Red Dirt Heart 3 (19 page)

I snorted. “You can’t lie for shit. And, I might add, was it not you who insisted on the complete-disclosure rule?”

“Complete disclosure?”

“Yeah. You know, talking about stuff. I mean, if I can do it, anyone can. There is still shit I’d prefer not to say out loud, but I do. Because you told me I had to. We have a complete-honesty thing happening, do we not?”

He smiled at me. “We do. And what shit do you say out loud that you’d prefer not to?”

I shrugged. “Most everything.”

He laughed. “Well, you’re getting very good at it. For someone who just twelve months ago didn’t speak to anyone about anything—unless it was work related—I think you’re doing pretty good.”

“I tell you everything.”

He smiled at me. “And I am very grateful.”

“So tell me what’s bothering you.”

Trav sighed. “I just… I just feel like I pushed you into finishing your degree.”

“You did,” I said. He quickly turned his head to look at me. I laughed at his expression. “You re-enrolled me without telling me. That’s not pushing me to finish it, that’s throwing me right in.”

He seemed stuck for words for a second. “I did, didn’t I? I’m really sorry, Charlie. I hate knowing that I made things worse for you.”

“
Worse
for me?” I scoffed. “Trav, you’re the
best
thing that ever happened to me. Ever.”

He smiled at me this time, almost shyly. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me too, Charlie.” Then, because he’s a funny bastard, he added, “Ever.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“Will you reconsider?” he asked. “I mean, I know I pushed you into it and all, but don’t just quit. I’ll help you do it, or something. I’d just hate to see you throw it away when you’re so close to being done.”

When I didn’t say anything, he added, “Just think about it. Don’t tell them you’re quitting and if by the end of it we didn’t get it finished, then you can defer. But don’t quit.”

“You just said you were sorry for pushing me into starting it,” I reminded him. “Now you’re pushing me into finishing it. Just how sorry were you?”

He shrugged. “Well, obviously not
that
sorry.”

God, he made me laugh. Then, doing what he normally does to me, I leaned against him and pulled his arm over my chest so I was kinda tucked in against him, put my feet up on the window and pulled my hat over my eyes. “Just shut up and drive.”

It was about twenty minutes later that Travis said, “Um, Charlie?”

“Hmm,” I mumbled.

“Uh, this is a pickup.”

“Well, we call ’em a ute,” I said. “We’ve been through this already. But yes, this is a pickup or a ute, whatever. Great observation, by the way. You should be a cop or something.”

His arm was still across my chest, and he tried to stick his fingers in my sides. “Don’t be a smartass.”

I laughed, but kept his hand in mine. A little warm-hand-holdin’ felt kinda nice. “What’s your point?”

“Well, we’re going to pick up George and Ma! There’s just two seats! How are we all supposed to fit?”

I snorted out a laugh. “And you just thought of that now?” I asked. “I take back my comment about you bein’ a cop, Trav.”

“What the hell are we gonna do?”

“Well, I got to thinkin’ about that when I was riding Shelby home yesterday too.”

“I’m starting to think you bein’ out there alone with too much thinkin’ time is a bad idea.”

* * * *

We pulled the old ute up at the front of the car dealership and got out. “I can’t believe you’re just gonna buy a new car!” Trav said, shaking his head. “Just on a whim. Most people buy shirts or a burger on a whim, not a car.”

“Well, it’s not technically a car,” I corrected him. “It’s a new Cruiser.” I pointed to the rows of new seven-seaters and started to walk toward them. “And it’s hardly a whim. We haven’t bought a new vehicle in years. It’s long overdue. And I don’t want Ma travellin’ home for three hours in a bumpy old ute.”

He didn’t argue after that.

In fact, he got a bit excited about it. I mean, it wasn’t something we did every day, so checking out and sitting in a bunch of different models of SUVs, as Trav called them, was fun.

I popped the hood on one and shook my head. “What’s wrong?” Trav asked.

“No engine should be this clean,” I told him. “It just ain’t right.”

He laughed at that. “And the inside is all leather, very clean. Dunno how long it’ll stay that way.”

“It’ll be your job to clean it,” I told him.

“Oh, whatever,” he scoffed. “I’m pretty sure the job clause said boyfriend, not slave.”

“Job clause?” I asked. “Is that all I am to you?”

