Second Time Sweeter

by Ros Baxter

  Chapter Six

  The high life

  It had all fallen apart only an hour before, so Gen hadn’t yet had the time to support the children through it, plan alternatives, or let Brodie know.

  When he arrived, she was still rocking Will in her arms on the loveseat on the old porch, and making that non-sound mothers make to soothe distressed children, something between a hum and a shush. He walked up the stairs tentatively, as if he might break either the steps or the two souls on the veranda, and stood at a respectful distance, perched at the top. He was wearing a dark denim shirt that made his grey eyes look indigo, and black jeans with the same style of black work boots he’d favoured since high school. Even from her spot on the loveseat she could smell his Rexona, and make out the place where his throat met his chest, a wicked dip that made you yearn to put your finger there and see if you could feel his pulse.

  Gen waved a hand at him over Will’s dark, shaking head, and motioned for him to take a seat. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed.

  He shook a hand as if it was no trouble and sat back in the old porch rocker as if he was happy to watch the valley and wait it out.

  After Will had spent another five or ten minutes howling into her chest, his little body started to relax. Five minutes later, he was asleep against her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, quietly. ‘He’s been up since four am, waiting for Mac. I only got the call an hour ago. It took a while for him to move from angry to sad.’ She wouldn’t say bad things about Mac. She wouldn’t rail, or complain, or even allow a petulant whine to escape her. Surely, surely this was just karma, coming right back at her.

  ‘What a dick.’ Brodie’s face was set harder than concrete.

  Gen shrugged. And then some. ‘I can’t come,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I hope I haven’t buggered things up too much.’

  Brodie shook his head and moved closer to the chair where Gen was still nursing Will. He glanced inside. ‘Where’s the little firecracker?’

  ‘Watching cartoons.’ Gen smiled. ‘Four-year-old hearts heal quicker.’

  ‘Hmmm …’ Brodie didn’t look convinced. He looked murderous.

  He crouched down in front of Gen and took it all in. Gen, in her travelling clothes. The little bag parked at the top of the stairs. The tiny, shattered body she was still rocking and patting, even in slumber.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gen repeated, horrified that he’d seen this, disappointment welling bruised-yellow in her cells. She’d wanted to see the things Brodie might show her. She’d wanted to learn more about how she might imagine a different future for Sweet Pocket and for her.

  ‘Don’t be,’ Brodie said, reaching out a hand to her, his grey eyes soft and dark with concern.

  She took the hand, and things immediately felt better, even while she wasn’t sure how she moved Will off her, how she went from sitting to standing without starting the whole sad thing all over again. ‘Maybe …’ she started, feeling her way through. ‘Maybe we can sit down and talk it through. I can tell you the things I really need to know, the areas where I’m shaky.’ She picked up speed, thinking how it might work. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe it would do. ‘And maybe I can pack you some samples?’

  ‘Even better,’ Brodie said, a slow grin spreading across his face. ‘You can tell me all of it, we can work out the whole plan in the car on the way to Sydney.’

  Gen looked dubiously at the sporty little number parked in her drive. ‘You can see I can’t go, right?’

  ‘Nope,’ Brodie said, standing up and stretching. ‘All I see is a teeny change of the plan.’ He gestured at the sleeping Will. ‘How long since he’s been to Sydney?’

  ’Never,’ Gen admitted, feeling like the poster girl for Hicksville. She couldn’t meet Brodie’s eyes. Sydney was only four hours away. How would he ever understand?

  ‘Well then,’ Brodie said. ‘I think it’s time we fixed that. They’ve got nowhere to go, have they? The kids? Nowhere they’ve gotta be this weekend?’

  She shook her head, feeling knocked off course by this latest development.

  ‘And you’ve got the milking sorted for the weekend?’

  Gen nodded again, a million reasons rising up in her about why she could not go to Sydney with Brodie, with the children. Then she felt the weight of Will in her arms, thought about how much he had talked and dreamed about seeing the Harbour Bridge, and a tiny, hopeful piece of her wanted to believe it was possible.

  ‘It’s a business weekend,’ she croaked weakly. ‘What will we do with the kids while we have our meetings?’

