Drowning in Her Eyes by Patrick Ford Page B

not remark on her late homecoming. She looked around the t a ble. “Mom, where is Daddy? ”
    Marci looked gravely at her little family. “Your father is feeling poorly today, and won ’t be going to work. I will be taking him to the doctor later. Susan, did you have an enjo y able evening? ”
    â€œYes, Mom, it was wonderful. Jack is such a nice boy. ”
    â€œHa, ha, Suzie ’s in love, ” jeered James Junior . “ W hen ’s the wedding? ”
    Marci rounded on him. “Stop that, stop it! ” The girls stared at her. This was not like their mother.
    Susan thought she saw a trace of fear in Marci ’s eyes.

    Meanwhile, just off a small country in Indochina, two US aircraft carriers and their escorts began to patrol the coastline, combat aircraft on standby, in a code yellow state of readiness. Combat air patrols are launched at dawn and dusk.

    Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia —1964

    â€œI hope Jack and Denni are all right, ” said Paddy. “De n ni writes, but that bloody boy hasn ’t put pen to paper since he left here a month ago. ”
    Helen patted his shoulder. “He ’ll be fine. There must be so much new for him to take in, so many things he has to do. ”
    â€œWell, I hope the silly young bugger hasn ’t fallen in love or something. ”
    Helen remembered Paddy ’s nieces. If Jack had fallen in love, it was probably with one or both of them, but that was a different kind of love. She prayed for him, for her only son. Sometimes she thought Jack had grown up too fast, learning to shoot, to drive, to ride, and all the other things to do on a station. For Paddy, Jack had been as good as another station hand for at least five years. He was more than a son. He was a good mate, and there is no finer description of a man in the Australian vernacular.
    Paddy was failing. She knew that. He had lost more weight and there were lines on his face that had no business being there in a man of his age. He missed his son, not only for the work he could do, but also for the companionship he provided. He spent long hours driving around the station. Like Jack, he was renewing his link with the land. He would stop in the shade and look over grazing sheep, or endless wheat fields, remembering how it was when he had co m menced his labours here. He knew he was nearing the end. He knew his achievements here had been extraordinary. He wanted to be sure his son would replace him as the steward of Ballinrobe .
    The last visit to the specialist in Brisbane had been di s appointing. The medics had nothing new to offer. They had tried different diets, different medications — none had been helpful. As they left the clinic, the heart specialist had taken Helen aside. “Helen, you have to get him to slow down. He is doing far too much. If he continues, he may not have much longer. ”
    As much as his condition, Paddy ’s frustration at his forced inability to work was killing him. He had always been a larger than life man, an older version of Action Jackson . His life was physical, it always had been. From the logging trucks to the land clearing and hard labour that had turned Ballinrobe from a wasteland of Prickly Pear to a prosperous and producti ve station, he had always been o n the front line. Having to sit on the veranda and watch Ollie and Mick do the work was galling.
    â€œI don ’t know where the kids get their thirst for book learning, ” he would say. “I never read a bloody word in my life that wasn ’t in an instruction manual or the like. ” Men are wont to forget that the women in their lives have brains too, and quite a few of his relatives were not lacking in inte l lect — not t o mention Helen and her family.
    The phone rang. Paddy answered. “Yes, what? Who ’s that? ” The phone at Ballinrobe was still on a primitive ma n ual exchange. “Righto , put him on . “G ’day mate