Page 77 of Return to the Waratah Inn

“I can understand that.” He stood again with a grunt, stretching out his legs. “I can’t squat for long these days.”

“If I struck that pose, I’d never get up again,” Mima replied. “You’re a good friend, Jack. I’m glad you came over here and pressed me to tell you what was going on. I might’ve kept it to myself otherwise. I’ve been struggling to get the words out, to tell anyone what I was going through. I don’t really even understand it myself. How did this happen? Why didn’t I look for him? Why did I believe them when they told me he died? I’ve missed out on so much of his life…”

Jack released a breath. “You can’t go there, love. You’ll drive yourself mad. It’s like what happened to me. I’ve asked myself a hundred times, why did I stay in Italy when the war ended? I had the dog tags, I could’ve come back to Australia, they would’ve found my family. But instead, I lost years with the love of my life and the chance to know my son.”

Mima nodded. “But then you wouldn’t have your other children.”

“Exactly that,” he replied. “I wouldn’t be the man I am without those experiences. I wouldn’t have the children, grandchildren and years of memories with a wife I loved. Did I miss time with Edie and Keith? Yes. And I’ll always regret that. But at the same time, we can’t go back. We can’t change the past, as much as we might wish we could. The only thing we can do is choose to live differently moving forward. You can’t fix what was done, but you can be his mother now. He looked for you and wants to know you. That’s a good thing. And this is your chance to be there for him finally, after all this time.”

Mima inhaled a slow breath. “You’re right. I wish… but I can’t change anything with a wish.”

“If only we could.”

“If only.” They smiled weakly at one another.

Mima stood to her feet. “I’ll boil the kettle again. Our tea’s gone cold.”

“A cold cuppa just isn’t the same.” Jack patted her on the back as she walked by him, his voice full of emotion.

“You can say that again.” She switched on the kettle and leaned against the bench to wait for it to boil. He followed her inside. “I always wanted children, you know.”

He nodded, then came closer and reached out a hand to squeeze hers. His fingers were knobbly, weathered and coarse. “I know.”

“I didn’t get to do that. I’ll never…” she sobbed. “. . . never get to do that.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges as his face crumpled for a moment. Then he composed himself. Always Jack. Always strong. Always kind, but never out of control. “I know, love. I know.”

“They stole that from me.”

“Bloody awful.”

She nodded, her vision blurred. “Stole it from him, too. He said he’s always had a hole in his heart, always longed for me. It broke me, hearing that.”

More sobs keened from her body. Jack wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, her tears wetting his shirt as she shook and heaved. He shook gently too as he grieved in silence along with her.

When he stepped back, he wiped his eyes with his fingertips. “You know, the girls wouldn’t be who they are without you. Edie told me how much you meant to her and Paul, and to the kids. You helped to raise them. I know they weren’t your own daughters, but they love you like a mother. You and Edie were their surrogate mothers when they lost their own. And that means something.”

She found a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose. “I’m grateful for them. Of course, it’s true—they’re like my own children. I love them as much, and I was there for a lot of their big moments. The inn has been my baby too. I’ve nurtured and grown it into something I’m so proud of today. The girls have taken it over now, but my heart and soul were woven into its life years ago.”

“You should be proud. You’ve given so much of yourself… we’re all grateful for you.” He cleared his throat.

“Thanks for that. I know you don’t like to use so many words, or talk about feelings and such very often.”

He cocked his head. “Seems like this was the right time for it.”

“Indeed it was, dear friend.”

He grinned. “Besides, I need you to get back to ribbing me over my health food and snarking about my TV-watching habits.”

“I still can’t believe you like Blue Heelers. You always say the cops aren’t there to rescue you—they’re just the clean-up crew. And yet here you are, lapping up a cop show on the telly every week.”

His brow furrowed. “The Heelers are different. They actually care.”

“They’re fictional, Jack.” Mima clucked her tongue. “Deary me.”

He grunted. “There you go, spoiling all my fun.”

He winked at her, and she leaned in for a quick hug.