need to return to her. And my fieldwork is all but done. I have enough data now to complete my thesis without needing to constantly unsettle the koalas daily.”

I could tell my story didn’t convince her. The dubious frown she gave me spoke volumes. However, she didn’t put up an argument. Perhaps she could see it would serve no purpose.

Smoothing her arms around my shoulders, she hugged me with gentle pressure. I must admit, I was shocked at the open display of affection. “You are a wonderful young woman, Maci. And good for Raphael. I’ve never seen him smile so often.”

I didn’t need to hear that. It didn’t help my state of mind at all. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” she said at my temple. “I’m sure we will be seeing you again soon.”

I had a hard freaking time holding back the damn tears at that. If only she really knew. Instead, I extracted myself from her hug and gave her what I hoped was a cheery, positive smile. “Definitely. I love this country too much to stay away.”

Her lips twitched and, for a brief second, I got a glimpse of the twin dimples in her cheeks. “Just this country?”

Before I could do something stupid like burst out in uncontrolled sobs, I dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “Please say my goodbyes to Mr. Patterson,” I said as I bent to collect my backpack. “You have both been incredible. I can’t thank you enough.”

And that was it. I turned and left the house.

I found one of the workhands in the main barn and, putting on the best damsel-in-distress routine I could muster, asked him if he’d drive me into Gunnedah.

Thankfully, he’d been planning on doing a supply run later that day so I didn’t feel any guiltier than I already did.

Guilty about abandoning my studies.

Guilty about leaving Kangaroo Creek early.

Guilty about leaving without letting Raph know.

Guilt sucks.

And if right at this moment, you’re thinking I’m an idiot, trust me, I was thinking it five times as much.
Fifty
times as much. But you have to remember, I
knew
what was ahead of me. I’d seen it. I’d watched Dad cry when he didn’t think anyone could see him. I’d watched him stare at nothing for long moments when Mom was riding the emotional rollercoaster that is PD. I’d watched him take it all on, the helping, the bathing, the feeding…all of it and I’d
sworn
to myself when the doctor told me I also had Parkinson’s I’d never put someone through the same thing.

An hour later, we were barreling along the dirt road headed for Gunnedah.

I sat in the passenger seat and watched the world blurring by. I know it’s stupid, but I really
was
going to miss this place. It had reached into my soul and grabbed me. If life had dealt me a different hand, I could see myself spending the rest of my life here.

Not just because of Raph, but because it was peaceful. Real.

As we approached the Gunnedah town limits, I turned my cell phone off. It was a chicken move, but I did it anyway. It could stay off until I arrived home.

If I heard Raph’s voice now, I’d die even more inside.

I spent that night in a hotel in Tamworth, going over all the notes and data and research I’d collected on global warming and koalas during my stay here in Australia. I refused to let my mind turn to Raph. Every time I caught myself gazing at my phone, I’d give myself a stern talking to. Somewhere around two a.m., I gave up pretending I was concentrating on my thesis and meditated instead.

I’d like to say it helped.

When the sun broke the eastern sky a few hours later, my mind and body were more frazzled and unsettled than ever. No sleep will do that to a person, whether they suffer from Parkinson’s disease or not.

My train from Tamworth was due to depart for Sydney at ten a.m. Less than five hours’ time.

I showered, washed my hair—it would be the last time I did so until I arrived in Plenty some twenty-nine hours later—packed up my stuff and sat on the edge of the bed.

My stomach churned. My heart thumped hard and fast. Perhaps I should go for a run? Do some tai-chi?

Nervous energy charged through me, making me even more twitchy than normal. It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you.

I propelled myself from the bed, crossed to the room’s desk, dropped into the chair and snatched up the hotel-supplied pen and notepad.

I stared at the blank sheet, flicking the pen up and down between my thumb and index finger. I had to do something.

Chest tight, I leaned forward, rested my elbows on the desk and began to write.

Hey Heather, so it’s me.

By the time you get this I’ll be back in Plenty. I’m sorry for not saying goodbye in person or even by text or phone. As it turns out, I’m a bit of a chicken. Anyways, I wanted to let you know you are one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I also wanted to let you know I couldn’t have survived those first few days in Australia without you. You are the goofiest, funniest, loveliest and every other kind of positive “est” out there. Never change. Not for anyone. Promise me. And thank you. For making me feel so at home at Mackellar House and for being incredible. If you’re ever in the States, I fully expect to see you at my front door, Tim Tams in hand.

By this stage, you’ve probably found out I left without saying goodbye to Raph as well. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say goodbye to him. Not just because it would have hurt too much, but because he wouldn’t have let me do it. He wouldn’t have let me go. I love him, Heather. More than I think I could ever express. When you see him, just let him know I never wanted to hurt him, ever, and that’s the reason I did what I did. He’ll be angry with me, really angry, but one day I know he’ll
stop
being angry with me and understand.

Do me a favor though. If you ever see Shelly White leaving his room, slap her for me, okay? Hard.

