Red Dirt Heart 04 - Red Dirt Heart 4 (3 page)

We’d done away with condoms when we’d both had blood work done and tests came back all negative for everything. I’d never done anything remotely condom-less with anyone but Charlie, and knowing we were exclusive, permanent and real, made the experience even better.

And it also meant that we’d never get caught out unprepared. I pushed Charlie off the dance floor and through the bathroom doors. We bumped into almost everyone, mumbled apologies we didn’t mean, and fumbled into a bathroom stall.

Charlie pulled his face from mine, his lips all red and swollen and his eyes swimming with bourbon. “You’re better than this,” he whispered, out of breath. “Not in a bathroom stall. Let me take you to bed.”

“Yes, here,” I told him, undoing my fly.

“Trav.” He bit his lip.

I knew he was going to object, so I pulled out my dick. “Blowjob now, more bourbon later,” I whispered.

Charlie smiled, all liquored-hazy like. And right there in the cubicle, he oh so slowly went to his knees, looking up at me as he did. I knew I wouldn’t last long.

The blowjob part of the deal lasted all of thirty seconds, but the bourbon part lasted until the sun came up.

Hangovers and cricket. Two of my least favourite things.

“Ugh,” Charlie groaned.

“Two cokes, please,” I told the flight attendant. “And two bottled waters.” I looked over at Charlie, then back to the flight attendant. “And an airsick bag.”

She hurried off and Charlie made a pathetic whimpering sound. “I’m dying.”

“No, you’re hung-over.”

“Don’t yell.”

“I’m not. I’m whispering.”

“Stop whispering.”

“Stop whining.”

“My head hurts.”

“That’s because there’s a bourbon monster trying to claw its way out.”

“That’s not funny.” He moved his head and made a weird
meep
sound, and then he kind of shrank back into himself and groaned. “If you really loved me, you’d be nice to me.”

I laughed at that. “I was nice when I made you stop drinking at five this morning, remember?” I asked, but he frowned, his lips a watery thin line. I leaned right in and whispered, “And I do love you. Now shut up, close your eyes and go to sleep.”

I took the supplied blanket from the overhead locker and flicking it out, covered him with it. I didn’t hear a peep from him until I had to wake him when we landed in Alice Springs.

* * * *

George met us at the airport, took one look at Charlie and laughed that old-cowboy chuckle of his. Charlie groaned at him. “S’not funny.”

George just kept on smiling, but picked up Charlie’s duffel bag for him, leaving me to collect mine, and we walked out to the old truck.

Charlie looked horrified. “Where’s the new Cruiser?”

George smiled at him. “Had to get new tyres fitted to this, remember?”

“But… I need air conditioning,” Charlie mumbled. He looked kinda green.

“You can sit near the window,” George told Charlie in that ever-patient, no-nonsense tone. “If you’re gonna be sick, stick your head outside.”

I laughed and threw my bag in the back with all the supplies he’d obviously bought for Ma and Nara. I climbed into the middle and tried to get comfortable for what would be an
un
comfortable three-hour trip in an old truck with no air conditioning and questionable suspension. We had the windows down, the sound of the engine roared and rumbled, and as soon as we were out of Alice, we hit a top speed of eighty kilometres an hour.

We hadn’t gotten very far when Charlie’s head slumped against the door and he was snoring. A little farther along, his hand went from his lap to my thigh. I knew George didn’t care—he’d told me he didn’t mind one bit—and it felt nice that even in his sleep, Charlie wanted to touch me. It was a far cry from how he used to be. But I guessed a lot had changed in two years.

“I take it there was partyin’ to be had in the city?” George said.

“Well, Charlie partied,” I said. “I supervised.”

George chuckled. “The dinner meeting went okay?”

“The unconscious man beside me,” I said, picking up Charlie’s hand and letting it fall heavily back to my leg, “had to give a speech.”

“Really?” George asked with a laugh.

“More stuff than I’ve ever heard him talk about.” I added, “Business stuff, I mean. Figures, percentages, taxes, that kind of thing. It was a bit different than what he talks about at the Beef Farmers meetings. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“He knows what he’s doing.”

“He does.”

“How did he handle the city?”