  ‘Oh Gen,’ Brodie groaned, walking over to the railing and breathing in the Greenacres air. ‘Don’t you know that’s what PAs are for? Stella is the oldest of five, and the only girl. She can watch them while we meet, and the rest of the time we can show them the big smoke, make them forget they ever missed out on anything this weekend.’

  It sure was appealing. Moving the plan forward, and showing the kids a good time. And more, her traitorous brain chimed in, you still get to spend time with Brodie.

  She took a breath and gave herself a firm mental talking-to. This was not about living out some Brodie fantasy, no matter how good he may have smelled back in the hospital the other day. All the reasons stood why she belonged in Sweet Pocket, and Brodie belonged in Sydney. Even if they could ever get past all their history.

  If she did this, if they did this, it would be purely business.

  ‘Okay,’ she said slowly, thinking it over. ‘I have a friend in Sydney. I could call her. I’m sure she’d put the kids and me up for the night.’

  She studied him carefully as he turned back from the railing. He had the most amazing colour—olive skin, flushed cheeks, white teeth. He should be on her yoghurt containers, a picture of the best-looking country boy the country had ever lost.

  ‘You could do that,’ he said, looking open and trustworthy. ‘But I reckon we’ll be pretty busy. You and the kids could just camp at my place, like we were planning to. I’ve plenty of room.’

  Gen didn’t want to say no, didn’t want to sound like some country prude, or worse, ungrateful for all he was doing. But neither did she want to say yes. She had been saying yes to Brodie Brown her whole life, except for that one day, the one that really mattered. She’d always been putty in those long, strong, capable hands. Could she really go to Sydney with him for the weekend, schlep around to all manner of meetings with him, stay at his place, accept his hospitality, and not lose herself to him the way she always had, her whole life? And what would happen if she did? There was no way this story was ending any differently than it had ended ten years ago. She had no choice; she had to stay in Sweetiepie; and he had to go. All that lay down the road of being with him, being near him, remembering him, remembering them, was a big fat dose of kick-you-in-the-gut heartache.

  It had taken her years to be able to go to bed without crying herself to sleep last time; what might it do to her if she had to go through that all over again?

  ‘C’mon, Gen,’ Brodie said, smiling slowly and winking at her. ‘I’m not the devil. I’m not gonna eat you and steal your soul.’

  Oh God, could he read her mind?

  And if he really thought he wasn’t going to steal her soul, then he had no idea.

  ‘Think of it as business,’ Brodie said. ‘You’ve got some shit to do, Gen Jen, and you’ve got to do it fast.’ He poked himself in the chest. ‘I’m an old friend, and we gotta get this town sorted. I can help; that’s all. Are you game?’

  Gen thought about what she always told Will. Sometimes you just have to scrunch all your fears and worries up into a tight little ball, and trust that if you hurl them away from you, everything will be okay. The universe will look after you; you will get through whatever hard thing is chasing you down with its mean claws.

  ‘I’m game,’ Gen said.

  ***

  Gen took a breath. ‘I’m going to go. The kids are coming with me.’

  Sarah was resting,
even though it was still early. It was hard for her to break the habit of a lifetime, so she rose early, even though there was little she could do. But a couple of hours later she was so tired she had to lie down.

  Gen sat on the side of her mother’s bed and pushed the wheelchair away with her foot. ‘KD is going to come and stay, just like we agreed, okay?’

  Sarah nodded, but a small frown creased her forehead. She was still so pretty, even though the last few years had taken their toll. ‘Poor thing,’ she said squeezing Gen’s hand. ‘Fancy having to spend the weekend with an invalid.’ The words came out kind of twisted, as if she was having trouble negotiating her tongue. Sarah’s hand jerked as she tried to hold her daughter’s.

  Tears pressed into Gen’s eyes as she remembered how strong her mother’s hands had been when Gen had been small. She remembered them teaching her to milk, wrapping around her own tiny hands as they squeezed and cajoled the girls. ‘What a load of crap,’ Gen said, blinking the stupid tears away. ‘You’re just worried you’re gonna get beaten in poker again, you old shark.’