Travis laughed, and someone behind cleared their throat. When we turned around, the salesman was behind us. He was about forty, wearing a suit, and although he tried to smile, he looked less than pleased with us. At first, I figured all he saw the twenty-year-old ute out the front and us in worn jeans, dirty boots and old hats. But then I realised from the contempt on his face, it wasn’t how we looked; he’d heard our conversation.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.

Trav spoke first. “Well, I was hoping for something with the steering wheel on the left-hand side of the vehicle,” he said, his accent thick. “Got anything on the lot like that?”

The salesman was thrown for a minute. “Uh, no.”

I chuckled, and careful of my bandaged hand, I lowered the bonnet of the Cruiser and pushed it shut until it clicked. Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “And then he just needs to change the law to make us all drive on the other side of the road, ain’t that right, Trav?”

He laughed and opened the passenger door and climbed into the new car. “Yep. That’s next on my agenda. Right before I abolish words like ute and fair dinkum.”

I cracked up laughing, then turned back to the salesman. He wasn’t smiling. Ignoring his blatantly poor service skills, I said, “Tell me, what’s the warranty like on these.”

His answer was short and clipped. “Four years.”

Taking a deep breath, I climbed in behind the wheel and shut the door so the salesman couldn’t hear me. Trav frowned. “What’s his problem?”

“Don’t think he liked our conversation about being boyfriends.”

Travis glanced quickly back at him, and he frowned. “He’s lookin’ at us like we’re dirty.”

“Don’t worry about him,” I said, taking his hand over the console, not giving a fuck if the guy could see us or not. “You like this one?” I asked. “Colour? Interior? It’s like Doctor Hammond’s.”

He nodded. “It’s very nice.”

“Okay. That was easy,” I said, opening the door and getting back out. I smiled at the salesman. “I wanna buy one of these.”

The man smiled in a sure-you-do kind of way. “Well, this a ninety-five-thousand-dollar vehicle.”

I looked at the smug fucker and glared for good measure. “You know, I actually can read.” I pointed to the price in the front windscreen. “What? Is there an age criteria? Are we too young? Not dressed fancy enough for ya? Oh wait, let me guess. Too gay for ya?”

He tried to laugh it off, but he swallowed like something tasted foul in his mouth. “What in particular are you looking for?”

“What am I looking for?” I asked. “Your boss, actually.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You asked what I wanted, and what I want is to see your boss.”

He swallowed hard. Twice. “Oh, uh, well, I don’t know if he’s in right now.”

“Well, let’s go inside and find out,” I said. Then I sneered at him, because fuck this guy and fuck his attitude. “Come on, Trav,” I said, looking back at a wide-eyed Travis, and nodded toward the showroom.

Of course the boss was in. I walked right up to the counter and asked to see the owner. Not the manager, not the supervisor. The
owner
. The receptionist took one look at the now flailing, sweating, pulling-at-his-tie salesman and said, “Just a moment.”

So I waited, just a moment.

Another man walked out, taller, business shirt on, sleeves rolled to his elbows, no tie. He was probably sixty years old, with short grey hair and soft, pen-pushing hands. He looked concerned. “Can I help you?” he asked. “Is there a problem?”

“I want a four-point-eight litre fuel-injected, turbo diesel GXL Cruiser. That blue one out there, specifically,” I said, nodding to the one we just got out of. “I want roof racks, a towbar, extended warranty, I want it registered, and I want it ready in an hour.”

The owner blinked, twice. “Right. I’m sure we can arrange that,” he said, clearly confused as to why I was talking to him and not the salesman who was still just a few metres away.

“I’m going to be honest with you…?” I trailed off, waiting for him to say his name.

“David. David Campbell.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, David,” I started again. “Your sales staff could do with some work on customer service. Now, given you’re the only Toyota dealer in town—and I want a Land Cruiser—my options are quite limited and I’m short on time. Though I’m not opposed to flying to Darwin, and spending a hundred grand in someone else’s car yard. And I reckon I could
still
drive back here before your homophobic piece-of-shit salesman has shut his fucking mouth.”

We turned to look at the sales guy, whose name I still did not know. He looked like he had a fishbone stuck in his throat. The owner, David, blinked again, but the look he shot at his employee told me he wasn’t happy. “Not a problem, Mr…”

“Sutton. Please call me Charlie.”

