by Ros Baxter
‘Listen, mister,’ the little man said. ‘I know all about you. Grammy told us. You were the devil even before you ran out on our mum and broked her heart. You can just stay away.’
Brodie’s brain clanked painfully. He shook his head a little, taking his hat off in case it helped as he tried to make sense of the pieces of this. What did they mean? That Brodie was the one who’d done wrong?
Finally, he turned to the dripping blast from his past, trying to make sense of what these children were saying. ‘Gen?’
Gen clambered out of the pool and gathered the children against her dripping legs. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she said, motioning down at the kids, and then addressing the crowd. ‘Show’s over for now, folks.’ She clapped her hands and shooed them away, although she noticed Melva elected to stay close. ‘The mayor’s up next, so come back with your money in ten minutes.’
The mention of the mayor made the blood rise to Brodie’s face, but his brain was still trying to work out what the tiny redhead had meant. He let Melva take his arm and start to lead him away. He knew he would need to find Gen later anyway. Nelly had managed to prise information about the co-op out of him, and had insisted that he talk to Gen about making it happen.
‘We’re not done, Genevieve,’ he said darkly.
She smiled at him, over-bright, and nodded. ‘I’ll be in the judge’s tent,’ she said. ‘I think you’re there for the stock comp too?’
He nodded, and kneeled down to the two small children hovering protectively in front of Gen’s legs. He held out his hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he said to the little girl. ‘I’m Brodie Brown, but you can call me the Meanie Meanie.’
The redhead offered a small smile, looking as if she kind of resented that he had made her do so. ‘I’m Bea,’ she returned, holding out her own hand and shaking his solemnly. ‘Beatrice,’ she corrected quickly.
Brodie turned to the boy and offered his hand as well. The little boy looked at it for a few seconds before he took it. He seemed watchful and worried. ‘I’m Will,’ he said finally. ‘And my dad couldn’t make it today.’
Brodie stood and shot a quick glance at Gen. She looked as if she were made of stone as Will’s words landed. As he watched her, all his fury at her melted away. He thought about her with these two little kids, working at the store, managing the organising committee, and wearing cheese. Who the hell was he, ten years on, to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do, who she could and couldn’t be with?
He was just being a sore loser. What kind of dick had he turned into?
‘Come on, Bro Bro,’ Melva whined in his ear. ‘I want to get a snow cone.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he agreed, tipping his hat to the two small people and nodding at Gen. ‘See you at the tent.’
***
‘What the hell was all that “meanie meanie” crap about?’ Brodie’s eyes were closer to black than grey as he stared Gen down outside the livestock judges’ tent. ‘As if it’s not bad enough what you did to me, you had to go and spread dreadful propaganda about it to the whole world as well?’
The world tipped and swayed as Gen stood in front of Brodie. She was tired, so tired. All the preparation for today, all the work, all the kid stuff, and all the freakin’ rest of it, it was taking its toll. And then Bea with the meanie meanie and the shin kicking—it really did feel like more than she could manage right now. How to explain the lie to him in a way that would seem okay? How could she ever make him understand?
‘Propaganda is a little harsh,’ she settled on, aiming a cheerful wave at Clem as he popped his head out the back of the tent and tapped his watch. ‘Five minutes, mate,’ she assured him. Then, to Brodie, she said, ‘And not the world; they’re just my kids.’
Brodie’s frown deepened and he reached out and grabbed her upper arm—not roughly, but in a way that indicated he wasn’t wild about leaving without some answers. ‘And you think I want a pack of kids thinking I’m the meanie meanie?’ He took off his cowboy hat, a sure sign he meant business, and pulled her in towards him. ‘What the hell is going on?’
Gen thought about telling him the truth then and there, just letting it spill out of her mouth. It would taste so good, she was sure. It would come rolling out like it maybe should have ten years ago, and all the deception and hurt and artifice could go away.
But what then? Nothing had changed, not really. Not in her situation and not, clearly, in the sparks that whizz-fizzed between her and Brodie anytime they got close enough to let the magic do its thing. The truth might just unleash a whole world of pain neither of them had a clue what to do with.
