The Vet from Snowy River by Stella Quinn
ONE YEAR LATER
Vera scrolled up to the first page of her manuscript and sat for a moment before typing out the word.
D-E-D-I-C-A-T-I-O-N
She felt a little teary. Was this what closure felt like? She hoped so. God, how she hoped so. How many months ago had it been when she had made that rash promise to herself and to Jill that she could make a difference?
The shame she’d felt when she’d thought she’d let her aunt down had made her life so very bleak.
A deep purr rose from under her desk and she nudged her slippered feet against the plump sides of her old grey cat.
‘You’re right, Daisy,’ she said. ‘That’s all behind me now.’
The cat had snoozed beside her—at her feet, across her keyboard, sprawled across the reference book she most particularly needed to read—for every word of this guidebook for families trying to navigate the aged care sector. As Vera had typed, Daisy’s injuries had healed and word-by-word, month-by-month, she had finally come to believe that her own wounds had healed, too. She had fulfilled her promises; to her aunt that she would campaign for change, to the bundle of fur she’d once offered a saucer of milk to in an alleyway. A publisher had put their faith in her and offered her a contract; aged care workers and facilities and families had helped her with research so the guidebook contained perspectives that differed from her own.
She was proud of it. She was proud of herself, for seeing it through.
To my Aunt, she typed. You lived a full and fearless life and deserved to be safe, respected and cared for in your final years. This book is for you, Jill, and for all the other fierce and fabulous women who grow old before their time.
A large pair of hands slid over her shoulders and she leaned her head back into the warmth that was Josh.
‘I think I’ve finished.’
He leaned down and pressed a kiss into her temple, letting his hands slide down and around the swell of baby belly pushing out her dress. ‘I’m proud of you.’
She covered his hands with her own and took the moment to just be. ‘You know what, Josh?’
He pressed his cheek to hers. ‘What?’
‘I’m proud of me, too.’
‘I’ve got something to show you.’
She smiled. ‘Is that a line? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve seen what you’ve got to offer, Josh Cody, and I am one hundred per cent in.’
‘Don’t distract me with saucy talk, Vera Cody. Come on.’
She followed him out of the large open-plan room he’d made in the second storey of his grandparents’ apartment block, then down the hall with its polished timber floors and extravagant trim. They passed the doorway to Poppy’s room, then to their room, then he halted at the door to the other as-yet-unused bedroom.
‘Shut your eyes.’
She shut her eyes and held her hands out to the man she trusted more than life itself. ‘Show me.’
She heard the door open, its timber humming over the newly laid carpet. The faint smells of paint and turpentine lingered in the air, overlaid by the cleanness of lake and mountain roaring in through the open window.
Josh’s hands found her waist and moved her forward a few paces. ‘Okay. Open your eyes.’
A cot stood where, until yesterday, bare carpet had been the only comfort in the room. Its sides gleamed white, its legs were turned in shaker style, and above it, spinning in the breeze, hung a mobile of gaily painted wooden animals.
Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. ‘You made this?’
He grinned. ‘Graeme lent me a corner of his shed so I could get it built on the sly.’
‘It’s perfect. So perfect.’
‘Our first family heirloom.’
She reached a hand to the mobile and sent it spinning. ‘You made this too?’
‘I cut them out. Poppy and her brothers painted them. They wanted to be involved.’
So, so perfect. ‘Josh.’
He smiled. ‘I know, I’m pretty awesome,’ he said, then he put his fingers to his mouth and blew a short, sharp whistle.
Jane Doe trotted into the room dragging a large paper sack with her.
‘We thought you might like this to go on the cot.’
She could barely make out the knots in the ribbon, the tears were running so swiftly. She gave up, and tore the paper off the heavy parcel, until a mass of dense, coloured fabric flowed out of the wrapping and landed on the mattress of the cot. Jill’s quilt!
‘I don’t understand! How did you—’
‘I put in an outrageous bid in Marigold’s community hall fundraiser. She’s been keeping it for me ever since.’
The rag quilt. She ran her fingers over the ruffled squares. Ones Jill had stitched. Ones she had stitched from material given to her around the craft table at The Billy Button Café. Every stitch had brought her further along in her journey from a confused, lonely woman to the woman she was now.
‘You’ve given me the world, Josh. You know that?’
He wrapped his arms around her, so the two of them stood at the foot of the cot, looking down to where their child would sleep. Jane Doe’s tail thumped against their legs like a heartbeat.
‘You’ve given it right back, Vera.’