“Thanks. I love them more than anything. So what about you?”
Lincoln smirked. “I love them more than anything too.”
Bree blushed. “You know what I mean. What about you and family?”
A wary smile surfaced on Lincoln’s lips as his gaze darted around the cabin. “I’ve been unlucky in love, I guess.”
“Anyone serious over the years, or have you been playing the field?”
Lincoln exhaled hard. “I’ve been married.”
Wide-eyed, Bree sat back in her seat. “You kept that quiet. There’s nothing on your social media that would even hint at that.”
Lincoln shrugged. “There’s nothing really to share. It was short, and it’s over.”
“Kids?”
Lincoln looked beyond Bree. “No, it’s probably just as well.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that. How long—?”
His eyes hardened, lowering a boom on the conversation. “So tell me about your husband. What does Sam do for a living?”
Bree couldn’t help but smile as pride in her husband’s respectful care of the elderly poured out. Sam’s cheeky grin had gotten her attention. His belief in her had won her heart. And his commitment to the people in his care had kept her love burning.
“And you’re in Nashville. Still involved in music?”
Bree’s red locks shook. “Not really. I work in a studio that records advertising jingles.” She bit her lip and looked up at Lincoln from beneath lowered eyelids, expecting to feel his disappointment.
“Well, you’re still in music, and I guess if you want to go back to it after your girls have grown up, you’re in the right place. Tell me about Eliza.”
The speed with which Lincoln shifted the conversation left Bree’s head spinning.
“She doesn’t have anyone in her life, does she?”
“Why don’t you ask her that?”
Lincoln shook his head and beamed a goofy, embarrassed smile. “Didn’t we have this discussion in our sophomore year?”
Bree nudged him with a playful elbow. “You want to rekindle something with her, don’t you?”
Lincoln’s grin slipped.
“You do! Listen, can I give you some advice? I know things didn’t end well back in college, but I really think she’s moved on.”
“It’s not that things didn’t end well, it’s that they didn’t end. I came back from Africa and she left me hanging.”
An attendant’s voice crackled across the intercom. “The captain advises that we’ll shortly be commencing our descent. Would the cabin crew please prepare the cabin for landing?”
Bree checked the flight map. Caroline Springs had to be close but it was nowhere in sight. Beneath her, miles and miles of nothingness. Occasional long fingernail scratches in the earth, empty roads ready for the next person who might want to visit whatever was down there, whenever that might be. Maybe the town would appear out of nowhere like Sydney did. Maybe that’s what Australia was best at—surprising you when you least expected it.
Lincoln fastened his tray table and adjusted his seat belt.
“That’s a shame about your music. Were there any other auditions besides that one in New York?”
Bree could feel herself welling up, as she always did at this part of the memory. She had to keep a lid on her emotions. “No.”
Lincoln cocked his head. “Well, you gave it your best shot, didn’t you?”
No, she hadn’t.
* * *
Lincoln strutted across the tarmac, his shoulders burning in the lunchtime sun, his heavy eyelids stuck twelve time zones away. He headed toward a colossal corrugated metal building, a sign of welcome nestled in the gentle scooping curve of its roof.
The automatic doors scooched open and Lincoln strode into the crisp coolness of the terminal. He placed his feet on carpet of red ochre with bursts of black and brown. The airport at Coolamon Crossing could have been built off-site and dropped right on top of the outback.
Bree folded back the brim of her wide hat as the cool air buffeted her fringe. “Did you see that giant bird running alongside the runway? Was that an ostrich?”
A woman with chocolate skin and gold flecks in raven-black hair brushed past Bree. “Actually, it’s an emu.” Her accent was more than flat broadness; its exoticness dripped with dark honey. Her sashaying figure cloaked in a dress patterned in white dots and ochre handprints drew Lincoln’s gaze.
Andy appeared at his shoulder. “They don’t really care about security here, do they? You could walk to the parking lot right off the plane.”
Lincoln scanned for the captivating woman gliding through the airport and jumped as his phone beeped again. Another text from Dianne. The smallest of victories surged through him, and he relished the flourish with which he switched off his phone.
Eliza joined them, her phone swiveling to capture the swirls of color and shape that dotted the walls. “Have a look at the indigenous artwork. Incredible!”
The woman was gone. “Let’s head over to baggage claim.”
An explosion of messages peppered with an explosion of expletives erupted as Andy fumbled for his phone. Lincoln laughed. “Someone’s popular.”
Andy mumbled an apology under his breath.
Eliza nudged between them. “I admire your commitment to staying offline, Andy, but it’s okay if you answer one message while you’re on vacation.”
Lincoln turned to Eliza. “Which gate were we at?”
Eliza laughed as she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “The gate.”
They approached a single carousel, a thin ribbon of black snaking its way over the ochre and brick-red of the carpet. The carousel creaked into gear and suitcases appeared—black, black, silver, black. Then expensive leather and Lincoln stepped forward. “Mine made it from San Francisco.”
A steady stream of luggage filled the carousel and paraded around the tiny airport. Eliza reached for a leopard-print suitcase that dawdled toward them. Andy grabbed a well-traveled canvas. Bree’s anxious scanning ended as her suitcase made an appearance.
Lincoln surveyed their group and collective baggage. “Okay, does everyone have everything? If so, let’s—”
Andy shook his head. “Still waiting on two more.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows shot up. “Two more? How long are you staying for?”
Bree sidled up to Lincoln. “Where are we supposed to meet our tour guides?”
Lincoln zipped open his leather folder, and a single sheet of paper, embossed with a lawyer’s logo, fluttered to the floor. He bent over and snatched it up, beating Eliza’s outstretched hand to it, and shoved the letter to the bottom of his paperwork. His finger trailed down the page as he darted his gaze to Eliza, now engrossed in her phone. “Let’s see . . . what am I looking for? ‘Our representative will meet you at the airport for a comfortable ride out to our campsite.’”
A flat accent appeared at Lincoln’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, mate, but I think that might be referring to me.” A young man in a black shirt and khaki shorts stood next to them, a pearly white grin set against jet-black skin and under fine-cropped black hair. Over his heart were two embroidered words: Outback Tours. “Are you Lincoln Horne?”