Red Dirt Heart 3 (5 page)

“Yep. Up until I was twelve and broke my wrist in two places.” I’d mentioned to him before that I’d broken my wrist just before my dad was due to go some important meeting. “My dad said no more rodeos after that.”

Some of the clippings were about Sutton Station, some were directly about me doing something with the School of the Air. “It wasn’t your normal kind of school,” I explained. “There ain’t no team sports, no after-school activities or anything like that when the closest kid was two hundred and fifty kilometres away. Give or take.”

Travis shook his head. “Such a different childhood than me,” he said.

“It was pretty great,” I admitted. “Riding bikes, horses, chasing bulls… being chased by bulls.”

Ma pointed to her hair. “See these greys?” she said, her eyebrows raised. “Every single one of them is from something he did.”

There were cut-outs ranging from me bein’ little right up to my teen years. The last clipping wasn’t stuck in, just folded and pressed between two pages, and was from only a few years ago.

From what I could tell, it looked like it had been cut out of the Beef Farmers Association magazine, just like the one we got the other day with my face on the front. Except this was just text, an interview, it seemed, with my father.

He talked of the last stock prices being a little lower than he’d have liked, but the season had been okay. Then as the conversation turned to family matters, the interviewer noted,

“Charles Sutton spoke of his son proudly, saying he was studying Agriculture in Sydney. ‘As much as we can learn from living the land, the future is in education,’ he said. ‘Charlie will be a better farmer, better than what I could ever be.’

The interviewer had joked, wondering if a young man would come back to the outback after tasting city life. Charles Sutton laughed like it was an inside joke. ‘It’s a hard life, no one would argue that. But ask any one of us—we wouldn’t have it any other way. Charlie will be back. Not because he’s obligated, but because he loves it.’

‘You must be very proud of your son,’ the interviewer prompted. Charles Sutton answered with one resounding word. ‘Very.’”

I read it. And then I reread it. And I swallowed back tears while Travis and then Ma read the article. “I don’t understand,” I said. “Was he lying when he said that? Why would he lie to them? Why would he say those things? They weren’t true.”

“Charlie,” Travis murmured. “They were true.”

I shook my head. “He said the opposite to me. He told me. Ma was there, so was George. They heard what he said.”

Ma frowned. “Oh, love.”

Travis, undeterred, took my hand. “Charlie, we’ve gotten pretty good at talking things through, haven’t we?”

I nodded. “I’m trying to get better at it.”

He smiled at that. “You’re doing great.” He squeezed my hand. “But do you remember in the beginning? It wasn’t easy.” He spoke so calmly. “You’d find it easier to lie and say you were fine when you really weren’t. You’d struggle so hard, and it was easier to say no and be on the defensive and act like you didn’t care than to let someone think, for just one second, that you might be open with them.”

I swallowed so I could speak. “But why would he lie to some interviewer? He could have just said I was away at college and left it that, but he didn’t. He kept on about it. That doesn’t make sense.”

Travis shook his head like I was missing the obvious. “He wasn’t lying to them, Charlie. What he said to
you
was the untruth. He was proud of you. He just couldn’t tell you.”

I shook my head. It didn’t make sense.

“Just like you, he’d have found it easier to tell the truth to some stranger than it would be to tell the person he loved the very hard truth. It’s easier to tell a stranger the truth because there’s no risk of rejection. Don’t you see? It was easier for him to act like he didn’t care to you, Charlie, because with you he had the most to lose.”

I looked at Travis then. Really looked at him. Sitting right next to me, holding my hand, with the bluest of blue eyes, was the only person on the planet who really knew me. He knew my every secret, my every mood, dream and need, he’d seen the worst side of me, and yet he still sat beside me.

“You hear what I’m saying, Charlie?” Travis said gently.

Nodding, I swallowed down the lump in my throat and ignored the burn in my eyes. “You’re really kinda perfect, you know that?”

Ma snorted, and when we looked over, she was wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “You boys are making me cry.”

Just then, Nara walked into the kitchen and stopped when she saw us. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just coming in to help with lunch.”

Which made us all look at the time. Shit, the morning was almost gone. I stood up and packed everything back into the first box and then realised I hadn’t even touched the second box.

