Red Dirt Heart 04 - Red Dirt Heart 4 (19 page)

“I’m not
that
sorry,” he said, making my family laugh. I was so glad they got to see a snippet of the real Charlie, of his dry sense of humour, and my absolute favourite, they got to see him smile.

He really did have a killer smile.

And a hell of a yawn.

“Okay,” I said, getting up from the table and waiting for Charlie to stand. “Charlie’s going to bed.”

He didn’t even try to argue, and his blinks were getting longer. He thanked my mom for a wonderful meal, my family for great company, and said goodnight.

I walked him to the stairs and kissed him softly. “You did great.”

“I don’t think your dad likes me,” he whispered. He shrugged as though he wasn’t bothered, but I knew different.

“Yes, he does,” I said. “He has a weird sense of humour. Believe me, he likes you just fine.” I kissed him again. He closed his eyes and had trouble opening them again, he was so tired. “Go to bed, baby. I’m just gonna see them for a few minutes, okay? I won’t be far behind you.”

I watched as Charlie went upstairs, and I walked back to my family. Everyone smiled at me when I walked in, and by the awkward silence, I could tell they were obviously talking about Charlie.

“He’s gorgeous,” Casey said first.

I sat on the sofa by the fire. “I know.”

“He was nervous,” Paige said, “it was the most adorable thing.”

“He’s worried y’all wouldn’t like him.”

“Well, he’s certainly got you all tripped up,” Michael said with a smile.

“Leave your brother alone,” Momma said, giving Michael a look. “Travis, he’s a doll. He’s so polite. His Ma raised him right.”

“She did,” I agreed.

“I thought he was supposed to be some tough Aussie rancher,” Dad said. “You should have seen him at the airport. Couldn’t even handle a little chill.”

Dad’s comment threw me for a second. I couldn’t believe what he’d said, and my tone was a lot harsher than I meant it to be. “He’s born and bred in the desert, Dad. Where a
pleasant
summer day is a hundred and twenty degrees, so cut him some slack.”

Everyone stared at me, Dad included. If he was joking at Charlie’s expense, I didn’t find it funny. But my father was the respected head of his house, bad jokes and all. I rubbed my eyes and sighed. “Sorry. I’m jet-lagged to hell. I might call it a night. Thanks for coming, everyone. Give us a day or two and we’ll take you all out for lunch or something.”

I left them somewhat mollified by my half-assed apology, and went upstairs. I stripped outta my clothes and slid into bed next to an already softly snoring Charlie. Like a balm to my bad mood, I put my arm around him, snuggled my nose into the back of head, closed my eyes and slept.

* * * *

Charlie and I slept late, but we woke up refreshed and ready for a day of sightseeing. “Coffee’s made, and there’s cereal or toast for breakfast,” Mom said. But after more than two years of having a cooked breakfast before working hard all day, cereal and toast just weren’t gonna cut it.

I went to the fridge, pulled out eggs, bacon, grits and juice and set about cooking us a real Texas breakfast. Charlie sat at the kitchen counter with my mom, and they both smiled at me when I handed him a cup of coffee. They talked as I cooked, and Charlie watched me move around my momma’s kitchen with a familiar ease. I knew where the pans and plates were like I’d never left.

“He looks like he’s done this before,” Momma said. “Cook you breakfast often, does he?”

Charlie smiled. “Never, actually.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to cook anything, because Ma and Nara do it all. But contrary to popular belief,” I said as I turned the bacon, “I’m not completely useless.”

Mom’s smile was warm and knowing. “You boys are so in love.”

Charlie choked on his coffee, spilling some down his shirt. Momma handed him a napkin. “The way you look at each other…” she said wistfully. “I can certainly see why Travis decided to stay.”

Charlie had composed himself, but his cheeks were now red. “Um…” he started, then cleared his throat. “Well, I can certainly see where Travis gets his say-whatever’s-on-your-mind trait from.”

I laughed at that. “He’s taken a bit of training on the learning to open up, Mom.”

“No point in wondering what’s not said,” Momma said wisely. “May as well just come out and tell it like it is. That’s what we say, isn’t it, Travis?”

