I figured that was why we’d never been to the station on school field trips—the army was busy using it all this time.

“And they’re going to make the refugees stay there?” I asked, scrunching up my nose.

“They are. It won’t be very comfortable, and it hasn’t been used since the army left. . . . It’s also probably not a great idea that a place that used to house military personnel and still has some leftover army equipment is going to be home to people who are fleeing a war zone.” I saw Luca’s hands tighten on the wheel again.

“How will you help them?” I asked, because I knew straightaway that’s what Luca would be doing. It was his job as a policeman to help people.

“The government has official people who’ll be in charge of this thing, working with the Australian Red Cross. But it won’t be enough, so they need volunteers from town too.”

“That’s you?”

He nodded again. “I’ve said I’ll do what I can—but only until the baby comes. They’ll need volunteers who understand that these people—these refugees—have been through something terrible and seen awful things back home.” He looked over at me and then back to the road, just as we drove past the sign for Rye. “That’s why I came to Rosebud today. It has the closest hospital and will be the first one we take refugees to if they need medical care. There may be a lot of them, so the hospital staff will have to work very hard to help out. Since I know a lot of the staff there, I offered to help coordinate.”

“So, lots of other people have volunteered too?”

“Some have, yes.” Luca frowned. “It’s also possible that not everyone in town will like the fact that these refugees are coming here.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, Freddo. I just do.”

I slumped down in my seat, trying to keep track of all the questions I had bubbling over in my brain. But only one kept rising to the surface, so I took a deep breath and asked it. “How long will they have to stay there for?”

Luca drummed his fingers hard on the steering wheel. “That’s the thing—nobody knows. . . .”

17

The Helping Hand

Anika came into my room that evening to say good night. I put aside the book I was reading by the light of my lamp, as she sat on the edge of my bed, her tummy poking out from underneath her T-shirt like a tight, smooth drum.

“Luca told me about the conversation you two had today,” she said.

I was lying in my bed, watching her hands make slow, gentle circles over her belly. And then she reached one of those hands out to smooth my bangs from my eyes.

“He said that you heard us talking the other night. . . .”