But still, she might have given over to the urge to tell if it didn’t seem so hard right now, with her feet hurting and her brain wired on all it had to do, and Clem tapping his watch. She knew the time was coming like a tsunami on the horizon, when old secrets would have to be outed and truths would have to be told. But it couldn’t be like this, surely; rushed and clumsy, standing outside the judges’ tent while the town ambled by wondering what the hell was going on this time between Gen Jen and Bro Bro.
‘You know how kids are,’ she settled on. ‘They get the wrong end of the stick. And they’re defensive of me, especially since—’ She stopped herself. ‘Things have been tough since the breakup, for them and for me. They might have an overdeveloped sense of protectiveness.’
Brodie narrowed his eyes at her. She’d always had a crap poker face, and she didn’t really feel like she was winning any Academy Awards here. ‘I can’t help feeling,’ he said quietly, still holding her arm and drawing her even closer, so close she could smell the citrusy loveliness of his skin and the leather of his hat, ‘that there’s more to this story than meets the eye.’
His words uncorked something in Gen. She didn’t need this, not now, and not here. Of course there was more, a whole, whole lot more, but all she felt right now was the tidal wave of exhaustion and unfairness bearing down on her. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to tamp down the misery, wanting to unburden herself, but also needing to hold on and keep going, always keep going, because there were things to do and people to take care of. ‘Please, Brodie,’ she whispered, feeling herself sway towards the solid safety of his chest as the world tipped even further. ‘I can’t. I’m just so tired.’
His eyes widened as she leaned towards him and he grabbed her other arm, trying to steady her. ‘Gen, are you okay?’
What? Yes, of course she was. She just … but as the thought landed, she realised she most definitely wasn’t. Her head felt light and her vision swum. She tried to compute when she had last eaten—maybe some fairy floss when they were setting up this morning?
‘Sure,’ she whispered, not sounding at all sure and feeling like the effort of speaking the words might push her over the edge into oblivion. ‘Just maybe a little—’
Suddenly, Brodie swung dangerously close to her, at the same time that she realised he hadn’t moved at all, but the ground had finally tilted. Red spots swam in front of her eyes. ‘I think I’m going to …’
But she didn’t finish the sentence, because she tipped forward towards him as he reached out strong arms and took hold of her, sweeping her up to cradle her against his chest. Whether she actually fainted or she just swooned, she wasn’t completely sure, but her skin wasn’t arguing the toss. It was turning cartwheels at being snuggled against a chest she had been too long away from, and near the leathery citrus goodness of Brodie Brown. For a moment she worried that Brodie might think she had faked the whole thing to get away with not answering his questions, but she must have looked really bad because he swore loudly.
‘Fuck,’ he said, striding off towards the ambulance tent. ‘We gotta get you checked out, Gen.’
***
Brodie rested his face on the bed, watching Gen when she opened her eyes. He couldn’t believe she’d swooned like some caricature of a teenage girl from a Victorian novel. The Genevieve he knew could rope a calf, milk a herd, embroider a quilt and run
ten kilometres without breaking a sweat. Of course, he reminded himself tersely, she’d also been seventeen and not the overworked, stressed-out mother of two small people at the time.
‘What are you doing here?’ She didn’t look pleased to see him.
And fair enough. What a dick he had been, pushing her on the past when she was in the middle of a very bloody busy present. Had he been responsible for this? Had his nagging been the last straw?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Your mum took the kids—they were scared.’ He almost winced as he added, ‘Buddy offered to stay, but I suggested he should get back to the do. It’d be expected.’
She frowned. ‘But I said I didn’t need to go to hospital. I was just a little light-headed. Not enough to eat.’
‘They’re just checking you out,’ he assured her. ‘I’m sure everything will be just fine.’