Oh, and one last thing, tell Brendon I think he’s the sexiest non-brother I’ve ever kissed. And the girl he followed to America doesn’t know what she missed out on.

I love you, woman.

Your friend, shakes and all,

M.

xoxo

Yeah, as far as letters go, it wasn’t high correspondence. But hey, I’ve never proclaimed to be Shakespeare.

I tore the top sheet from the pad, folded it and, needing to do something, left my room and walked to the hotel foyer. The woman at the reception desk gave me an envelope and, hand shaking too much—Had I taken my meds? I couldn’t remember—I wrote Heather’s name and the address for Mackellar House on the front.

Given that it was Saturday and the Australian postal department doesn’t operate on the weekends, Heather would receive my note Wednesday.

By that time, I would be back in Plenty, back at my old college, back in my old life.

Damn, that thought made me miserable.

Deciding I couldn’t stand sitting in a hotel room any longer, I collected my stuff and caught a cab to the train station.

Ten hours later, I was in Sydney again.

Two hours after that, I walked into Sydney International Airport.

Oh boy. I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

Not at all.

First, I saw a man I recognized standing near the men’s public restroom. The same men’s restroom Raph and I had our very first meeting.

What were the freaking odds?

He’d been one of the paparazzi that had hounded Raph at Triptych café and the ringleader of the horde of paparazzi that had swarmed us on the Mackellar House front lawn.

The second thing that happened, apart from my pulse kicking up a notch and my grip on my suitcase handle growing tight, was he saw
me
.

Delighted hunger swept over his face. Seriously. The second his gaze fell on me, it was like a hungry pig had just spotted a bucket of swill. A triumphant leer stretched his lips, a greedy light filled his eyes and, without a word, he raised the camera hanging around his neck and took a photo of me.

I blinked and then, head down, hurried in the opposite direction. Away from the Qantas check-in counters.

“Maci Rowling?”

Damn it. He was chasing me.

I heard feet pounding on the floor. Heard people letting out surprised grunts and displeased, “Hey, watch it, mate.” I didn’t want to risk looking over my shoulder to see if he was following me, but I did.

And he was.

The second our eyes connected, he took another photo. “Where’ve you been?” he called, grin wide. “Where’s Jones?”

Head spinning, I looked straight ahead again and kept walking. Faster.

I had no idea where I was going. I just couldn’t be here.

The paparazzo followed me. Of course.

“Maci?” he shouted. “Hey, Maci? Is it true Jones dumped you for the Delvanian Crown Princess?”

Sick disbelief rolled through me. I scanned the crowed airport, desperate for something. Anything.

There.

Spying a female restroom, I ran for it.

The paparrazo laughed. Holston, I think I’d heard the other pap call him outside Triptych. Apparently, he was quite notorious. The smug and crude sound rose above the noise of the hundreds of people hurrying about the airport, scraping at my sanity as I rushed into the ladies’ restroom.

Ignoring the curious glances of the women in there washing their hands and fixing their makeup, I leaned against the wall and sucked in breath after breath. My chest squeezed tight. Wow. That was horrible.

“You okay, miss?”

I started at the concerned voice to my right. Jerking up my head, I stared at the woman standing beside me. It took a perilous moment before my mind registered she was wearing an airport security uniform. For the duration of that perilous moment, I’d been very close to whacking my backpack into her with as much force as I could.

“Miss?”

Shaking my head, I hugged myself. I had to control the tremors in my hand somehow. “There’s a guy outside,” I said. Crap, even my voice was shaking. “He thinks I’m someone else. Someone famous. He’s trying to take photos of me and chased me in here.”

The security guard’s eyes narrowed. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to decide what famous person I was, or what famous person I looked like. Apparently, she wasn’t interested in Raph’s celebrity status because no recognition crossed her face. With a serious nod and a stern expression, she placed her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get rid of him, miss.”

She plucked the radio on her shoulder from its clip and raised it to her lips. “West, this is East. We’ve got a possible pap issue in sector four.”

West—from wherever he was in the airport—answered with, “Gotcha. On my way.”

East returned her mic to its clip, offered me a reassuring smile and patted my shoulder. “West will deal with the man. Do you want me to escort you to where you need to go? Check-in counter?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I was going to be fine. But with the way the tremors were attacking my hand, my arm—hell, my whole body—I knew I wasn’t going to be fine. Not for a long time. “That would be wonderful,” I said. The smile I gave her was both sad and grateful.

She nodded. “Easy done.”

With a quick turn of her head, she activated her radio. “Got him, West?”

“It was that bastard Holston,” West’s voice crackled through the speaker. “We’ve run him off. It’s clear now.”

East released her radio and, with another smile at me, took my backpack from my shoulder. “Come on, honey. You look like you really need to sit down. Let’s get you checked in, okay?”

And that was how I left Australia. Escorted to the check-in counter by three friendly security guards, East carrying my backpack, West carrying my check-in bag and West’s companion—God, wouldn’t it be awesome if his name was South?—pulling my suitcase along behind his massive frame.