It was kind of weird question. “He was fine. Spent more time loungin’ by the pool and eating fancy food than anything else…” Shit. I looked at George and could feel a stab of panic at my stupid mouth. “Don’t tell Ma or Nara I said that. He loves their cooking more than any of that fancy crap.”

Well, I reckon George laughed for five minutes straight. “’S’alright, son, I won’t tell her. I wouldn’t be game anyways.” He chuckled some more.

Something about his question got the better of me. “Why did you ask how he handled the city?”

George shrugged, but looked at me and smiled. “Just always wondered, that’s all. He hasn’t left the station much, except when yous went to Uluru and Kakadu. But that’s still kinda close, I guess. I’m talkin’ about far off places and cities. When he was in Sydney at school, he only came home three times, at the end of each year. And he spent the first half an hour at the homestead with his boots off and his feet in the dirt. Like he was grounding himself or something. Dunno why. Never asked,” he said with another shrug. “It’ll be interesting to see if he does it this time.”

We were quiet for a while as I thought about what George said. The red, red scenery flew past the windows and got more familiar the farther we drove down the Plenty Highway toward Sutton Station. There were six-foot-high termite mounds along the side of the road, red dirt and green patches of thickets, and the odd gum tree. It was broad and barren. And it was beautiful.

I don’t think I’d ever get bored of looking at it.

I’m not sure I’d ever take my boots off and dig my toes into the dirt to ‘reconnect’ with it like Charlie apparently did, but I loved it nonetheless.

The rumble of the old ute and the heat of the cabin made me feel every hour I’d missed sleeping. My blinks were getting longer, and I remember thinking if I could just rest my head against Charlie’s shoulder for a minute, I’d be fine.

The next thing I knew, the loud clang of George closin’ his door woke me up. There were dogs barking and when I sat up slowly, pushing against the kink in my neck, I saw Ma on the veranda smiling at me. Well, at us. At me and Charlie sleeping all over each other.

I gave Charlie a nudge and he eventually roused. He sat up straight and groaned, but pushed the passenger door open and slid out of the truck. He pulled his bag from the back like it weighed a tonne.

“You okay, hun?” Ma called out.

“Travis tried to kill me,” he said.

“Don’t blame me,” I said, collecting my bag.

“I do blame you,” he moped. It was pitiful.

I laughed at him and told Ma, “Self-inflicted wounds. His weapon of choice was bourbon. Then shots of Sambuca, I think it was called. All different colours.”

Charlie made that
meep
sound again and looked like he was about to hurl at the mention of it.

Ma clucked her tongue at him, but smiled. “Well, it’s good to have you boys home anyway.”

We took our stuff inside, and two hours’ sleep on the way home just wasn’t enough. Without even so much as a hello to Nugget, Charlie lay down on the bed, so I did too. I crashed out again for a little while, and when I woke up, Charlie was gone.

I could hear him laughing out the front, and I followed the sound. My hat—well, it was actually the one Charlie had given me—was the only one left on the hook in the hall near the door, so I knew Charlie and George were both outside. I took my hat off the second hook and opened the door. He was leaning his ass against the veranda, and just like George said, he was barefoot. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt—standard Northern Territory attire—with his feet in the dirt.

Everyone was there except Ernie, all kind of standing around. Trudy was sitting on the veranda with Gracie on her lap, and Ma sat beside them. Oddly enough, there was a trash can—sorry, a garbage bin—in the middle of the front yard. Something was definitely going on. Charlie smiled warm and wide at me when I walked out. He was obviously feeling better. “Here he is,” Charlie said. “I was gonna come in and wake you. You’re on my team.”

I looked around at everyone, not sure what he meant. “Team for what?”

Just then, Ernie came walking out of the shed. “Found it.” He held up something I recognised off the TV. It was a cricket bat.

I groaned, and they laughed, George in particular. He’d told me in the middle of summer in Australia there was only one thing allowed on the TV in the house.

Cricket.

George had spent the better part of last summer trying to explain to me the rules, the game itself and why they did the nonsensical things they did on the pitch.

Truly, a sport I would never understand. The bat was the wrong shape, they pitched the ball from a run up and they ran along a rectangular strip instead of around a diamond.

“There’s something wrong with your baseball bat,” I told them.

