Right As Rain (3 page)

“She's not here and I was just dropping a docket.” He waved a piece of paper back and forth in front of her. “In and out.”

His casual manner raised Mackenna's ire further. Who was this guy in their family home acting like he owned it?

He moved past her into the kitchen, paused at the mess on the table then went to the fridge and stuck the paper to it with a magnet. It was between the postcard she'd sent first from New York and the one she'd sent next from Hawaii.

“It's the fuel docket,” he said. “Should be safe there till Louise gets back.”

“So you've delivered the diesel?” Mackenna scratched her forehead. Things had really changed if the new fuel driver was already on first name terms with her mother and was allowed access to their home. Normally the docket would be taped to the tank.

“Kind of.” He made his way back to where she still hovered in the kitchen doorway. “You haven't spoken to your parents?”

“I would if I knew where they were.”

“Did you try ringing?”

“I was going to surprise them. I'm home earlier than expected.”

“Guess it's you with the surprise then.” He pushed open the screen door. “Ask Patrick. He's meant to be keeping an eye on things.”

“My brother's here?”

“Probably still in bed, but that's not my business.” He tapped his hand to the brim of his cap and gave her a smile. “Be seeing ya.”

The door swung shut and she remained where she was, listening to the sound of his boots retreating along the verandah.

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered. He hadn't even told her his name. “Arrogant . . .”

“Sis!”

Mackenna turned. Her brother, Patrick, stood before her, blinking bleary eyes into the light. He was eight years younger than her but in his unshaven, dishevelled state he looked older.

“I'm glad it's only you. I thought Mum must be home.” He swept his fingers through his hair making the short dark tufts stand on end. “There's a bit to do before she gets back.”

“What's going on, Patrick? Why are you here?” Her brother rarely spent time at the farm these days. In fact, while she'd been away, he was supposedly working in Sydney.

“It's my home too.” He shoved some cups out of the way and flicked on the kettle.

Mackenna ignored the jibe. “Where are Mum and Dad?”

“Haven't you spoken with Mum?” Patrick rummaged in the freezer and pulled out a container of their mother's slice. He sat it in a patch of sunlight on the bench.

“Obviously not. I got an earlier flight. Thought I'd jump in the car and come straight home.”

“They're in Adelaide.”

“Both of them? Together?” Her mother went to the city from time to time but her father rarely went further than the local community and the odd trip to Mount Gambier.

“Cup of tea?” Patrick waved a mug at her.

Mackenna glanced longingly at the coffee machine gleaming on the bench. It had probably been idle since she'd left six weeks ago.

“Yes, thanks, but tell me what's going on?”

“Dad had a heart attack.”

“What!” Mackenna had been half seated but she jumped up, bumping the table and making the scattered papers slide and a can rattle to the floor.

“Settle down,” Patrick said. “No need for you to have one too. He's okay now.”

“When . . . why didn't . . .” Questions whirled through Mackenna's head. She didn't know which to ask first.

“Dad had the first attack not long after you left.” He plonked a mug in front of her.

“First!”

“Well I don't understand these things. They put a couple of stents in and sent him home to take it easy.”

“Why didn't they ring me to come home?”

“I reckon Dad was planning to but Mum wouldn't let him. Said it was the first proper holiday you'd had. She asked me to come.”

“What about your work?” Patrick had left the farm as soon as he finished school, went to university and was working in marketing for a national company.

“They've been very understanding.”

Mackenna gaped at her brother. He wasn't one for farm life and rarely came back to visit.

“My boss said family comes first,” he said.

“So why are Mum and Dad in Adelaide now? You said first attack. Has he had another?”

“I don't think so.”

“What do you mean?” Mackenna banged her hands on the table. That's what irked her about Patrick, he was always so vague.

“Take it easy. Dad had been complaining of pain so he had to go back for another angiogram. Mum rang last night and I think they've put in another stent.”