“I haven’t even started on lunch,” Ma said.

“I should have fed Nugget by now,” I added, but I looked back at the unopened box.

Ma put her hand on my arm. “Open it, Charlie. Don’t waste another day. I can get the bottle ready for Nugget…”

“You know what?” Travis said. “Why don’t you two go and sit in the lounge room and go through the box. I’m sure you have lots to talk about. Nara and I can get lunch organised.”

I don’t know whether he honestly thought me and Ma needed to talk or if he picked up on how pale Ma was looking, but it was a good idea regardless.

And she didn’t argue.

Lookin’ back, that right there, that lack of arguin’, should have told me something wasn’t right.

But I was too engrossed in the box they’d found in the roof space to notice. The box of my childhood memories and the tiny little snippet of hope—the magazine interview clipping that maybe, just maybe, showed that my father didn’t hate me like I thought he did—sat my feet.

Ma sat next to me, and I opened the second box. It was smaller and lighter than the first box, and when I opened it, I saw why.

It only had one book in it.

A small scrapbook. That’s all there was. I wondered why it was in a separate box if that’s all there was in it. I picked up the scrapbook and set the box down, and slivers of newspaper clippings feathered to the floor.

I picked them up, probably six or seven, and opened the scrapbook. None of them were stuck in, just left loose, like my dad had run out of time or he wasn’t too sure what to make of them.

I sat the book between me and Ma and opened the first folded clipping. The paper was old, yellowed and dry. It was an article from a primary school in Darwin talking about some exhibition. The names, the references, meant nothing to me.

I picked up another one of the small clippings. It was an action photograph from the newspaper of some kids playing soccer. I couldn’t see any faces, but they must have been five or six years old.

Again, nothing.

I handed that one to Ma, then I picked up another one. Smaller, older, it was a birth notice.

Samuel Jennings, born 4
^th
March, 1983. Mum and son doing well.

I read it. And read it again.

I had no clue who that was and no idea why my father would have kept it.

Frowning, I handed the small piece of yellowed newspaper to Ma. “I don’t know anyone by the surname Jennings.”

That was when I really looked at Ma. Like
really
looked at her. She was pale, more pale than she had been, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. Her breaths were short and quick, and when I took her hand, it was clammy.

I took the newspaper clipping from her, and taking her hand, I pulled her to her feet. “To bed with you,” I said. “Don’t try and argue with me.”

And she didn’t.

Very unlike Ma, but she gave a nod. “I don’t feel the best.”

I led her to her room, past the kitchen, where Travis stopped what he was doing and followed us. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Ma’s okay,” I answered, still walking slowly to the bedroom at the back of the house. “Just needs some rest.”

“Thank you,” Ma said weakly. “I don’t want to worry anyone.”

We got to her bed, and I pulled back the covers and waited for her to get in. “How about you let us worry about you for a change,” I said. “I’ll make you some lemon tea and get you some Panadol, yes?”

She gave a nod, and I left the room. I walked into the kitchen, where Travis met me. “Charlie?”

“I’ll make her some tea,” I said.

“Did something upset her?” he asked. “What was in the second box? I know she hasn’t been well, but…”

I shook my head. “She hasn’t been herself for a while, weeks even. Remember when she had that head cold?” I asked. “Since then.”

I had kind of forgotten Nara was in the kitchen with us. “Mr Sutton,” she said quietly and handed me a cup of lemon tea. “I cool it down a little for her, how she likes it.”

“Thank you,” I said. Nara smiled shyly and went back to getting lunches ready. “Nara? You’ve noticed a change in Ma?”

The girl looked up at me as though she was almost afraid to answer. But then she nodded. “She gets real tired.”

Travis put his hand on my shoulder. “Charlie, yesterday when Scott was here, the vet, he said the same thing.”

“What?”

“He said to me he didn’t realise Mrs Brown was so unwell. He said the last time he saw her was here, nearly three years ago, at your father’s funeral.” Travis swallowed hard.

“And?”

“And he just said it was a bit of shock to see her looking so thin and pale.”

