Chapter Text
The first time Chilli Cattle saw her sister cry was at their mother's funeral.
She had never known her sister to cry, for Brandy never had so much as shed a tear, even when nursing wounds from a nasty fall, or a rough tumble in the waters of the creek. Her sister was tough and steadfast, and she always held her head high.
But here they stood side by side, watching the coffin descend into the earth. When Brandy’s tears fell, they never stopped flowing, mixing with the falling raindrops.
Their mother had never hated the rain. She’d embraced it, for all that it was wet and cold. Rain was a blessing, she’d told them both. Whenever the rain had come to their home, further inland, their mother would be first out the door, to herd the steers away from the elements.
Nor would their mother come back in right away. When her duty was done, when all the frightened animals in the ranch had been taken care of, their mother would stay out in their yard, with a smile and a laugh, arms outstretched, uncaring of the mud that splattered about and matted her fur. Brandy would follow, and though Chilli may have preferred to stay at the porch with their father, who said he’d had enough rain for a lifetime, the two of them found the sight of mother and daughter playing in the rain to be warm as any sunny day.
In the here and now, across from them, their father was quiet as a mouse, quieter than he’d ever been, the gentle whispers of their Aunt Mary breaking the silence. Her father never did cry much, Chilli knew this well. Always so tranquil his gaze firm like a stone, the way he’d always taught them both to be in the face of adversity.
Glancing up at Brandy, whose eyes were now redder than either of their coats, Chilli’s paw tightened around her sister’s, a gesture Brandy returned in kind. Neither of the two spoke a word as the procession went on. Nor did those in attendance raise their voices. They’d uttered their condolences just before the burial.
Once the coffin was buried in the ground, once the last rites had been uttered, then did their father step forward.
“She was a good mother,” he spoke solemnly, in the weary drawl all too familiar to Chilli’s ears. “The best partner anyone could ever dream of. And we’ll miss her every day.”
There were no further words, only shared glances between friends and family. Although her father wasn’t one for fancy or winding words, those in attendance were affected all the same.
One by one, the small crowd dispersed, with those closest to their father giving him sympathetic words and pats on the elbow that, for all Chilli knew, did little to comfort any of those involved. Not their grandparents, nor her father’s old friend from the army, Maynard, whom they called Uncle, could get anything more than a sad little tail wag from her father.
When all was said and done, only the four of them remained. Her father donned his old bucket hat once more, approaching them with Aunt Mary by his side.
“Come on, girls,” he said, a touch of warmth creeping in through the chill of the rain. “We’ll stay ’till after brekkie, first thing in the morn’, Mary, if that’s alright.”
Aunt Mary nodded, giving her brother a gentle rub on his arm. Addressing Chilli and Brandy, though she spoke breezily, the dark stains on her muzzle told a different tale.
“Nah, it’s alright, Mort. I’ll get the dressing ready. Hear that, kids?” she said, her cheery tones not matching the sorrow in her eyes, her spotty tail hanging limp. “Tell you what, you lot can stay up late, I’ll leave the telly on.”
Chilli could barely manage a tiny wag in response. Without further words spoken, her father hoisted her up on his back, her tears staining his fur as he held Brandy’s hand in his own.
Their walk down the cobbled path and out of the graveyard was held in silence, and remained so until they arrived at Aunt Mary’s home.
Above them, the rain continued to fall. Long into the night, it never faltered.
* * * * *
Rising from Fortitude Valley, just within sight of the Brisbane River, Aunt Mary’s apartment was the last place one would expect to find a cattle dog, Chilli’s father used to say. They were meant to roam the open fields and dwell amongst the cattle they protected. He meant no ill-will by it, nor did Mary take it as such. It was where she liked to be, and they had long found peace with their differences.
Where back home, there was a treeline and the ‘roos roaming out in the fields, here there were high-rise apartments, with clusters of cars moving along the streets down below. Chilli didn’t like this much, yet she could live with it. Cramped as Brisbane felt, so unlike the fields and woodlands she’d grown up around, Aunt Mary was always very welcoming and kind. Never was there a day when Chilli hadn’t wished she could stay longer at Aunt Mary’s place.
Not today. Each little thing Chilli had loved, be it the balcony’s view onto the blue yonder of the horizon past all rooftops, or how clean Aunt Mary had kept the apartment for every occasion – the whole of it bore down and suffocated her as the moment stretched out.