“Well, Travis has no problem in tellin’ it like it is,” Charlie said.

“Can I tell you something?” Momma asked, though I don’t know why because she was gonna tell him regardless of his answer. “When Travis first applied for that student exchange program, I thought it’d be good for him. You know, going off to see the world, travelling. He always was an adventurous soul.” She smiled at me as I put bread in the toaster. “He brought home a list of possible locations. There were a few in Australia to choose from, one in England, one in France, wasn’t it, Travis?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I answered as I turned the bacon.

Momma shook her head. “He saw the name Sutton Station and pointed to it and said ‘There. That’s where I’m going,’ like he just knew.”

Charlie smiled at her. “He told me that.”

“I think a part of me knew he was going for a reason,” she went on. “We just didn’t know what that reason was. Until he told us about you, Charlie. And even when he was here last year when my daddy passed away, I thought he might stay; you know, once he got back here, he wouldn’t want to leave.”

“I thought the same,” Charlie said quietly, apologetically.

Momma nodded. “But it was too much for him, and oh, Charlie, he was so upset when you thought he wasn’t coming back, I just couldn’t stand it.” Momma shook her head, took a deep breath, and composing herself, she smiled. She put her hand on Charlie’s arm. “And now I see why. He’s so in love with you.”

From the look on his face, I’m pretty sure Charlie wanted to die. “Oh,” he stammered. “Well, uh, okay. Um, Trav?”

I snorted. “Momma, leave him alone. You’re embarrassing him.”

“Is that bacon I smell?” Dad’s voice came from the foyer. “Please tell me that’s bacon.”

“It’s bacon,” I answered.

Dad walked into the kitchen from being outside. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and he was, as always, smiling. “Your mother doesn’t let me eat bacon. I get heart-smart bran and two-percent milk instead.”

“I’m looking out for your health.” Mom rolled her eyes.

“Grab another plate,” I told him. “There’s more than enough.”

So we sat around the kitchen counter eating bacon, eggs and toast with hot coffee and cold juice, and I think I found a universal remedy for jet lag. Charlie blanched at the look of grits and refused point-blank to try them. “Makin’ porridge from corn is the most absurd thing I ever heard,” he said, shaking his head. “And then eatin’ it with bacon and eggs?”

I laughed. “It’s so damn good. I’ll have to teach Ma how to cook it.”

Charlie smiled and shook his head at me. “And you think Vegemite is bad.”

“That is the nastiest stuff on the planet,” I said with a laugh as my parents looked on.

Charlie was more himself, though I could still feel Charlie being a little tense around my dad, even with the mood much more relaxed this morning. Gone was the chatting and laughing with my momma Charlie, and in his place was a quiet, I-can’t-say-anything-wrong-if-I-say-nothing-at-all Charlie in front of my dad.

I squeezed his knee under the table, and he was quick to hook his foot around mine. And finally, he smiled.

“So, what have you two got planned for today?” Momma asked.

“Thought I’d take Charlie into town and show him around,” I answered. “Spend the day doing touristy stuff. If I can borrow the truck, that is?”

And that’s exactly what we did. After breakfast, I made Charlie put on a sweater, then his coat, and I got him an old scarf and found a woollen beanie. I put it on him and kissed him with smiling lips. He looked so different all bundled up. I mean, he was probably dressed for a blizzard by our standards, but he simply wasn’t used to this kind of cold. And truth be told, I wasn’t either. I’d grown accustomed to the warmer weather of the Outback, and my teeth were chattering as we ran to the truck.

Except we both ran to the wrong sides of the vehicle.

“Goddammit,” I said, and Charlie laughed as we ran around to the correct sides of the truck. “I’ve spent almost three years getting in the wrong side back home, then I come here and get it wrong too!” I said as I started the truck, pushing any buttons that might be the heat.

Charlie rubbed his hands together and grinned. His teeth were chattering too. “You gonna be able to drive a left-hand drive?”

I raised one eyebrow at him. “You wanna try it?”

He blanched. “Wrong side of the car, wrong side of the road, in sleety, shitty conditions. Do you have a death wish?”

“I take it that’s a no.”

“That’s a hell no,” he said quickly. “And I’ll never take the piss outta you for not likin’ to drive back home.”

