*Belle leaned forward and stared at the car heading toward the SES tent set up on the immaculate lawn of the Eco Lodge, where she stood with Mac. The day was fast draining to dusk as Dante pulled into a tight park between the rural fire brigade truck and a fully kitted-out ute.
She closed her eyes and breathed deep, trying to hold it as long as possible. He was finally here.
Mac gripped her shoulder. His silent support over the last couple of hours had been a godsend. If he hadn’t been there, she would’ve lost it long ago.
Nothing. No one had found anything. It was as if her mother had disappeared off the face of the planet.
Belle bit her lip to try to force the rising tide of terror and helplessness down. It had only built during the excruciating flight home, pressurized, held in a stranglehold of welling grief that threatened to explode at any given moment. Not having Dante’s calming presence near her had almost been too much.
The taxi ride from Bialga had been the longest of her life.
She opened her eyes as Dante’s arms squeezed her tight. A small sob of relief escaped her. She needed him, needed his strength, his comfort. She squeezed him back, hard enough that she worried he’d protest.
He just held her tighter.
Mac’s phone bleeped. He answered and flattened the map in front of him, nodding at whatever the person on the other end was saying, and marked off another area in black marker pen.
Stark desolation chewed her bones. Belle hung on tight to Dante. She hadn’t realised until his arms went around her just how much she needed to be held.
*
“Okay. Do one more sweep to the south-west then check in regarding your visibility. Out,” Mac said.
Mac set the two-way radio down on the map.
“Moira’s doing all she can from the air, Belle. She’s been up most of the day. If anyone can find your mum from up there, it’s Moira.”
Belle nodded. She screwed her eyes tight in an effort to find the strength not to break down in front of them all and breathed Dante’s scent deep into her lungs.
She let go of her friend and looked at the map to hide the telltale watering of her eyes. Mac had marked it up in a grid, markers placed where they’d already searched, along with the current whereabouts of crews.
Mac pointed to a marker off to his right. “As I was saying, your dad’s now with this crew here. They’re on their way back.” He glanced at his watch. “They’ve been out since lunch.”
She closed her eyes and asked the question she needed the answer to, but really didn’t want to ask. The question she’d avoided this whole time, because she didn’t think she could cope with the truth.
“How likely is it that—that she …”
Shutters dropped on Mac’s face. He looked down at the map and fiddled with a pen.
Oh, no.
Dante’s warm hand rubbing her back took the edge off the horrendous pain in her aching heart. “It’s going to be okay, B. We’ll—”
“But it’s not, is it?” She rounded on him, unable to contain the agony at the thought she might never see her mother’s face again. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen the volunteers come back in, their faces conveying their fading hope. Hadn’t seen the desolation in their eyes. “You can’t say that. Look at Mac’s face.” She flung her hand toward Mac. “Look at him!”
“Belle …” Mac started.
She couldn’t breathe properly. Why wouldn’t her lungs work?
Utter wretchedness flowed through her veins, poisoning her blood. This was her fault. All of it.
“She’s gonna die! And for what? I should’ve been here, not running off to be with you. What a mistake that was. Messing around with you took precedence over my own mother. What kind of person does that?”
She wasn’t looking for an answer, not really. But the absolute, complete writhing pain that it was her fault wouldn’t leave her alone. It had eaten at her the entire trip home.
If she’d been here, her mother would never have been able to wander off like that. How had Adelaide lost her?
“Belle, I know you’re hurting. It would’ve happened whether you were here or not.”
“That’s just it. She wouldn’t have wandered off on me. I would’ve noticed.”
Dante reached for her. She stepped back. Worry flashed over his face. She shook her head, trying to think clearly. Guilt threatened to swallow her whole. Guilt for her mother and for what she was doing to Dante, but she couldn’t help it. The words gushed from her anyway, refusing to be held back.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. How could I choose a bit of fun over my mum?”
“What are you saying?”
“It was a big mistake. Huge. I don’t know why I thought it could possibly be a good idea.”
Dante’s eyes widened. He straightened.
Mac tried to get her attention. “Belle, come on, I know you’re upset. Jack’s due to come back from break anytime now, and your dad’s crew just pulled up. Come talk to him.”
Mac tried to get her to follow him, his hand firm around her bicep. She couldn’t pull her gaze from Dante’s stunned face.
It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t hurting as much as she. Why wasn’t he hurting, too?
“I should’ve known better than to do what we did. I put myself before my family and look what happened. This thing? You and me? It was dumb. Wasting our friendship on a bit of sex was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Hurt flashed over his face. He stepped backward. “Why would you say that? Throwing stones at me won’t make your mum come back any faster.”
Out of nowhere, images of him and Valerie Foster, tangled in his bedsheets, flashed through her head. Belle had walked in on them stark naked a couple of years back. She’d never left a room so fast in her life. It only reinforced what she’d overheard him say to Valerie a few days before that.
Nothing permanent. No marriage. No kids. Just fun.
“I say it because it’s true! None of you Casellati guys hang around longer than it takes to learn a woman’s name, then it’s hey, let’s move on. Name any one of you who’s been with a woman longer than a month or two. Oh, that’s right. You can’t. Because none of you ever stick around. It’s not like what we did was real, something to last.”
I don’t want to be tied down. I don’t want that kind of thing. Ever.
She could still hear his voice, hear the words. Words that while she was glad he’d said them to Valerie, had wormed deep inside her and hurt.
Dante blanched, his tanned skin leeching all colour.
Mac yanked on her arm and dragged her behind him, away from the tent, toward the truck. “You’re coming with me.”
“It was real to me.” Dante’s soft voice hit her dead centre in the heart as she was hauled after Mac.
Tears spilled over. She blinked, trying to fight them. She sucked in a desperate breath.
She didn’t want to acknowledge that she’d deliberately hurt the one person she shouldn’t have, hadn’t been able to shut her damned mouth and stop the spew of awful words. Didn’t want to face the fact that she’d just irreparably damaged the best friendship she’d ever known.
She choked down the sob that forced its way up her throat.
Her mum. She was who Belle had to focus on now, not Dante.
No matter what she’d said.