  Gen leaned forward and hugged her mother, breathing in the mother smells of her—jasmine, talcum powder, and that honey shampoo she used.

  When she pulled back, her mother was watching her closely. ‘Are you sure?’ she slurred. She reached up and stroked Gen’s cheek. ‘Brodie?’

  A spike of guilt flashed through Gen but she tamped it down the way she had taught herself. Sometimes tough decisions had to be made to protect people. She thought about Brodie’s words on the veranda a few moments before.

  ‘It’s just business,’ she assured her mother. ‘And I’m fine with all that Brodie stuff now. There’s been a whole lot of water under the bridge since then.’

  ‘Hmmm …’ her mother responded, not sounding convinced. She lay back, looking confused, something she seemed to be doing more and more.

  The specialists said it was all part of it, but it still cut, far worse than the physical symptoms they were navigating their way around every day.

  Then the fog seemed to clear a little and she looked at Gen sharply. ‘You’re happy,’ she mumbled.

  ‘That,’ Gen said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on her mother’s nose before standing up to avoid any more interrogation, ‘is because I am going to make this whole pile of crap go away.’ She waved a hand to indicate the room. ‘For us—for Sweetiepie. I’m gonna do everything I can to get us out from under The Big Cow.’

  Her mother smiled weakly and closed her eyes. ‘Yes, baby,’ she slurred. ‘Just don’t kill yourself in the process.’ As though the words reminded her of something, Sarah’s eyes flicked open again. ‘You eaten?’

  Gen saluted. ‘Yoghurt, toast, and even an egg,’ she reported. It was true, too. She’d been ravenous this morning. Nerves always turned her into an eating machine.

  ‘Good,’ Sarah said, yawning.

  Gen kissed her fingers and pressed the down onto her mother’s soft cheek. This woman—all she had done for Gen, and all alone. Gen would never let her down. But whenever she left her by herself she felt a pang. It wasn’t guilt, but fear. She knew things could go wrong quickly at this stage. Her mother’s body wasn’t the strong and resilient thing it had once been.

  As though she could read her thoughts, her mother waved a hand at her. ‘Get going, darling.’ Gen had to strain to make out what her mother was saying; some days it was like a whole other language.

  Gen nodded. ‘KD will be along before you wake up,’ she said.

  ‘Mmmm …’ Sarah was already drifting off.

  Gen watched her from the doorway for a moment.

  I love you, Mum.

  ***

  ‘What time is the first meeting?’ Gen fiddled with the strap on her suit.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of time, honey.’ Brodie reached over and squeezed her leg, but there was nothing dodgy in it. It was pure comfort, and Gen sure as hell needed it right now.

  She tried to focus on what was going on in front of her in the glass tunnel, but it was hard with two little bodies rammed into her, one on each side, each yelling over the sound of the rushing wind.

  She turned beseeching eyes on Brodie. ‘You sure it’s safe?’

  ‘Hey,’ he said, looking like some kind of commando in his own suit—tall and buff and very bloody scrumptious, even with the weird goggle things that kind of squinched your face. ‘I invested in these guys. No way would I have gone anywhere near this if there were safety concerns. It’s family fun.’

  Gen swallowed hard, feeling like a lump of something Maisie might masticate was stuck in her oesophagus. Yeah, so fun. ’Cause she just loved heights.

  Was he doing this to punish her?

  He must remember that, right? How much she hated heights?

  Like that time he’d taken her up the grain tower and … oops, no, don’t think about that, all that wicked goodness. Not with him sitting beside her like a recruiting ad for the SAS, looking sexy and macho and … where was she? Oh yes, heights. Don’t think about the grain tower.

  ‘And it’s safe, even for Bea?’ She looked at her adorable almost-five-year-old, like a mini-ninja in her own little suit, red curls spilling out, her face fixed on Brodie as if he were Santa Claus.

  ‘Eeeehhh …’ Bea made that squeeing kind of noise for at least the hundredth time since they’d been sitting in the waiting area, watching the indoor skydivers finishing their turns in front them. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to fly.’

  ‘Can you remember what the man said?’ Gen held Bea’s hands so she would focus on her face. ‘The instructor?’

