People say they knew. You know, like twins or even soul mates. They say, “I just knew something was wrong. I’d had a bad feeling all day.” Or, “I felt it deep down in my core, I knew he was gone.”

I didn’t get the chance. You weren’t gone long enough. There was still steam coming off your untouched cup of tea. When I heard the crash, my head jerked up from my sewing, but I thought it was a mill accident, nothing to do with you.

They say it was quick. You went on the spot. Is it true? For me it feels like you’re still here, like I could still reach out and touch you. Like any minute you’ll walk back through the door with the milk you’d gone out to get.

In the darkness, in the night, I lie in bed and pretend you’re still there. Your energy is wrapped all around me. Yes, I long for your touch, your breath, your kind words whispered in my ear, but sometimes it’s enough for me to feel your spirit like you’re here with me, listening to everything that’s going on, following me up the steps to the house, reminding me we need to do something about that bramble on the front verandah, but I don’t do anything about it because if I do, I worry maybe it will be like you’re not there. Like it’s one more thing that might send you further away.

Jenny rang the Inn for me, told them you wouldn’t be coming in, but word spread fast. They’d had to block off the roads. Jimmy Sawyer was a wreck, they said. He was the one driving the truck, but it weren’t his fault. It was the logs, they just weren’t tied on good enough, and they came tumbling down. Did you see his face as they came? Or was it the logs or the big blue sky? What was it, the last thing you saw with those deep green eyes? What were you thinking? About starting the new job? Or the payment you had to make to Jim Baker? Or was it the look on my face that morning after we’d made love in the coming dawn?

The bedroom has always been my favorite room in the house, the way the light falls over the bed. But now I know if I stand and look down over the way on the other side of the scrub, that’s where you lay on the hard blue bitumen road, lifeless, with blood streaming from your head.

They didn’t clean it up, you know. I thought they’d do that, but the police and ambulance came from Drysdale, they packed up your beautiful smashed body, and they took you away. I couldn’t see you. They said it wasn’t possible. I’d cried and I’d screamed, “It isn’t real,” but Doctor Shelton, he put his arm around and pulled me soft in to his chest, “Oh, Ruth, I’m so sorry.” I could feel his breath on my hair and I closed my eyes to the fact that he wouldn’t be bringing no baby of ours into the world no more, after all.

Lance came round the next day with Fletcher and left him there with me for the day, said, “There’s nothing better for the soul than a bit of canine company.” You know Lance, he’s closer to those dogs than any human on earth. You know I ain’t one much for dogs, but I swear I know why they’re so loved now.

I was walking Fletcher down the track, the one you and I walk down to the dam, when we came to the road. It was still all marked off with police tape and I couldn’t help but look. I saw it, in amongst the bits of bark and leaves, this dark red splash on the road. I sunk down next to it on my heels, fell over crooked and bawled like a baby. I don’t mean soft feminine sobs. I mean racking the body, doubled over, no strength in the knees sobs. And Fletcher, he comes over and leans in to me, like he’s my best pal ever, and gives me a real simple lick on the face.

I didn’t have it in me to push him away like I once might have done. This was just what I needed. I sat there huddled with him, soaking up his warmth and love, till I’d calmed down enough and he tugs on his lead a bit and looks up with those eyes that say, “Let’s just walk now.” So we did.

I’m thinking I might ask Lance if I can keep hold of him awhile. Just while I get through these long stretching hours where dawn brings the light that reminds me you’re not by my side anymore.