Charlie laughed but rolled his eyes. “We’re fielding first. Bin’s the stumps, dogs are the outfielders. If you hit the house or hit it over the fence, you’re out.”

I guessed it was early evening. The thing about Northern Territory summer, was that like any desert, we’d lose daylight around eight-ish and the air would still be hot as hell. I loved it. We’d work early in the mornings or late at night, and spend the too-hot days inside.

Spring was my favourite Australian Outback season, though. Warm days to work in, not stinking freakin’ hot, and the nights were cool enough to need blankets and body warmth.

Then again, I said that with winter and fall too. I mean autumn. Goddamn, I’ll never get used to the terminology.

“Hey, Trav,” Bacon called out. “Move up into slips.”

Terminology like that. “What the hell is that in American?”

Charlie laughed from across the playing field, or dirt field, as it were. “He means move in closer to the batsman.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” I asked, moving in closer.

And so we played friggin’ cricket. Unfortunately, when someone called, “over”, I said, “Oh thank God,” and started to walk off. Charlie almost busted something laughing at me. I glared at him and he threw the ball to me and said I could pitch. I mean bowl. Whatever.

It wasn’t fucking bowling at all. It wasn’t pitching either. It was some kind of overarm throwing, letting it bounce once and trying to hit the trash can behind Bacon, who was batting. Of course I sucked at it. By the fourth attempt—and the fourth round of laughter from Bacon—I fucking pitched it at him, baseball style, and sent the trash can flying.

I got him out, and everyone cheered and laughed. Everyone except Bacon, that is. “What the hell was that?” he yelled at me.

“That’s out,” Ma said from the veranda. She was the umpire, being the only one no one would question or argue with.

Bacon snarled at me and handed the bat out to me. “Come on, Yank. Your turn to bat. I’m bowling.”

Grinning, I took the bat and stood in front of the trash can. Charlie threw the ball to Bacon and mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear. It sounded like a warning, and when Bacon rolled his eyes, I was pretty sure Charlie had warned him against trying to take my head off.

I stood side-on like they did, tapped the ground with the bat like they all did, but when Bacon came running in to bowl at me, I lifted the cricket bat over my shoulder, and like it was a flat-edged baseball bat, I smacked the ball over Billy’s head and sent it a good fifty yards toward the holding yards.

Everyone laughed, and even Bacon shook his head at me. He got me out the next ball, so he considered us even. Charlie batted next, and true to Charlie being Charlie, he played safe shots, taking easy runs with no chance of being run out. Billy eventually bowled him out. Most surprising was George. He was the oldest here by twenty years at least, but man, he was fast. It surprised me how quick he was on his feet and could read each bowl and hit the ball with pinpoint accuracy. No one else was surprised by this, instead they all changed fielding positions as though they knew the old man had skills.

Ma called us all in for dinner before anyone could bowl or catch her husband out, which of course they all cried foul over, citing unfair advantage. But it was getting on dark anyway, the air had chilled, and I was starving. We all smiled and laughed as we ate, and it was the perfect way to end our weekend. Charlie was torn between having Nugget or Grace on his knee, but in the end, the little girl won.

When dinner was done and everyone had cleared out, me and Charlie, Ma and George all ended up around the old table in the kitchen. We drank cups of tea and had homemade shortbreads for dessert and talked about our three-day stay in Darwin. Charlie told them all about his days with Sam and Laura, and I told them all about the sights we saw.

Ma and George were real good people, and they just adored Charlie. I don’t care if there wasn’t a drop of biological blood between them, they were his parents. They raised him, they loved him. And he loved them.

Sitting at that table, I could feel the family between them.

It was times like this that I missed my mom and dad. It didn’t happen often, but every now and then, an errant thought would send me back to Texas. It didn’t mean I wanted to go home, it just meant I missed them, something Charlie wouldn’t differentiate, which is why I never told him.

Charlie looked at me, then back to Ma and George, like he wanted to say something important. And I thought for a second he was about to tell them that we were engaged.

But Ma spoke first. “The nightlife must have been good,” she said. “You were three shades of green when you got here before lunch.”

“Well, it’s better than the pubs in the Alice,” Charlie said. “But truthfully, it’s not my scene.”