He sure hoped so, because she’d fallen asleep like a toddler the minute they’d gotten her into bed, and now she looked pale and drawn, the dark shadows under her eyes standing out in sharp relief, and those freckles, a little more faded than he recalled but just as cute, burning bright across her nose. He felt a little light-headed himself just thinking about the idea of Gen being sick. It upset the order of things. Sure, she’d rejected him in the most horrible, painful way, but he’d still known she was here, safe and well and loved and living her life. If seeing her since coming back had spun his universe on its axis a bit, well, he was man enough to deal with that. Being sick, on the other hand …
‘What do you think happened?’
Gen looked at him searchingly before reaching out and patting his hand where it lay on the bed. ‘Honestly, Bro?’ It was the tenderest she had sounded with him since he’d hit town. ‘I just think I’ve been under a lot of pressure. Today took some organising, you know, and I didn’t eat. And I’ve been really busy with the part-time job, and the farm, and the—’
He held up a hand. He couldn’t even imagine how she spread herself so thinly. ‘Enough said.’
Gen ran her fingers along the seam of the white sheet. ‘There’s more,’ she said, focusing down on the bed. ‘The kids shouldn’t have been there today.’ She hiccupped a little as she said the words. ‘Mac said he’d take them, promised them.’ Her face clouded with fury as he watched her reliving what had happened. ‘Last-minute text. Not even a phone call.’ She finally looked at him. ‘How could he? They were so excited, needed it so much. Especially Will.’
Brodie nodded. ‘You worry about him.’
‘He hasn’t taken it all so well.’ She returned to her fretting at the sheet. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’ll be fine.’ She corrected herself quickly. ‘He’ll be fine. It just hurts, when you’re six.’
‘I’m sure,’ he agreed. He knew better than anyone how much you needed your parents, both of them, whether you were six or sixteen, and how much their absence could eat away at your sense of safety in the world. The kids were lucky they had Gen; he could see her mad love for them shining out of her eyes whenever she discussed them.
‘So, anyway,’ she went on, sitting up a little in the bed and shooting him a weary smile. ‘I’m okay; you don’t need to stay. I don’t need any favours.’
He thought about what a petulant kid he’d been the other day about Buddy, and more or less retracting his offer to help with her plans for the co-op. On a day like today, he saw just what a hard, lonely slog Gen’s life was. He didn’t want to be yet another problem in her life, another man letting her down. Regardless of their history.
He wriggled his chair closer and smiled at her, smoothing her hair away from her face a little. ‘I want to help, Gen,’ he said, feeling their shared history well large and full between them.
The lines on her face smoothed as he spoke, and she closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I appreciate it,’ she murmured. ‘But KD will be along soon, I’m sure. We’re all good.’
He was so close to her he had a front row seat to the fineness of her skin, and of each dark, curling eyelash. He wanted very much to lean forward and sweep aside her fringe, which had gown long and spilled down over her eyes. He could smell honey and vanilla, and he wondered if it was from her skin or her clothes. It had to be some kind of new low to be sitting next to someone in a hospital bed, seriously thinking about how much you still desired them after all this time.
He breathed in deeply, ready to slide backwards on his chair and remove himself from the hypnotic pull of her face, and the fragile clavicles that peeked through the red-checked dress she was still wearing. But as he shifted his weight to pull away, her eyes flicked open, and he was startled by the awareness in them.
She was feeling it too. She wanted him too.
Like every time he had ever kissed her, in all their history, the moment narrowed to this: his breath, and hers; their eyes, locked onto each other’s like homing beacons; their lips, parting almost in unison. Breathing in, breathing out. He knew where this led, where they ended up. And he wanted it more than he had wanted anything in a very long time—more than he’d wanted to leave Sweet Pocket as soon as he finished school; more than he’d wanted to stay away forever and never come back once this girl broke his heart; more even than he’d wanted to kill Mac that day ten years ago.
He inched closer, breathing her in, watching her watching him, knowing she wanted it too but being too mesmerised and too powerless and too damn scared to break eye contact with her lest she change her mind along the way, like she had ten years ago. He reached out and brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. So soft, still so soft, like the silkiest, most delicious cream you’d ever tasted.