  ‘Of course,’ Bea replied, with an irritated flick of her wrist, so four-going-on-fourteen Gen wanted to laugh. Or scream. The little girl quickly ran through the three critical hand movements. ‘Straight legs, chin up, bend legs.’

  Gen nodded furiously, and sought out Will’s eyes. ‘Are you sure, honey?’ It had been him that had convinced her to let this happen. The look on his face when Brodie had mentioned that he had to call in to the indoor skydive centre at Penrith on the way through, the look of sheer disbelief and magic that such a thing was actually possible.

  Will had been so careful the last year, as if he was afraid that any misstep might result in another life-altering catastrophe. To see him not only accepting something that seemed so—well, so damn foolish as far as Gen was concerned—but actually courting it? It melted her heart. If he could do it, with all he was going through, so could damn well she.

  ‘More importantly,’ Brodie yelled into her ear, which was kind of like whispering given the amount of noise, ‘are you comfortable with this?’

  Was she? Hell no. Then she looked at Will again, those earnest dark brown eyes, giving her a shaky thumbs-up. She nodded and shut her eyes as two teenage girls in the wind tunnel started doing loop-the-loops. Gen felt green, but Brodie squeezed her leg again. ‘You’re not gonna do that, guys,’ he assured them. ‘It’ll be nice and easy.’

  Bea stood up and did a little jig. ‘I wanna do that,’ she said, pressing her face against the glass of the wind tunnel and watching the two teenage goddesses floating on air.

  ‘In time, love.’ Brodie laughed.

  The teenage girls exited soon after and Brodie was up. ‘I’ll go first, like we agreed,’ he said. ‘Make sure you all feel okay about it.’ He was looking at the kids, but Gen knew he was talking directly to her. She could feel the force of his concern wrapping around her like a blanket.

  ‘No,’ Will said, struggling to his feet in the suit. ‘I’d like to go first, please, if I can.’

  Brodie hesitated and looked at Gen. ‘I dunno, mate,’ he said, bending down on one knee to get closer. ‘Don’t you want to see how it’s done?’

  Will motioned at the tunnel. ‘I been watchin’,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m ready.’

  Brodie glanced quickly at Gen and she took a breath and nodded.

  ‘Okay then, tiger,’ Brodie said, slapping him on the back as the instructor mot
ioned for Will to come forward as he’d been shown and hurl himself into the tunnel. ‘Go get ’em.’

  Gen watched as the little body walked forward, as if he wasn’t afraid of anything, as if he didn’t have nightmares every other night and worry about going to school, and worry about what other kids thought of him, and worry what might happen if he stopped breathing or the world stopped turning or he thought too much. As he walked towards the tunnel, that tiny six-year-old had more swagger than Robbie Williams. He was a giant.

  He was going to fly.

  Gen forced herself to watch as he entered the tube, scrabbling with his hands like he was clawing at the air to make it allow him entry. The instructor, a boy who looked to be all of twenty but whom Gen knew from observation was clever, skilled and very careful with those he took in, grabbed Will’s hands and pulled him in, shooting him some quick hand movements to adjust his superman posture.

  Gen, Brodie and Bea were sitting outside the huge glass tube, on a semi-circle of aluminium seats, watching and wondering as, suddenly, the instructor let go of Will, and released his hands but kept him close enough that he could make adjustments as required.

  The operators outside the tubes made the necessary adjustments; Gen heard the roar of the huge fans calibrate downwards to compensate for Will’s relative smallness.

  But then he was really flying. And he was good. Gen had been watching long enough to see that some people got it, and some people just didn’t. Everyone had a good time, but not everyone seemed able to discipline their body to stay in the right position to achieve sweet, seamless flight. Will was a natural. The current floated him close to the edge of the glass and Gen stood up, tears flooding from her eyes, but she pushed them back and allowed the huge grin that burst from her to chase them away properly. She joined Bea’s tiny snub nose at the glass, laughing with joy as Will dived, dipped and soared. He was smiling like she hadn’t seen him smile at all in the last twelve months and, if she was honest, not for a while before that either.