The grown-ups had busied themselves over dinner, as grown-ups do, with talk of things well outside the ken of a pup such as Chilli. She could scarcely bother to care for news of crumbling walls and falling curtains, when some other time she might at least have asked whose house had got damaged so badly. Oddly, the grown-ups talked about this as if it were a good thing, a light in their eyes otherwise still dimmed by the pall of the day.
“I’m going to bed,” Chilli announced, perhaps a little louder than she’d intended.
A few pairs of those eyes turned towards her – grandparents, cousins, family friends, and even her father. But he said nothing. For all Chilli knew, he wanted to sleep as much as she did.
“Aw, go ahead, Chilli dog,” said Aunt Mary, smiling, before anyone else could comment. “We’ll leave some for you in the morning.”
Chilli gave her a quick nod. She sauntered off towards the bedroom, holding her glass. Aunt Mary’s apartment was quite spacious. And that was already an understatement, for unlike Chilli’s father, who had married his childhood sweetheart, Aunt Mary remained single – and proud of it. While Chilli’s grandparents had their opinions about it, the steady support she’d offered was more than enough to satisfy them.
On most holidays, Christmas and the New Years most of all, they’d all gather at the apartment, though spread wide throughout Australia their friends and family were. And though often Chilli found the noise and toil of the city to be overwhelming at best and suffocating at worst, with little opportunity to stretch her legs amidst the concrete jungle, Aunt Mary’s presence and the finest of salad dressings were enough to wash away any lingering woes.
In normal times.
There was also the telly. No matter how often her father had scoffed at it, and her mother good-naturedly ribbed her over it, Chilli could never get enough of Aunt Mary’s telly – which had gotten its own room, even. Many a night did she spend before it in awe, tail wagging to and fro, cheering on the latest hockey exploits. Two years before, on a breezy Spring evening, Chilli had witnessed the Hockeyroos snag the gold medal at the Olympics.
To this day, much to Brandy’s relentless teasing, she still wasn’t sure how she could have possibly squealed so loudly it had woken Granddad from his afternoon rest.
Gulping down her glass of water, as she went further down the hallway, Chilli shuddered at the memory, how flustered she’d been then. But all that went away when she heard a familiar voice full of conviction.
“ –Were revealed to me, the day I held aloft my sword and said, ‘For the honour of Grayskull’!”
Pushing the door open, Chilli was met with the sight of the Princess of Power herself. The Retriever was mid-transformation, holding her signature sword aloft, primed to defend all that was good and to vanquish the evil horde.
Chilli’s eyes, though, were drawn elsewhere. Silhouetted by the harsh light of the telly, her sister was leaning against the couch, seated on the floor. Her tail was limp, and she held her legs against her body.
“Brandy?”
“Oh, h-hey, Chilli,” Brandy answered, trying – and failing – to contain her sniffles, offering a crooked half-smile instead. She scrambled to shut off the TV. “Sorry, I thought I might catch some reruns, yeah? Oh, darn it, I really oughta keep the volume down.”
“It’s okay,” answered Chilli. She paused briefly, taking in the sight of her sister’s worried look. Brandy’s muzzle was still stained, and there lay a box of tissues by her side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Brandy said, rather unconvincingly, even as Chilli set down her glass and scooted over to her. “It’s pretty late. You probably should get some rest.”
“But you’re still up,” Chilli said plainly. “I think I can stay up a bit, too, then, ’cause I’m not really feeling it.”
“Stubborn as they go, you are,” said Brandy, ruffling her fur, laughing as Chilli batted her paw away, giggling all the same.
As their laughter died down, the subsequent silence that hung over them grew deafening, and so too did their smiles fade.
“So, are you going to catch the rerun, or…”
“I probably should,” said Brandy. “It’s… I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the same. It is kind of funny, I’d reckon. She thought it was just a silly fad the first time she saw it… and then she’d spend hours and hours in front of it.”
Her chuckle was full of longing, shaky it might be. “You should have seen Dad’s face when she first asked if we could have one, too.”
“How’d I miss that one?”
“You were asleep, silly, don’t you remember?” Brandy ruffled her fur and ears once more, against her protests. “It was, I don’t know… three years back?”
“That’s a while ago,” Chilli said, huffing. “Feels like it’s been around forever.”