“You think!” Mackenna slammed her hands on the table again. “Why on earth didn't anyone tell me?” She'd made a couple of phone calls home while she'd been away and sent a few emails but that damned mobile had been so unreliable. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't spoken to her father. Each time she'd been able to get through, her mother had said he was off doing things.

“Like I said, Mum wouldn't let us.”

“How've you managed?”

Mackenna saw the anger flare in Patrick's eyes. He pushed away from the table and started dropping cans into the recycle bin. “Dad's been able to direct traffic, and I can follow instructions.”

“I know Patch, but there's so much to do even with you here.” Mackenna slumped in the chair. She'd sounded harsh and hoped the use of his pet name would calm the situation. “Are the neighbours helping?”

“Of course. And Dad's hired Cam Martin to do the truck work. I never got my heavy vehicle licence.” Patrick looked around. “I thought I heard his voice when I got up.”

“Really tall, dark wavy hair?”

“Sounds like him.”

“Damn,” Mackenna muttered. That would explain the confidence of the guy to walk into the kitchen, but she still felt he was taking a liberty.

“When did Dad put this Cam guy on?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Mackenna stood up and paced the kitchen. “While I've been away, Dad's had a heart attack and ongoing treatment, you've given up your job to look after the place – ”

“Well, not given up, exactly. I . . .” Patrick stopped talking as Mackenna locked eyes with him.

“And Dad's employed a working man.” She stood in front of Patrick. “I've only been gone six weeks. And for the last three I've been in New Zealand for goodness sake. It's not as if I was in outer space.” She swept her hair back and held it in a ponytail while she dug in her pocket for a band. “Why didn't someone tell me?”

“Stop bellowing at your brother.”

Patrick leapt to his feet and Mackenna swivelled her head to see her mother standing in the doorway.

“Mum, I didn't hear the car. Where's Dad?”

“Letting the dogs out.”

“Should he . . .?” Mackenna faltered as the weariness on her mother's face changed to anger.

“He shouldn't be doing anything but try telling him that, especially when his two grown children seem incapable of such a simple job.”

“I'll go.” Patrick shot out the door.

“How is he?” Mackenna asked. “I wish I'd known, Mum.”

“He's tired but okay. It was my decision not to tell you.” Her mother gave her a quick hug, then sighed and cast her eyes around the room. “Not quite the welcome home I would have planned.”

Mackenna wasn't sure if she meant for herself or her daughter.

“I said I'd put the kettle on.”

“It's not long boiled,” Mackenna said.

“Good. Do you think you can start on this mess? Then we can all sit down for a chat when your dad comes in.” Her mother stepped around the can that had rolled to the floor and reached for the kettle. She peered inside and began to refill it. “You're home early.”

“I did most of the things I'd intended. The weather turned bad and there was a seat on an earlier flight.” Mackenna had told herself that so often on the journey home, she believed it. She tried again to tug her hair into the band. It was a pity she hadn't taken the time to get it cut before she'd come home, but she didn't trust anyone except the local hairdresser to keep her unruly curls in line. “I didn't stay in Adelaide – came straight from the airport. If only I'd known . . .”

“Your hair looks pretty.” Her mother started wiping down the table as Mackenna cleared off the assorted debris. “I like it when you don't colour it. Some people would kill for your auburn curls.”

Once again the subject of her father had been redirected. And once again, even though she was thirty-two, Mackenna could still be made to feel guilty about colouring her hair. Dying hair was disapproved of. Some of her friends went to the hairdresser with their mothers and had pamper days together. Her mother would never see the necessity for that. Mackenna pursed her lips to hold in the questions she wanted to ask and instead, flew around the room setting it back in order and trying to keep her annoyance at Patrick in check. This was his mess that she was cleaning up – nothing had changed.

She looked up at the sound of the screen door and bit her lip as her father stepped into the kitchen. His face had lost its ruddy glow and the polo shirt she'd given him for Christmas hung loosely from his shoulders. Patrick appeared in the doorway close behind. For a moment there was silence as they all froze like pieces on a chessboard, then Mackenna flew across the room.

