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Cheryl posted 7.16 p.m.:
Anyone listen to the Country Hour on ABC Radio this morning? They’re saying the weather forecast is looking strong for snow for the Stanmore district in a few weeks. Calling it a ‘polar blast’.
Doug commented: Yeah, heard it. I’ll believe it when I see it.
Steve commented: The weather people say this every year *eye roll emoji*
Bruce commented: It’s bloody cold down south. Got a feeling they got it right this time *snowman emoji*
I straightened, caught staring up at the night sky as footsteps approached me from behind.
Rosie. Funny how I could tell it was her and not Ainslee.
Her room shared a wall with my quarters. We also shared a double chimney for old-fashioned warmth. Her space was comfortable, if a little spartan. No kitchenette or ensuite like I had. Rosie had to use the communal bathroom down the veranda.
But it was clean and warm and cosy with my late grandmother’s quilts and an old wicker cane chair by the fire. The other matching cane chair was in my room.
She passed me and then paused. “I’m sorry about the situation with the bank.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
She nodded, hesitating. “I read a great industry case study last week about a sheep grazing property that diversified during the drought into tourism as well as direct meat sales. I know it’s nothing new, but how they did it stood out and saved them from bankruptcy.”
That word.Bankruptcy. Made the acid rise to the back of my throat.
“I could send it—never mind. I’ll let you sleep.”
“I’d love to read it. Thank you.”
Rosie nodded. “Oh. Okay. Sure. What’s your email?”
“I’ll message you my student email.”
“Sure. Good.”
I inhaled a deep breath as quietly as I could. I’d just invited her to message me directly, privately, as opposed to being on the wedding group chat Amanda had set up.
Rosie took one step towards her room.
“Sorry about your engagement,” I blurted, wanting to kick myself.
Rosie faced me, wary. She scrutinised my face, looking for signs of … what? Derision? Teasing?
I must have passed her test as her face softened.
“I don’t like how it ended, but I’m glad it’s over.”
I blinked, backpedalling rapidly in my memory to find out if I knew why she wasn’t engaged anymore.
“You once asked me if I was happy. I thought I was. But I was wrong. As I said, it’s a good thing it’s over.”
I nodded, not daring to open my mouth in case I said something stupid.
“Hey, Tom!” Ainslee bounded down the back steps of the homestead and skipped to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“Oh hey,” Ainslee directed to Rosie. “Are you staying in the shearers’ quarters, too?”
“Yeah, the room next door,” Rosie answered quietly.
