Taking Stock

I boarded a plane to Brisbane from Melbourne in January 1985, patting my wallet with a passport-sized photograph of Rhea.

I arrived in Brisbane, and I hired a car at the airport. Next, I booked into a motel. I had wished to use the trip also to see James. However, his artillery unit travelled interstate and engaged in, 'war games.'

I rang the contact number Rhea supplied in her last letter.

"Hello, Nadia, speaking."

Nadia!

I hit a brief, nonplussed hesitation. Reassurance developed when I asked for Rhea.

"Hold on."

I spun the receiver repeatedly.

I heard Rhea's voice for the first time. She spoke softly, explaining Nadia was a friend. She invited me over; I drove to the suburban address—a neat, tidy brick house. I knocked on the door; Rhea opened it and greeted me; she invited me in.

My first impression was that she was not as tall as I thought, and her hair was trimmed shorter than in her photo. She guided me through the house to the kitchen. Here, she introduced fair-haired Nadia, her childhood friend.

"We grew up together in Danzig," Rhea told me.

Over coffee, we chatted about her flight to Brisbane as we sat opposite one another at a kitchen table. Nadia left Rhea to the talking; she peeled vegetables. She sent a few smiles in our direction over the next half hour. Rhea explained why she came to Brisbane.

She said, "It gave me a chance to meet you and see my girlfriend, whom I hadn't seen for three years."

I built a picture of her choice of place to meet me—a comforting and secure spot, meeting a foreign guy at a friend's home. Nadia, Rhea elaborated, married a local guy through letter writing.

She smiled as she added, "Nadia pushed me into corresponding."

Pretty straightforward. Our reasons for writing letters to each other aligned to change our single status. I realised much later Nadia's role as 'matchmaker.'

Nadia urged Rhea to take me to the local park. She steered us out of the house and into each other's company in a mother-hen way. The park surprised me; diverse native trees and an intriguing multi-level water feature dominated. We enjoyed circling it and chatting about her past few days accompanying Nadia: shopping, movies and the beach. Next, Rhea spoke about her mother and sister, far away in Danzig. She admitted she missed them as she eased her hand into mine.

Rhea added, "I resigned from my job."

From her letters, I knew she worked in a government office typing pool. Tightening her clasp, she indicated her commitment to being here. I didn't respond to her substantial reveal. I enjoyed holding her hand.

Rhea concluded, "I was ready for change. I had the invite here. I came."

She packed a lot into a few words. A double opportunity. Nadia, her friend and me, the guy she wrote to. I should have clasped her intent directed straight to me. Instead, I placidly escorted Rhea back to Nadia's.

"Let's go for a drive tomorrow and see some sights," I finally suggested.

She gave a keen yes after her eyes momentarily closed.

Nadia, who listened, insisted, "After lunch tomorrow."

As I drove away, I thought, you should have pecked her on the cheek. Rhea lingered at the door as you said goodbye—such a meek start by me.

Lunch the next day allowed me to meet Brad, Nadia's husband, an Air Force security dog handler—a relaxed and friendly guy. Rhea and I sat beside each other at the kitchen table as Brad helped Nadia finalise the lunch prep. Rhea and I fidgeted as Brad and Nadia touched. The couple's spare hands circled each other's waist. We saw a married pair's sensual surge. A couple who knew how to hold each other. They occupied close space and moulded into it.

Rhea and I stopped talking. We both focussed anywhere in the room, avoiding the pair at the kitchen bench and each other. My hands slunk into my pockets; I had much to learn about relationships. While I knew aspects of Rhea's life, chunks remained unknown.

After a salad lunch, Rhea and I paired off for a drive. I chose a native animal sanctuary where she enjoyed holding her first koala. Later, we shared ice cream under a massive shady gum. At the car, I realised my failure to hold her hand today.

Do better, I instructed myself.

I asked Rhea if she wanted to go to a lookout point before returning to Nadia's place. She touched my thigh open-handed as she indicated yes. I selected one of the lookouts south of the central Gold Coast Strip. There are a few. It's strange; I can't identify now which one. Over the years, many upgrades to tracks and facilities. I picture what I remember.

I extended my hand to Rhea on the beach. A hand walk, no romance sparking from me in an ideal location. Too quiet as I failed to delve into the completed twenty-five years of her life. Equally, I needed to offer insight into my life events.

Though, Rhea, as I learned, had intuition. She read me better than I read her. I enjoyed her company without stating it. Maybe she sensed my quiet-natured self, and unlike other women on dates, she didn't step away. If I presented as more reserved than how I projected myself in my letters to her, she chose to leave it unsaid.

We walked the length of the beach. It closed to late afternoon, and I said little while we strolled. I expressed no affection. Reaching the end of the beach, we started hiking up a winding, steep trail to the coastal lookout.

I stepped ahead because the track narrowed single file, and stones dislodged loose. I checked our safety underfoot as it steepened. I halted to check Rhea was legging it okay behind me. Also, to appreciate the view.

I glanced briefly, admiring the city skyline. Then I realised Rhea beheld me, focused, taking stock of me—possibly core scrutinising me. I thought—or I didn't. I bent and kissed her cheek. We kept walking the track.

We took the view together, arms around each other and our eyes on the horizon. Our relationship subtly changed as I embraced Rhea. We sidled closer during the return stroll; I drove her home and dropped her off, initiating a peck after arranging tomorrow's outing.

I picked Rhea up after breakfast the next day—a light and friendly outing. Driving north, I searched for what I felt towards Rhea.

I didn't feel love.

How do you feel, love?

We drove to Maroochydore on the Sunshine Coast. We stopped to take in the views. Beyond sand and sea, I don't recall anything else. Over lunch, I quietly asked her to come to Melbourne. Rhea must have given a straightforward yes because I don't hold the moment. Anyway, with an invitation to Melbourne settled, we continued the day in each other's company: steady.

Later, at her girlfriend's house, I overheard Nadia speak to Rhea in the kitchen, organising dinner. I relaxed on a lounge, waiting for Brad to come home. Nadia and Rhea were visible through the open-plan space between the lounge room and the kitchen. They prepped vegetables.

I heard Nadia encourage Rhea, "Go south! See what he's like. If you don't like him, you can go home."

My reaction! No heart racing or confronting the implications of Nadia's words.

Rhea and I flew to Melbourne the following day as my work commitments pressed. I showed Rhea my local area and later cooked dinner for us. I started to organise the spare bedroom for her to sleep in. She requested to share my queen-sized bed alongside me. She explained it unambiguously; she meant to sleep. I garnered insight into her childhood.

"I'm used to sharing a bed with my sister, not being alone when I sleep."

She stood homely in a full-length plain white nightie.

I scurried and found unused pj's inside the wardrobe.

As we climbed into bed, she remarked, "How could anyone sleep in such a huge bed alone?"

She nestled into me as she slept. From there, we grew into each other. In truth, we slept together for the following weeks.

The biggest of life's questions expanded. Rhea was on a holiday visa in Australia, which expired in two months.

Was I going to propose?

Flounder and she would return home to Poland. 

If I desired Rhea in my life, the most significant decision was required to keep her in it.