I laughed at that, then adjusted the heat again until it was perfect and found a better radio station than what my dad listened to. “Bit different now the shoe’s on the other foot, ain’t it?”

Charlie nodded. “Yep. And God, Trav, I couldn’t believe your mum said that stuff to me. I almost died.”

I laughed at him and started down the drive. “Your face was priceless.”

“You lot certainly don’t hold anything back, do ya?”

“Nope.” Before turning onto the road, I stopped the truck and grinned at him. I leaned over the centre console and waited for him to do the same so I could give him a kiss. “And you look really cute in that beanie, by the way.”

“Oh. Um, thanks?”

“You ready to see the sights of Texas?”

He looked me over. “I get to see the best of Texas every day. But if you insist on dragging me into this miserable weather, I won’t complain.”

I snorted. “Yes you will. And Charlie? Wanna know the best thing about this kind of weather?”

“We don’t have it back home?”

I laughed at him. “Well, there’s that. But no, when we get back this afternoon, I can make hot cocoa and we can sit by the fire in the den until we thaw out. Maybe watch a movie.”

He must have liked that idea because he smiled. “Will it be
Die Hard
?”

I pulled the truck out onto the road in the direction of town. “Not if I can help it, no.”

Charlie and my father.

The next couple of days at my parents’ house was busy. We spent time visiting my sisters and my brother, and Charlie spent afternoons by the fire answering his emails—still unable to stop working from the other side of the planet. I took him to my old schools, to my old hangouts and to the mall, where we bought gifts for everyone back home. I wanted him to see these places so when I spoke of them, he’d be able to picture it in his head. But I also wanted him to see the places that shaped my childhood.

And that included visiting Mrs Newell.

We’d only driven a few hundred yards from the ranch when I pulled the truck down someone else’s drive. “Who are we seeing this time?” he asked. He’d been patient with all the sightseeing and visiting we’d been doing, though I think he was a little grateful just to be away from my dad.

At first I thought it was Charlie’s imagining—and his predisposition of thinking people didn’t like him—but my dad
was
acting weird. It was the jokes and stupid comments that baffled me. He liked Charlie, I knew he did. But I didn’t understand where the tension was coming from.

I tried to put it out of my mind as I shut down the engine. “This is the Newells house,” I said. “Remember how I told you about Ryder Newell? My friend that committed suicide?”

“Of course.”

“Well, this is his momma’s house.”

He looked at the house. “Oh.”

“Come on, or she’ll wonder what I’m doing out here.” I opened my door and waited for Charlie so we could walk to the house together.

The front door opened, and a familiar voice said, “Travis Craig. Well, I’ll be.”

Mrs Newell looked a lot older than I remembered, aged before her time. She was about the same age as my mom, but they looked a world apart. Momma always dressed well and put her makeup on, had her hair done just so. Mrs Newell had wrinkles now, and she wore no makeup. Her hair was styled, but streaked with grey. Her smile, though, was wide and warm.

“Mrs Newell,” I said, giving her a kiss to the cheek. “Hope you don’t mind the unexpected visit, but there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Not at all,” she said. She looked Charlie up and down. “And who have we here?”

“This is Charlie Sutton,” I told her. “Mrs Newell, he’s the man I’m going to marry.”

And with that, a very teary Mrs Newell kissed me and a very stunned Charlie, then dragged us inside.

* * * *

I’d spent so much time at the Newells’ house as a kid, it was like my second home. And unlike my parents’ house, which Momma basically redecorated to suit the seasons, Mrs Newell had barely changed a thing.

Photos of a never-aging Ryder sat atop the mantel and on the side table, and I could see Charlie looking at them while Mrs Newell made us coffee.

“So, tell me,” she said, putting a tray with coffee on the table in front of us. “How did all this come about?”

I launched into a brief rundown of the last few years. She knew that I’d gone to Australia, but I hadn’t seen her since before then, so I had a bit to catch up on, and Charlie filled in the parts she asked him.

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful!” she cried. “And you’re home for Thanksgiving?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Charlie said. I could tell he liked her right from the get-go. “I figured if I was keeping him from his family all year long, the least we could do is have Thanksgiving here. It’s kinda in between Trav’s birthday and Christmas, and it’s a quiet time back home, so it works really well.”