He turned to the receptionist, who was standing there staring with wide eyes. “Can you start the purchase papers please?” Then David looked at me. “Will you need finance for the vehicle? It might take more than an hour, that’s all.”

“No, no finance. I have the cash,” I said. “I can write out a cheque or call the bank and get them to transfer it.”

David smiled, almost relieved, and I turned around to give the salesman one last fuck-you smile. It didn’t look like he was having any luck with that fishbone.

David spoke again to the lady at the counter. “Call through to the boys out the back, tell them to take the blue Cruiser off the floor, fit roof racks and a towbar.” He looked at me and Trav. “Please, come to my office.”

I signed all the necessary paperwork and wrote out a cheque on the spot. He had to call the bank to get it cleared first, which took all of five minutes. He asked for my business banker, spoke to him directly, said my name, the amount in question, nodded twice, hung up the phone and smiled.

And that is how this Charlie Sutton, just like my father, got things done.

We did have to wait for the extras to be put on to the vehicle, which was fine. I told David we’d wait outside, the spring sun was too good to miss.

I leaned against our old ute, and Trav eyed me cautiously. “You okay?”

“Yeah, apart from being ninety-five-thousand dollars lighter.”

“No, I meant from that other guy.”

I smiled. I knew what he meant. “Yeah.”

“You were a little scary back there,” he said, shaking his head.

“Scary?” I asked. “Far from scary. But I ain’t ashamed of who I am, Trav. Not anymore. Anyways, it’s easier to be layin’ down the law when I’m holding the money. That wasn’t really a shot at that arsehole bein’ homophobic, that was more me bein’ pissed off with his shitty customer service.” I shrugged. “And nobody treats you like that.”

“What? Like a ‘nobody puts baby in the corner’ type of thing.”

I had no clue what that meant. “Huh?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Never mind.”

It was literally one hour almost to the second when some guy in overalls drove the brand-new Land Cruiser out and handed the keys to David. He gave them straight to me. I held up my bandaged hand. “Sorry I can’t shake your hand,” I said.

“No problem,” he said, opting to shake Travis’s instead. “I’m sorry your experience with us wasn’t one hundred percent perfect. I’ve included a full tank of fuel at no extra cost.”

After we’d waved him off, I threw the keys to the brand-new Cruiser to Trav. “You can drive it.”

He looked at me like I’d just sprouted a second head. “Oh, hell no. I am not.”

I held up my injured hand. “I can’t drive. Well,” I amended, “I will drive the old ute, because if I run into something or sideswipe somethin’, I’d prefer it not to be the new car.”

He looked horrified. “What if I run into something?”

I snorted. “You won’t.”

He shook his head, almost violently. “Uh-uh.”

“Come on, George and Ma will be wonderin’ where we got to,” I said, looking at my watch, seeing it was just after ten. “The doc was gonna come see her around now and discharge her. You can follow me to the hospital.”

I didn’t give him time to argue, I just walked around to the driver’s side of the old ute and got in.

He followed me and spoke through the open window as he walked past. “Just so you know, I hate you right now.”

I turned the key and the old ute rumbled to life, loud and rattling. I grinned at Trav and shook my head. “No you don’t.”

I watched as he stalked off looking like he was mumbling the whole way. He followed me to the hospital and was still mumbling at me when we met in the hospital car park. He threw the key to me, making me catch it with my left hand. “How was it?” I asked.

“Horrible,” he said, still pouting. Then he rolled his eyes. “And beautiful.”

I laughed. “You’re welcome.”

“I was terrified I was gonna dent it or something.” He pushed me toward the hospital. “Now come on, Ma’s been waiting a week.”

And wow, what a difference a week meant.

She looked so much better. Gone was the pallid skin and the dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks had colour, her eyes had shine and she smiled so hard when we walked in.

“Look at you!” I said, kissing her cheek.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and ready to go. She gave me a hug. “Oh, Charlie, I’ve missed you,” she said. “And you, Travis,” she added.

He leant in and gave her a kiss. “Jeez, Ma. You look great. You need a week in the hospital more often.”

She snorted. “Not likely.” Then she noticed my hand. “What did you do?”

“I cut it,” I told her. “It’s no big deal. Where’s George?”