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“Rosalba.” I looked up. “I love you, mybimba.”
My nickname –bimba, kiddo in Italian—my nickname that he never called my younger sisters.
His unexpected declaration had caught me unawares. Tears pricked my eyes. I’d cried many times today, but I didn’t care.
“I love you too, Dad.”
He sniffed and we embraced in a fierce hug, long and strong. “Now, Rosalba. You go sleep.”
For the first time in four years, I slept soundly, the weight from my shoulders lifted.
28
TOM
Ballydoon Community Group:
Bruce Turner posted 10.15 a.m.
The anniversary of Rod Turner’s passing is coming up, and we’ll hold a memorial function to remember his life. I’ll post updates here. Also, there’s more news to come from Leonie and the kids about the ABC TV special they’re filming about the fire, Rod and what happened after.
Beryl commented: a good man. I’d like to attend, thank you, Bruce.
Benji commented: a great man in our community.
Stacey commented: thank you, Uncle Bruce.
“So. You have the shearing very soon and then opera in a week and a half.” Angelo sighed, pouring a glass of petit verdot and settling into the garden bench to watch the sunset. “Singers come in a week. Then, dress rehearsals and final sound checks. And then feast for guests and the music.”
Rows of festoon lights had transformed the marquee and the outdoor area surrounding it into something from a fairytale. Gianni had popped by with the fire service, to do a fire safety check for the event, and had helped with the lights using the fire truck ladder. Charlotte said it looked magical before Ryan whisked her away back to the homestead.
Opera didn’t have me nervous. It would be a success, as usual. Angelo had run this event for almost thirty years.
I was exhausted and on edge after a day of checking last minute preparations and health of the flock. The wool clip started in two days. But that paled in comparison to facing Angelo when he wanted a talk.
And he sure didn’t want to talk about festoon lights or opera dress rehearsals.
“I only want the best for Rosalba. The very best.” He handed me the wine and cleared his throat. Richard promised that and then he turned out to be the worse. I only want to protect her.”
I ignored my wine. “She’s not a little girl who needs protecting anymore.”
“No, no. She’s a woman now who wants to protect her old man from dodgy hearts and death.”
“Well, what about me?”
Angelo looked over his glass, his face neutral. “What about you, Thomas?”
“I’m in love with your daughter.”
Angelo said nothing. Didn’t move. Didn’t even sip his wine.
“Am I good enough to be the best for her?”
“Are you asking me if you can court my eldest daughter?”
“No one says ‘court’ anymore, and no. I’m not asking you permission.” Angelo glared, but I forged ahead. “I’m going to ask Rosie if she will consider going on a date with me.”
Angelo narrowed his eyes. “Why, then, are you asking me if you good enough for my daughter?”