She told us she was having her children over for turkey on Thanksgiving, and how her eldest daughter had three kids and her youngest son was off in college.

She didn’t have to mention the gaping hole the middle child had left. I knew it all too well.

Her eyes had grown sad, and I assumed she saw something in mine, because a moment of unsaid words passed between us. Eventually, she brightened. “You look so well, Travis. And I can’t begin to thank you enough for taking the time to call in to see me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I told her. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here last year. It was a busy time.”

“Yes, I spoke to your momma not long after,” she said. “I was very sorry to hear about your granddaddy. And anyway, I can’t remember the last time you saw the yard. It’s lookin’ a miserable sight with this weather. But come, I’ll show you.”

The yard where Ryder died.

My momma always swore if their lives had been switched and it was her child who had taken their life in the backyard, she’d never be able to set foot in the house again, let alone the very yard it happened in.

But Mrs Newell was not my momma.

The tree that Ryder had hung from himself was gone, and in its place was a garden. Even in the freezing weather and lowset clouds, it still looked a picture of colour. And in the middle of the garden was a handcrafted bench.

“I had the seat made from the tree,” she said. “So instead of seeing a reminder, now I can sit out there and remember the good things.”

I put my arm around her. “It’s beautiful.”

She smiled up at me. “It really is, isn’t it?”

* * * *

After leaving Mrs Newell and getting in the truck, Charlie was sombre. I guess it wasn’t an easy thing to deal with. But I’d told Mrs Newell years ago that I was grateful for what her son had shown my family about acceptance and love, and she told me that was the silver lining she’d needed to hear.

“Do you think she minded?” Charlie asked.

“Minded what?”

“Seeing you all happy with me. Talking about living overseas and getting married and living your life, when her son… isn’t.”

“No,” I said. I started the truck and turned up the heat. “I think it makes her happy.”

Charlie blinked. “Happy?”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, what’s the alternative? Being swallowed by grief? I mean, I could have very easily been right alongside Ryder, but I wasn’t. So now she gets to see one of us happy at least. I’ve always tried to include her in my life through high school and college, just an occasional visit.” I shrugged. “I don’t want her to think I’ll ever forget either.”

He held out his hand over the console, and I took it. When we drove back to the ranch, he was still quiet, and I left him alone in his thoughts. I shut off the engine and he smiled at me. “Thank you for taking me to see her.”

I grinned at him. “You’re very welcome.” I looked out at the house. “You ready to make a run for it inside?”

Stupid me was waiting for him to answer, but in a split second, he was already out of the truck and running. He beat me to the house, all smiles and woollen beanie, and I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

My dad’s voice seemed to come from nowhere, startling us both. “Don’t let the Aussie beat ya.” He came from around the side and must have watched us run. “We let ’em get away with it once in the America’s Cup and they’re still talking about it.”

I rolled my eyes and threw him the keys to his truck. “Oh, and you could do with some gas,” I told him. I copied his voice. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times not to let go under a quarter tank.”

My dad gave me the stink-eye, and I dragged Charlie inside by the hand.

* * * *

The next morning after breakfast, Charlie sat in the den, checking emails. At first I just thought he just wanted some time out. I mean, he’d never been a social person, quite often preferring the silence and solitude that his station allowed.

But over the next few days before Thanksgiving, I noticed he’d quietly disappear whenever my dad was around. He was never rude about it. He was just absent.

“Hey,” I said as I walked into the den. The fire was going and Charlie was in the seat next to it with his laptop on his lap, but his gaze into nothing was a million miles away.

He turned to me, startled. “Oh, hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Just got the minutes of the last Beef Farmers meeting. Greg sent them through. And an email from Ma. Nugget chewed George’s boot.”

I nodded and sat down on the arm of the chair he was in, and I took his hand. See, the best way to broach a touchy subject with Charlie is to anchor him so he can’t bolt.

“You wanna tell me what’s bothering you about my dad?”

Charlie looked up at me, his eyes wide. He tried to pull his hand away, but I held it tight. “What? What do you mean?”