“Dad.” She kissed his cheek and wrapped his frail frame in a careful embrace. They were matched in height and when she stepped back she could see tears welling in his eyes. It shocked her. She'd left him strong and healthy, physically tackling all the jobs the farm threw at him, now he looked barely fit enough to wrestle a kitten. She twisted her lips quickly into a grin and slipped an arm through his, leading him to a chair. “You've taken to visiting the city while I've been away.”

“Couldn't let you be the only one to have a holiday.”

“How'd you find it?”

“Got myself some four star accommodation. Room service was pretty good.”

Mackenna laughed as she saw him give a glimmer of a grin. The tension eased and they all sat down. Louise put cups of tea in front of them and the thawed chocolate slice, although her father got dry biscuits Mackenna noted.

“What's been happening, Dad?” she asked.

“I've had a bloody heart attack. Who'd have guessed it?” He began to pat the table.

“Lyle.” Louise put a hand on his.

“One of my arteries has required spare parts. They didn't get it right the first time so they've just done some more. Sent me home with a pile of pills and instructions to stay on light duties for a few weeks. Then I'll be right as rain.”

“I wish I'd known.” Mackenna looked into her father's weary eyes but he avoided her unspoken words and turned to Patrick.

“Your brother's here and I've hired a bloke to do some driving and heavy work.”

“Something we should have done years ago,” Louise piped in.

“Let's not talk about me for the moment. I've had enough of that while you've been gone.” He paused and shifted in his seat. Pain etched in his face. “I want to hear all about your trip.”

“Perhaps you should be resting first, Dad.”

“Remember what the doctor said, Lyle. You've got to take it easy.” Louise stood up and coaxed him to his feet. “You need a sleep. We can hear all about the holiday over dinner tonight.”

“I am a bit tired, love.” He gave Mackenna an apologetic look.

Once again she was shocked at his frailty and how easily he complied with Louise's instructions.

He stopped at the door. “Did you organise that drench, Patrick?”

“All done, Dad.”

“And the rams need to be shifted back to the ram paddock.”

“I know.”

“Those ewes in the front paddock need more silage.”

“Bed, Lyle,” Louise said.

“Going.”

“Can you bring in our bags, Patrick?” Louise called over her shoulder.

“Sure.”

Mackenna was left alone in the kitchen. Her earlier relief at being home was gone. She'd only been away a few weeks but in that short time many things had changed. It was as if she'd stepped back into a different world.

Mackenna's eyes flew open with a start. She was hot and her heart pounded in her chest. Adam had been kissing her, his quirky smile dancing before her eyes, but the grey early morning light brought her back to reality. She'd been dreaming. The warmth of his imagined embrace ebbed away and once again she felt the ache of his loss and rejection. She lay still, listening to the dawn bird calls, telling herself to breathe slowly and push Adam from her mind. That worked okay during the day, but she had no control over wayward dreams at night.

She rolled over and peered at the clock. It was only five thirty. She groaned and flopped back on her pillow. A deep rumbling snore reached her ears. Surely that couldn't be her father or Patrick? Her bedroom was at the top end of the house, away from theirs. It had originally been her parents' room with the corner window looking down towards the swamp; the only bedroom on this side of the house. They'd moved to the room closest to the bathroom and kitchen at the other end of the long passage when she'd left school and gone to Adelaide. Opposite her was the empty guestroom and Patrick's room was next, sandwiched between it and their parents'.

Going back to sleep was no longer an option. Mackenna tossed off the sheet and went to her door. The snoring was so loud she understood why she'd woken. She made her way down the passage to the guestroom door, which was ajar. The noise was loud enough to shake the walls. Perhaps her father had taken up residence in the spare room since his attack.

She peered around the door. There was a shape sprawled across the bed. Mackenna took a step forward, caught her toe on something, lost her balance and toppled to the floor.