‘Okay, then, I think you’re good to go—’ The nurse stopped mid-flight, and Brodie jumped back from the bed as if he’d been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. He took one last look at her as he jumped out of his chair and stood up—lips parted, eyes half-closed, and he thought what a good analogy it was. Just like a cookie. Sweet, desirable and oh-so-bad for you.
He stood back and spread his hands, trying to make the scene less awkward as the nurse buried her face in her chart and tried not to look at either of them. ‘No problems, honey,’ he improvised. ‘I was just helping Gen with her pillows.’
‘Sure,’ the nurse said cheerily, her cheeks a little pink but clearly relieved to be given an out. She knew what she’d walked in on—it was written all over her face. One more minute and there would have been a whole new world of gossip about Gen Jen and Bro Bro, the second generation. In fact, the lack of hard evidence was probably going to make very little difference. Sweet Pocket loved a story, and it had sure loved theirs, until it all went sour. Brodie had the sense the town was just watching, waiting for them to do something—blow up at each other, catch fire with need, or maybe just fall upon each other on Main Street.
The nurse cleared her throat ostentatiously. ‘Tests are back and she’s all good to go. Blood sugar was a little low, probably ’cause she hadn’t eaten today.’ She wagged a finger in Gen’s direction, but didn’t take her eyes off Brodie. ‘You taking her home?’ She coloured a little as she said the words, clearly feeling she had again stepped into dangerous ground.
‘No, I am,’ KD said, stepping into the room. Brodie could have kissed her. ‘Last thing you two need is any more bloody gossip.’ She stood with her hands planted on her hips. ‘You got any idea the firestorm the whole thing at the dunking pond had caused? Get it together, folks.’
Gen laughed, and Brodie saw the relief on her face that KD had stepped into the breach. The nurse exited in a bustle of files and fussiness.
‘I’ll be off then,’ Brodie said, sweeping his hat towards the ground like an old-fashioned gentleman before planting it back on his head and heading for the door. But as he gripped the handle, he remembered he’d forgotten something, and turned back.
‘I forgot,’ he said, stepping back towards Gen’s bed. ‘I wanted to tell you I’d really love to help, with the whole co-op thing. And the rest of your plans.’ He
mentally went over the lines he’d planned while Gen had been having her tests. ‘And it’s not some favour to you; I really do get that. I was a dick to make out it was. It’s for the town. I know what this means. For Nelly, and everyone.’
Gen smiled at him, her pale face finally lighting up from within, the way it did when things went her way. ‘Thank you, Brodie,’ she breathed, seeming to settle back on the pillows.
‘Yeah, thanks, Brodie,’ KD parroted. ‘You’re a real saint.’ She smirked. ‘Saint Brodie of Sweet Pocket.’
‘Aw shucks, KD,’ Brodie said, making a show of dragging the toe of his right foot in a little circle on the ground. ‘It ain’t nothin’.’
KD’s face grew serious. ‘So what’s first?’
Brodie pulled out his mobile phone. ‘I’ve set up some meets in Sydney this weekend. It’d be great if you could come, Gen. The Organic Network, and some buyers.’ He held up his hands quickly so she knew he wasn’t trying to railroad her. ‘You don’t have to be there, though; I can cover it. But if you can make it, I’ve also arranged for us to go see some guys I know out in the west who set up a pretty cool co-op.’ He whistled. ‘Real specialty stuff. It was tough as hell, but they’re making a motza now.’
He felt as if he was talking too fast, worried she would think he was taking over; worried she might think he was trying to make a move on her; worried she might not come; worried she might, and how the hell could he be alone with her for two whole days without wanting to do what he had almost just done here in this hospital bed?
‘I mean,’ he went on, watching KD because he was almost too scared to look at Gen, ‘I’m sure you probably can’t. I mean, with the kids and everything.’
Gen smiled up at him, and there was no design in it. ‘Mac has promised on his favourite ute he’ll be there for the kids next weekend, so I should be right.’ She worried at the sheet a little before looking up at him again, and Brodie was sure she muttered something under her breath about having his balls if he didn’t. ‘I’d love to come. And thank you so much for setting it all up.’