“Yeah, really does…” Brandy continued. “She laughed it off, of course, like everything. But, but then she asked me if I’d like to help her stitch something. And, oh, that costume was just lovely …”
“She made the best,” Chilli agreed.
Though their own home lacked television, and the radio was dodgy at times, this had never been much of a hindrance for their mother, whose knowledge and fondness for fantasy was unmatched by anyone, not even their father, who’d tried his best to keep up.
“I don’t know how she did it, though,” Brandy lamented. “I could never figure out how she did it. And, now…”
“Aw, Brandy, come on,” Chilli said, at once. That tell-tale quiver said it all. She needed to step in. “You did great with yours. It’s not like it was bad or anything.”
“Don’t tell me,” Brandy remarked, “you kept that old thing.” Was that embarrassment that Chilli heard in her older sister’s voice? “It wasn’t my best work, either! Mum would’ve made it better, like that roo onesie.”
“I thought that was a bear, honestly.”
“See? Mum could just go and fix things, like she always did.”
“Hey, the costume worked, alright? And of course I kept it, you made it,” Chilli retorted, harrumphing. She stood up, holding her arm out in what she hoped was a perfect mirror of Adora herself. “Ahem. For the honour… of Grayskull! ”
Alas, to her own embarrassment, there was a crack in her voice just as she exclaimed.
Brandy giggled, her tail wagging. “Really now,” she said, her voice obnoxiously teasing. “Nothing to do with that boy you met, hm?”
“Oh, shut up, ” Chilli bit back. “I just handed him his hat back, is all.”
“Uh-huh,” said Brandy. “Alright. Suit yourself, Adora.”
Chilli stuck her tongue out. So did Brandy. Then they laughed for a good long while, the sorrow washing away like the rain and the mud.
Afterwards, Chilli looked at her sister, as she leaned against her shoulder.
“I meant it, by the way,” Chilli said, gently. “I asked you to make it, because it’s… it’s you. You’re the best, sis.”
“Alright, lay it off,” Brandy said with a huff. Yet the corners of her mouth curled a tiny bit, her fondness barely concealed. “I still think the stitch could use some work. But thank you.”
“Anytime. So, um,” Chilli said. “Think we can still catch the rerun?”
Brandy tapped her chin for a moment. She smiled. “Right–o’, Chilli dog.”
* * * * *
Before the Sun had risen to its fullest, Chilli and her sister already stood at Aunt Mary’s doorway, their bags neatly packed – or as neat as they could attempt to, at the very least.
True to her father’s words, the three of them had got up very early on, saying their goodbyes to all the others present. The snappy goodbyes and early departure were of no surprise to anyone present, Chilli suspected, for none particularly minded – not even their grandparents – and Aunt Mary only had her usual kindly encouragement to offer.
But though their tails were lively as they hugged tight, Chilli caught the tinge of sadness her Aunt’s gaze held. Aunt Mary took them aside for a moment.
“Hey, take care of your Dad, you two,” Aunt Mary said. “He can be so stubborn, especially where his heart is involved. Even if I’d reckon he thinks it all comes down to his noggin’.” She shot their father a glance. “Never was the same after he went off to… well, it’s not my place to say. Your Mum was always so good at keeping him grounded, you know?”
Chilli and Brandy shared a look. Caring and jovial as he could be, their father often had too little to say, when it came to the matters of his personal thoughts. Selfless, their mother would say. But Aunt Mary’s concern was clear as day.
“Gotcha, Auntie,” Chilli said. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Or both eyes,” Brandy added, and they shared a giggle.
“Aw, you kids,” Aunt Mary said, ruffling their heads. “Alright, off you go. Your father’s waiting.”
With a last hug shared between them, the little family left the apartment, off into the long drive that followed.
* * * * *
Mount Edwards was a good hour’s drive away from Brisbane, a quiet corner of Queensland that Chilli and Brandy called home, as their father did in his own childhood. Outside the car window, the sights turned from the concrete and glass buildings to cosy homes in the city’s outskirts, before giving way to the forests and fields across which cut the highway asphalt.
On this journey, rather than the laid-back, hearty talks of a family on a road trip, there was only the growing, dreadful silence.
Chilli understood the value of silence. She would find it welcome, in the long days after school, when she wanted nothing more than the peace and quiet of her books and drawings. Yet to see her father so quiet was not normal. Uncanny. Discomforting.
