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“Because you’ve known me my whole life. You know what kind of man I’ve become. And I think I am good enough for her. Guess I’m asking you if I stack up. Because I intend to be involved more in your family’s life from this point on if Rosie will have me.”
Angelo’s gaze drifted out over the vines and towards the mountains. “I used to joke with your father, ‘pity your sons are not Italian’. He say ‘Why’s that, Angelo?’, and I say, ‘because I have beautiful Italian daughters who will need husbands one day’. He’d always laugh and offer me beer—beer!” Angelo shook himself, disgusted. “I make award winning wine and drink said wine, but Rod, he always offer beer. So many generations of Turners and Zanettis living beside each other but never …”
“Courting?” I offered.
Angelo glanced back with a wry smile. “Ay, courting. Always neighbours, never anything more. Until now.”
I finally sipped the wine, and yeah, it was bloody good. And we sat in silence, drinking while the peachy-pink glow of the clouds turned to grey smudges against the dark blue skey until finally, the stars appeared.
“One day, you may find yourself becoming my son-in-law.”
I coughed on the last of my petit Verdot.
“And I will be proud to officially welcome you into my family, even if you are not Italian.” He sighed. “Or Catholic. But you are good lad. A good man, like your father.”
I inhaled deeply. That admission was the high praise from Angelo.
Future son-in-law?Did that mean Rosie wanted the fantasy of what we’d done in the hut to be real life?
I sat rigid, barely noticing the rising moon. Angelo sighed happily. “I sit here every night and see something different with every sunset and every sunrise.”
“I’d be proud to sit here with you as part of your family.”
“Not every night, I hope.” Angelo snorted, drinking the rest of his glass. “Tonight? Fine. Every night? Bah! I like my time to think. Away from the women. And sons-in-law and boyfriends.” Angelo exhaled noisily. “And girlfriends, too, so Maria says.”
I laughed and the kookaburras joined in, heralding the oncoming darkness with one last raucous call.
Maria burst out of the marquee just as I was about to have another sip. “There you are! There’s smoke in the high country near the national park. Rosie went up to check on some trail camera footage at a wombat burrow about an hour ago. But she’s not back.”
I stood, immediately pouring out the remaining half of my glass. Sure enough, to the east, a thin plume was snaking above the trees. “Have you—”
“Called the brigade, yes. But thought you two should know.”
“Get up to the highest vineyard with a full tank stand and pump ready, just in case. I’ll go get her. Do you know which burrow?”
Maria blinked rapidly. “She was watching footage from a burrow numbered seventy-six, I think.”
“That camera is beyond Hades’ burrow. Why did she go back?” We had I was torn between running up the mountain and needing equipment, information and backup. “Show me the footage she had.”
In the farm office, I helped myself to a glass of water as Maria loaded up a short black-and-white video clip for Angelo and I. This camera was hidden under rocks, and was aimed at the second camera. Someone walked past a wombat burrow. All that was visible were their work boots with a broken shoelace and a cut in the leather. Liquid splashed on the ground. A full two seconds passed of nothing, and then a hand reached down and plucked the other camera from its perch. In the next ten seconds of footage, the person dropped a lit match. We all jumped, knowing all too well how dangerous a bushfire could be.
“The date stamp. This was the day of the muster. Rosie swapped out the SD cards at the cameras already in place. The snow came that night. Too cold for a fire.”
“And the bush is on fire now,” Maria whispered.
“Someone stole the camera. Bloody hell, she’s run up there to replace the camera and check on the burrows.
“Or worse.” Angelo sighed. “She’s raced up there to catch the vandal.”
No one said it, but all knew that wasn’t water being spilt on the ground.
“I’ll call the cops,” Maria said.
“I’ve got my fire gear and first-aid kit in the ute.” The Zanettis had a bush track for four wheel drive vehicles to access their boundary and the fire break against the national park’s border. It would be the quickest way to get to her location. “I’m getting changed and heading up there now. Angelo, direct the fire crews to the bush track. Maria, get that water tank and pump up to the boundary.”
Angelo nodded. “Thomas, get my daughter back safe.”
I parked my ute at the vineyard boundary fence beside a four wheeler from the Zanetti vineyard, and grabbed my backpack. More smoke rose through the trees in the rough country beyond the Zanetti’s.