“Why you hide from him?”

“I don’t hide,” he said, a little too defensively. “Why, did he say something?”

“No, no. Just that whenever he’s around, you’re not.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise.”

“Charlie,” I said. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

He was quiet for a minute. “He, uh…” He swallowed hard. “He, uh, doesn’t like me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“It’s okay, Trav,” he said. He looked up at me again and tried to smile. “It’s no big deal.”

“Charlie,” I said, pulling the laptop from him and kneeling in front of him. I took both his hands. “Charlie, no, no. He
does
like you. Why would you say that?”

Charlie kept his eyes on our joined hands. “He makes fun of me.”

“Oh, that’s just him. Ignore his stupid jokes. He says stuff like that all the time.”

“Or he doesn’t like me. Or maybe he thinks I’m not good enough.”

I held in a sigh. “That’s not true.”

He looked at me. “I know it’s not. Because I am. I
am
good enough, and you’re good enough for me.”

I smiled at him, because finally—
finally
—he knew it to be true. “See? So what does it matter?”

“Because he’s your father, and I respect that. He doesn’t have to like me. It’s not written law, Trav. But I won’t make things difficult for you or insult him in his house by bein’ rude.”

I brought his hands to my lips and kissed his knuckles. I knew there wasn’t anything I could say that would make him see that my dad didn’t not like him. The only person who could do that was my father.

So I sat with Charlie while he went through whatever it was Greg had sent him, and when he was sufficiently distracted with reading that report, I kissed the side of his head and went in search of my dad.

He was in his office. I stuck my head around the door and he smiled at me. “Whatcha doin’, Travis?” he asked.

I walked in and closed the door behind me.

Then my dad said, “Or should I call you Trav now?”

Right off the bat, there it was. Disguised hostility toward Charlie. “Why are you doing that?” I asked. “Why are you making fun of him all the time?”

“I’m just joking with him, son,” he said, trying to laugh it off. “Havin’ a bit of fun, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s not funny, and I’m asking you knock it off. Please.” I shook my head. “You’re making him feel like shit, and I won’t have it.” Swearing at my dad wasn’t a tolerated behaviour in this house, but I was long past caring.

“Oh, Travis,” he said, more seriously now. “I don’t mean anything by it. You know that.”

I took a deep breath so when I spoke, it’d be calm and clear. “Let me explain something about Charlie. When I first met him, he had real unresolved issues with his dead father. He was horrible to him, Dad. Just horrible. And out of all the people Charlie wanted to come here and impress, he wanted to impress you. He just about made himself sick worryin’ about what you might think of him.” I swallowed hard. “I’mma tell you one thing, Dad. I ain’t coming back here without him. And if next year he decides he can’t do it—if he can’t face another father’s rejection—then I’ll leave it up to you to tell Momma why I won’t be here for Thanksgiving.”

I left him, stunned, not caring if the door slammed behind me. I grabbed my coat with a hammering heart, needing the cold fresh air that hit me as I went outside. Not trusting myself to keep my emotions in check, I kept on walking through the gates that led to the back of the ranch to the tree line where I’d spent many days as a kid. I’d hung out with Ryder here when we were young, climbing trees and stealing a kiss or two. Later on, especially after Ryder was gone, I spent time here just thinking shit through, gathering thoughts and perspective.

Everyone knew I used to hide out here. It was my thinking space. Charlie had the lagoon for his head-clearing, and I had here. It was much smaller than I remembered, and the magic of it was gone. Maybe it was the cold that made it seem so wrong. I wasn’t sure.

I pulled my collar up to block out the wind, stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked back at the house. I knew if Charlie wanted to find me, someone would point him in the right direction.

Charlie.

I couldn’t help but think of what my father had said. I knew he meant no harm, and his sense of humour was sometimes lost on those unfamiliar with it. But his poorly aimed words had stung me, and I couldn’t imagine—not for a second—having him say to me what Charlie’s dad had said to him. My dad meant no harm with his playful jibes, yet Charlie’s father meant to hurt and degrade. And even though a small spat with my father left my heart hurting, I couldn’t begin to understand what Charlie must have felt when his dad sent him away.