For as long as she could remember, Chilli had always known her father to be soft-spoken. In the months past, ever since the day a certain piece of news had broken from the hospital, he'd turned into something different. Not simply soft-spoken, but barely speaking at all, nearly mute.
She remembered Aunt Mary’s words. One thing her father had never, ever spoken much about was the jungle. It was true he'd taken her to the creek and woods by their ranch, taught her how to live off the land in the deepest of foliage and darkest of nights. However, when she'd ask him what the jungle had been in like his youth, his answer would always be the same;
"Aw, you shouldn't worry about little old me, Chilli. We shouldn't have been there, that’s all."
Only her mother had ever got him to talk at length. Chilli wondered how she’d done it, managing where his sister and daughters had failed. A long time ago, not so long ago, sometimes Chilli heard them outside, chatting under the starry night. Always it ended with them walking home hand in hand, crossing the arid outback breeze.
And when her mother was gone, so did her father's joy go too.
“Hey, Dad, I think I saw a roo just now!” Brandy spoke up.
“Oh, really? Think I missed it. Sorry, Brandy.”
Chilli glanced at Brandy – who winced at her own words.
“That’s okay…. Why don’t we ranch kangaroos?”
“I don’t know. I s’ppose hardly anyone wants more of ‘em.”
“Ah, okay.”
Nothing more was said for a half-hour or so, as asphalt turned to dirt, the forests gave way to the fields where cattle roamed, and their car turned down the road home.
Nothing, at least, until they’d reached their living room, the last of their bags set down.
“That should be it, then. I’ll go feed the horses, kids,” said her father. “I’ll cook lunch in a bit.”
“That’s alright,” Brandy piped up, her tail wagging a bit. “I can take care of lunch.”
“Aw, thanks, kiddo,” said her father, smiling, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be right back. Hope Maynard didn’t forget to return the bucket.”
He went out the door without another word, leaving the two of them standing in the living room in that too-familiar silence.
Chilli looked at Brandy, whose tail now hung slack. She placed a paw on her shoulder.
“Hey, Brandy?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s okay,” Chilli said. “At least you tried.”
“Yeah… I guess I did,” said Brandy. She sighed. “I just wish I knew how to reach him, you know?”
“He’ll turn around, sis,” Chilli answered. “I’ve got your back.”
Brandy ruffled her ears. “You mean we’ve got each other’s backs.”
Chilli let out a giggle. “Okay, we’ve got each other, got it. Hey, what’re you planning to cook, anyway? I can help if you want!”
“I actually don’t know. We’ll figure it out on the way, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
Yet, though their smiles were wide as they made their way to the kitchen full of chatter, the little pang of guilt remained in Chilli’s heart. Perhaps she ought have tried harder to reach out to him. Her father needed her more than anything, just as she needed him when the sound of thunder frightened her, or when the weight of schoolwork became overwhelming.
Lost in thought, Chilli looked at Brandy again, listening to her sister excitedly tell her about a macaroni recipe she’d figured out. Thanks to that, Chilli thought nothing more of her worries for the rest of the morning.
* * * * *
The week went on, day by day, and so did life move on.
The very next morning brought no tears, only breakfast and a short exchange of words, before Chilli and Brandy went on their way to Aratula, where their school stood, and their father turned to tend to matters at home.
Only when that first day came to a close and they’d all settled into their beds did Chilli allow herself some time to cry. It was part of the checklist; she’d allow herself to cry before dusting herself off and pushing on.
She began with her parents’ room. She’d asked permission from her father, and he answered by, what else, ruffling her head.
“Right-o, Chilli,” he had said. “I’ve gotten all I wanted to keep. Go on ahead.”
So Chilli did. She started with her mother’s collection, filled with the stories from her youth, from thick novels to lovely, pastel picture books. Her mother had loved to read, whether it be on her lonesome, or sharing them with Chilli and Brandy through bedtime stories, of heroic quests and wondrous realms. The books would find their new home in Chilli’s own room.
She wasn’t alone, of course. Halfway through the week, as she went to clean the room, she saw Brandy standing there, eyes wet, holding a colourful dress Chilli had passed by once or twice. Perhaps Brandy hadn’t expected to see her either as she froze, holding her sewing needle, before then stammering out something about a tear in the fabric or a missing button. Chilli smiled, which eventually Brandy returned with humble sincerity.