And so I thought back, like Scott had done, and it was really only when I remembered Ma from years ago, or even six months ago, that I could tell in my mind that no, she didn’t look too well at all.

And I could have kicked myself for bein’ so damn blind.

Maybe it was just a head cold like she said, but she was pale and she looked tired. She was quieter than normal, and she barely ate much at all, many of her cups of tea went untouched. She was so busy worryin’ after everyone else, and we were so busy lettin’ her, that I didn’t even notice.

Just then the screen door banged and I knew from the sound of the steps who it was. “George,” I called out.

He walked into the kitchen, and his eyes flickered with something I didn’t recognise. Whether it was the fact Ma wasn’t in the kitchen or the look on my face, I didn’t know.

“Where’s Ma?”

“She’s in bed,” I said. “George, it’s probably none of my business, but I don’t think Ma’s feeling too good. And I don’t mean just feeling a bit crook, I mean she’s not very well.”

I was expecting a look of surprise or shock, but instead he looked to the floor and sighed. “She hasn’t been well for a while.”

My body took a step toward him of its own accord. “What has she said?”

He shrugged. “She’s good at hiding it.”

“Why didn’t she say something sooner?” I asked quietly. “To me, I mean. I could have made her take time off, get rested or something.”

“You’ve met her, son. She’s stubborn and proud. Don’t want to worry anyone.”

“I’ll call the doctor,” I said.

George smiled and shook his head. “I’ve been saying that for two weeks. She’s threatened bodily harm every time.”

“George, she’s never sick,” I said, like I was telling him something he didn’t already know. “For as long as I’ve known her, she’s never been like this.”

“I know,” he said sadly. He tried to smile, but it didn’t work. “And she says it’s just a cold or a flu or something. This winter’s been hard on her, but she says she’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”

Whether he was repeating something Ma had said a dozen times or he was trying to convince himself, I wasn’t sure. I shook my head. “She said that to me weeks ago when Trav and I went to Alice.”

George nodded. “I know, Charlie.” He didn’t sound mad or even resigned. It sounded like he’d had the same argument with her over and over.

“She’s not to work until she’s feeling better. I don’t care if it drives her crazy, she can yell at me all she wants. She needs rest and she needs us to look after her for a change.”

George smiled then, it was small and brief. “I’ll tell her.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” I told him. “But if she doesn’t pick up in a day or two, I’ll drive her to Alice myself.”

He ducked his head, and as he turned to leave, I handed him the cup of tea and spoke more gently. “I promised her some Panadol.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. He sounded grateful. “Thanks, Charlie.”

I turned then to see Travis just standing there watching me. “You okay?” he asked. “You’ve had one helluva morning.”

I nodded, very aware that Nara was still in the kitchen loading trays up with breads and meat. “I’m fine,” I told him.

Travis didn’t seem to care that we weren’t alone. He wrapped his arms around me, and despite my hesitation, I leaned into him. The hug was warm and strong and everything I needed. I could feel my worries disappear, and the weight of the morning—finding that box full of my childhood mementos in the roof—didn’t feel so heavy when he hugged me.

“What was in the second box?” he asked, pulling back but keeping his hands on my arms.

“Just papers, more clippings,” I told him. “I don’t know what any of it means. None of it’s about me.” I shrugged. When the back door squeaked open and the others walked in for lunch, I looked over to see that Nara had already taken one tray out to the table.

I picked up the second tray, full of cut fruit, Travis grabbed the tray of sauces and condiments, and we followed Nara into the dining room. Everyone was sitting there, kinda quiet and waiting. I wondered why no one started eating, and that’s when I realised. They weren’t gonna start because George wasn’t there. I picked up a plate, filled it with sandwiches and fruit. “Um,” I started, “Ma’s not feeling the best. George is in with her now, so I’ll take this for him. You guys, please eat.”

I left them kinda wide-eyed and stunned and took George in some lunch. I could hear a low murmur, but when I knocked on the door, their conversation stopped. George was sitting on the bed, and Ma tried to smile. I carried the plate in and handed it to George. “I can make you some toast?” I said to Ma. “All the times I was sick and you made me choke down dry toast, it’s the least I can do.”