Home to Hope Mountain. Joan Kilby

handed over his credit card, then checked his wallet. He had only sixty dollars on him. “I’ll have an extra hundred, thanks.”

      She rang it through and passed him two fifty-dollar bills. Adam dropped them both into the bushfire rebuilding donation jar on the counter. “I can’t believe the town is relying on spare change to fund a new community center.”

      “There’s a long list of stuff that needs replacing. The primary school, the maternal health clinic, half the police station...” Belinda shrugged. “It’s all going to take time, I guess. They have to start somewhere.”

      He threw in another fifty from his wallet, leaving himself ten dollars.

      Belinda’s eyes widened. “Thanks, er...”

      “Adam.” He gathered up his bags. “Nice to meet you, Belinda.”

      “Same.” She grinned widely. “See you around.”

      “I hope not.” When she looked surprised, he added, “If I don’t, it’ll mean you sold your house and got out.”

      Belinda laughed and cocked a finger at him. “Gotcha.”

      Adam piled the groceries into the car and continued on down the main street, brooding on the state of the town. Nine months on there was still the faint whiff of burned wood in the air. Or was that his imagination?

      He wasn’t a coward, dammit. People like him and Belinda were being sensible. Why didn’t more townsfolk cut their losses and start new lives elsewhere?

      Spying the real estate office, he parked out front and went inside.

      A balding man with a perfectly pressed dark suit and a white smile rose from behind a desk, buttoning his jacket. He held out a hand. “G’day. Mort Brooks. What can I do for you?”

      “Adam Banks. I live out of town at a place called Timbertop. Diane Banks is my ex-wife. I believe she used to work for you.”

      “Yes, nice to meet you,” Mort said. “I was sorry Diane had to leave. Although business isn’t exactly booming so it’s probably for the best. How is she? How’s her mother doing?”

      Seemed like the whole town knew your business if you spent any amount of time in the place. To be fair, Mort genuinely seemed to care, and that was kind of nice. “As well as can be expected. She hasn’t had the operation yet.”

      “If you talk to her, tell her I said hey.”

      “Will do.” Adam glanced around the empty office. “Diane doesn’t plan on returning to Hope Mountain, and I don’t intend to stay long. I’d like to have Timbertop valued and put up for sale this summer.”

      Mort’s smile dimmed. “You and a hundred other folks in the area. Nothing’s moving in this glutted market.”

      “My place isn’t burned. It’s intact. Great location with views, horse stables and paddocks, five acres...” He trailed away as Mort, looking more like a funeral director than a Realtor, shook his head glumly.

      “I’ll value it for you and I can put it on the market, no problem. But fantastic properties are going at bargain-basement prices. The question you have to ask yourself is—are you willing to take a bath on the place?”

      Adam thought about it for all of five seconds. “I’ll take whatever I can get for it. It’ll be worthless to me if it burns to the ground.”

      “Is it insured?” Mort asked.

      “Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t rebuild.” He dragged a hand over the back of his neck. What if he was stuck with this white elephant? It wouldn’t hurt him too much financially, but the house was part of Diane’s divorce settlement and she would need another place to live. Morally speaking, he didn’t owe her another house, but he still felt responsible for her. And of course he was responsible for Summer.

      Unless Summer could be persuaded to live with him.

      He hadn’t realized until he’d come back to Hope Mountain just how much he missed his daughter and how nice it was to have her around, even in her black moods. They’d grown estranged over the past year and he wanted to reconnect. If she moved to Sydney with Diane he’d have an even harder time seeing her.

      But she would stay with him if he kept Timbertop....

      No way. The trees hadn’t suddenly grown asbestos bark.

      Mort made a note in his day planner, a big book open on the desk. “I’ll come out next week and take photos. You never know. There are people picking up properties simply because they’re cheap. And there’s talk of a government buy-back scheme. You might qualify.”

      “Can you time your visit during school hours? My daughter doesn’t know yet that I’m planning to sell.”

      “No worries.”

      No worries. He wished. Not telling Summer his intentions felt like a betrayal. Would she want to live with him after he sold the home she loved—even if he was doing it for her own good?

      He drove back through town past the many construction sites. The townsfolk determined to rebuild were misguided. It was like building on a flood plain or in an earthquake zone. Just plain dumb. And yet people did it over and over again—that was how strongly they felt about a certain geographical location they called home.

      A tiny part of him admired their resolve. Maybe he just wished he had a place that felt like home no matter what. Having a father in the armed forces, he’d been uprooted as a child more times than he could remember. The closest he’d come to a permanent home had been his grandparents’ farm. He and his brothers had spent most summers there with his mom while his dad was serving overseas.

      Later, after he’d married, he and Diane had owned two houses in the city. Diane was into decorating, and they’d felt more like showrooms than homes. Give him a lived-in look any day. His apartment...well, he didn’t spend enough time there for it to look lived in.

      Someday he would build his dream home. He’d designed it in his head many times, changing small details as he refined his ideas. It would be by the ocean, with a special place for him to put his drafting table. Mostly he worked on computers, but he still liked drawing by hand. The house would be filled with light from floor-to-ceiling windows. Bifold doors would open the house to the elements and let out onto a huge deck looking onto the water.

      He pulled into the parking lot next to the distribution center and unloaded two bags of groceries. He carried them through the group of people milling in front of the counter. One half of the tent was given over to clothing, kitchenware and smaller items like books and even CDs. In the back were the major appliances. A man was trying to wrestle a fridge off a dolly and into place next to a washing machine.

      Adam caught the eye of a fifty-something woman who was volunteering behind the counter. “Where do I put these?” he asked.

      “I’ll take them.” She peered into one of the bags. “Meat, eggs, cheese... Fantastic. Thank you so much, er...?”

      “Adam Banks. No big deal.” He nodded at the man with the fridge. “He looks like he could use a hand. Should I?”

      “Oh, please do. There’s a whole truckload of heavy appliances to bring in. People have been so generous that some days we don’t have enough manpower to sort and store stuff.”

      Adam thought of his own groceries growing warm in the trunk of his car. It wasn’t a hot day. How long could it take to unload a truck? The milk and meat would keep for an hour. Too bad about the ice cream. “How do I get back there?”

      * * *

      HAYLEY PARKED HER truck in the main street, on the diagonal, outside Molly’s Gift Shop Café. Shane sat up beside her in the passenger seat. He went everywhere with her, and she was especially glad of his moral support today. Sensing her discomfort, he put a paw on her leg and gave her a soulful look.

      She ruffled the fur around his neck.