Brandy took on the task of finishing whichever projects their mother had left behind. Uncoloured sketches, half-sewn dresses, Chilli’s sister sifted through each remnant of their mother’s artistic passion with a reverent touch. And as the days passed, they worked with increasing dedication and determination, their exhaustion fading, as the sisters poured their hearts into this final act of love for their departed mother.
Then, on the weekend, their father offered them a trip to the lake. Moogerah was what it was called – a name that felt funny to Chilli’s tongue, yet lovely and reassuring all the same. It had not been around in their parents’ childhoods, as a lake borne by the dam at Reynolds Creek, but their parents had nothing except glowing words to describe it with.
As Brandy swam back and forth several times, Chilli stayed by their father, basking in the setting Sun as she looked up at him. Peaceful, firm and soft. That was how he had always been, this unyielding and hardy old dog. His was a presence Chilli could always count on to make her feel warm and comfortable no matter what misfortune befell her, whether poor grades or a scrape on her knee after a rowdy hockey match.
But still he did not weep, even as the hours ticked by, as they canoed back before the Sun had vanished below the horizon. Just as he’d not shed a single tear throughout the week since that rainy evening in Brisbane.
* * * * *
It was on the morning after the swim, a calm Sunday in mid-November, while their father was busy cooking breakfast, that Chilli turned to Brandy and asked a simple question.
“Does Dad miss Mum?”
Perhaps it was the way Chilli had said it so abruptly. Perhaps it was what she’d asked. Whatever it had been, it did get Brandy to nearly choke on her drink.
“Where did that come from?” Brandy asked, clearing her throat. “What’s happened?”
“Oh, nothing! Nothing, sorry, um,” Chilli stammered. “I don’t know. I just felt like asking.”
Brandy furrowed her brows, glancing from her to their father, then back again.
“Well, uh… of course he does,” she said, yet Chilli caught her faint hesitation. “What makes you think he doesn’t?”
“He hasn’t cried yet,” Chilli answered, looking down at her empty plate. “I don’t understand.”
“Look, Chilli,” said Brandy, putting down her drink at last. “I guess grown-ups are a bit complicated. And Dad’s not the best at… showing that he’s sad, I’d wager. You know him better than I do.”
“Oh… Do we have to make him cry?”
“No– I mean it's okay to cry, remember what Mum would tell us?”
“But if it's okay to cry, then why can't we make him cry?”
“Because– argh,” Brandy said, rubbing her head. “Chilli, it's just different, alright? Don’t make him cry. Not in that way. He’ll cry when he wants to.”
“Okay…” Chilli said, feeling her heart sink further. Complicated was putting it lightly, she thought. That her father cared for her mother, and yet seemed so far away… It all felt so awfully wrong.
She felt Brandy’s paw on her back.
“Hey, you know,” her sister said. When Chilli looked at her, she had a soft little smile. “Maybe… maybe we can show him some of the stuff we’ve gathered, yeah?”
Chilli’s ears flicked. “Oooh, yeah, yeah!” But a moment’s doubt passed her mind, and her tail hung motionless yet again. “I don’t know if it’ll work, though.”
“Mmm. Might be worth a try either way.”
Before Chilli could muster an answer, she heard her father’s voice.
“Hope you kids are ready, ‘cause the pancakes are!” he said, beaming as he held his pan, with two pancakes stacked a little haphazardly upon it. Whatever worries Chilli held faded when she caught the wonderful smell, warm and welcoming.
“Oooh, this looks nice, Dad!” said Brandy, as their father set the pancakes down on their plates.
“No need to flatter me, Brandy,” said their father, yet his grin was there for the world to behold. “Let’s dig in.”
“Thanks, Dad!” said Chilli and Brandy in unison.
The texture was what stood out to Chilli, when she bit into the ever so slightly burnt pancake. A little bit crispy, yet delicious all the same. She glanced at Brandy, whose pancake had more syrup, just as she liked it, and she looked happy as could be as she ate her own breakfast.
Their father, Chilli saw, looked expectant – content, even – and that was nice. His dark fur, usually so thick near his ears and temple, looked neatly trimmed, or at least as neatly as he could get it to be.
“Well?” he said, a touch unsure. “Do you like it?”
Chilli beamed. “It’s great, Dad.”
“Mmmhm!” Brandy said aloud, beaming with chocolate-stained teeth. “Love it, Dad, you even gave me extra syrup!”
Their father chuckled in relief. “That’s great, kids,” he said. “I’d figured you would want that, Brandy. That was… yeah, that was how she’d done it…”
His words trailed off as he looked down at his plate, his gaze longing and distant. Chilli shared a glance with Brandy, their smiles faltering.
She spoke up. “Nice haircut, Dad. You done it yourself?”
Her father’s laugh was short, bittersweet. “Sure did. Does it look good?”
“It’s great!” Brandy chimed in. “Looks fresh and good on ya, Dad, hehe. I could use one myself.”
“Really now?” their father said, bemused. “D’you think I could give that a go for ya, then?”
“Weeell, I was planning it for Christmas at Aunt Mary’s,” said Brandy. She reached towards their mother’s empty chair, and withdrew a magazine stuck in the back of the wooden seat.
“Look!” Brandy said proudly as she presented it. “I found this in your room. Mum saved a page here, I think, and it’s got these great hairdos.”
“M-my room?” their father stammered, as he cleared his throat. “I mean– Ah! Right, right. That was your mother’s, wasn’t it? You’ve got keen eyes, Brandy.”
“Aw, really?” said Brandy. “Look, um–” She pointed to a circled style, a short cut that looked quite trim and fitting for warm Summer days, coupled with a sleek, combed tail. “What do you think, Dad?”
Chilli thought for a fleeting moment that her father’s lips fell ever so slightly, his eyes panning over the page. There was that mournful look again, fixated upon the style Brandy had picked.
“Um, Dad?” said Brandy.
“Ah, sorry, Brandy,” answered their father. His lips rose again, but the sadness of his eyes remained. “It does look great, and mighty familiar… your mother used to have that, Summer of ‘73. But what’s gotten into you wanting a haircut?”
“Uh…” Brandy said, hesitating, as Chilli felt a devilish and mischievous giggle creep up. “I just felt like it, eheh.”
“Yeah, right,” Chilli said, holding back the giggle. “It’s for her boyfriend.”
Her father spat out his drink. “Brandy has a what? ”
“It’s not like that!” Brandy exclaimed. “We’re just on the cricket team together.”
“Aw, sure it is!” Chilli teased. “What about with that um, um, girl you sat behind in class? I saw the way you looked at her too!”
“ Chilli! ” Brandy exclaimed, turning redder than boiled tomatoes. “How about you pull your head in already?”
“Ha! I knew it!”
Brandy stuck out her tongue, yet this did little to dissuade Chilli, now wheezing from her laughter. Her giggles grew louder as Brandy gave in and let out a defeated laugh too, filling the morning air with her embarrassment.
It was her father that caught Chilli’s eye, even as she stifled further mirth. He’d been quiet, watching the two of them. The sight of his tiny smile warmed Chilli’s heart. But underneath it, or might that be above it, Chilli saw yet again the longing in his eyes.
“I’ll get the horses,” he said abruptly, his voice too quiet. “I forgot to feed them this morning.”
He stood up from his seat, leaving the room with no more ceremony than that.
Neither Chilli nor Brandy spoke then, their eyes having followed their father as he left. Chilli looked at her sister, feeling her own heart twisting in her chest, full of regret. Brandy, for her part, looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, eyes darting and tapping her finger on the table.
One last shared look between the two, though, told Chilli what she had to do. She got up, taking care not to push her chair so harshly, and followed after her father, out the door.
She found him sitting at the porch bench. He’d worn his bucket hat again, a treasured headgear that he’d rarely parted with as he worked long hours outside, on the ranch.
After a moment’s hesitation, Chilli braced herself and spoke to him.
“Dad?”
Her father looked at her, managing a smile that still seemed hollow. “Hey, Chilli,” he said, arms welcoming Chilli into his embrace. With steady hands, he hoisted her up into his lap, and he gave her a swift tussle. “Sorry about that, I’ve worried you two, haven’t I?”
Chilli nodded. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no, Chilli, you didn’t.”
“... Did Brandy say something wrong?”
“She didn’t, either,” said her father, shaking his head. “Look, I’m sorry, kiddo, it’s just…”
He sighed, taking his hat off, leaning against his seat.
“It was right after the… it was ‘71, I think it was,“ he said, soft and gentle. “Right when me and Maynard came here from the city. Brisbane just didn’t feel quite right, a bit too noisy. Too dirty.”
He pointed towards the long, winding road with a calm, wistful gaze that soothed her heart.
“Saw her, right there, 'round the corner, giving Matilda a ride out on the field. She was a beaut, just like I remembered her when we were kids…”
His words dissipated into inaudibility, becoming nothing, as they too often did these days.
“You liked talking to Mum a lot,” Chilli recalled. “Way past our bedtimes.”
“Yeah… yeah, I did.”
“What did you talk about?” Chilli pressed on. So startled was her father’s look that she felt a pang of embarrassment. “Sorry–”
“Nah, don’t worry, kiddo,” said her father. “I am being a little silly, aren’t I? Loads of things, really. Boring stuff, I’d reckon. It’s… I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“That’s what you always say,” Chilli replied, with a harrumph. “But I’m older now.”
“Hah, it’s true!” he said, chuckling tonelessly. “It’s true… but you and Brandy… you kids shouldn’t worry ’bout half the things me and your Mum talk about. World’s a scary place, is all.”
“Well, why shouldn’t we?”
“’Cause you’re kids.”
“ Daaad. ”
“Don’t worry, it’s all boring, anyway,” he remarked. “But what about you? Tell me what you and Brandy have been talking about lately. I’m sure it’s loads more fun.”
“Well, uh… we have this checklist.”
“Checklist?”
“Mhm!” Chilli said. “It’s a little something Mum taught us.”
She hopped off her father’s lap, clearing her throat.
“So, um, Dad, could you pretend you’ve got a checklist, right now?”
“Oh, alright,” said her father. He raised his paws. “Alright, here it is. Now what do I need to do?”
Chilli nodded. “There are steps to do and each time, I need you to say, ‘ check! ’ when I’ve done it. Got it?”
“Got it. Have at it, Chilli dog.”
“Okay, so first,” Chilli began, sitting down. She rubbed her eyes. “Have a cry…”
She glanced at her father – who, after a moment, remembered he was holding a list. “Oh. Check?”
Chilli smiled. “Pick myself up,” she said, as she hugged herself and stood up.
“Check,” her father answered.
“Dust myself off…”
“Check!”
Chilli stomped a foot, and grabbed the nearby broom, standing ready like a mighty warrior would. “And keep going!”
“... Check,” said her father.
“How’s that, Dad?”
Her father set down his list, and clapped. “I think you did pretty well, Chilli. But tell me, what’s brought this on?”
Chilli looked at her father, his eyes wide, and shook her head as she climbed back up onto the bench with him.
“I’m…” she began, slowly. “Dad, do you miss Mum? Because… because–”
She couldn’t finish it, feeling her voice wobble and crack. Yet just before the tears she’d held for so long could spill over, she felt her father’s warm embrace around her.
“I do,” said her father, whispering in her ear, his voice steady. “More than anything. It’s… I just have a lot on my mind. And I’m scared that I won’t be around for you two, either, ’cause I have to be, all the time.”
“I hope the checklist can help,” Chilli said, nuzzling her father. “It helps me and Brandy.”
“I’ll have to give it a bit of thought, first,” he said, nuzzling her fur. “I’ve got you two to handle first.” He looked past her shoulder. “I said you two – c’mere, Brandy.”
Chilli only managed to look up for a second as she heard the sound of paws against the wooden floor, and saw her sister run up to them, just before Brandy threw herself into their father’s embrace.
“I miss her,” Brandy said, whispering amidst her tears. “I miss Mum.”
Chilli felt her sister’s hug tighten, and so did her father’s.
“I’ve got you, Brandy,” said their father, “I’ve got you.”
“And we’ve got you, Dad,” said Chilli, nuzzling him back as she held on tightly.
Her father’s tail wagged, as his paw rubbed her ears. “You know what, the horses can wait for a while longer. We’ve got a checklist to do first, right?”
Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, Chilli would think later on, when all was said and done – but when her father went off to feed the horses, just as he passed by his two daughters, Chilli caught the sight of his eyes, brimming with tears she’d never seen there.
And it all felt just right, for the first time since they’d returned their mother to the earth.