Chapter 34
CHAPTER
Cruz hated firing employees. He’d had to do it a few times over the years while working in restaurants, and their shocked expressions, their gaping mouths, their wide eyes—sometimes filled with tears—gutted him, but all the axing he’d done in the past paled in comparison to what he’d done to El.
The way she’d looked at him … His gut twisted at the thought, and he bypassed the homestead and headed straight for a quad bike.
Logically, he shouldn’t ride while in this mood, but screw logic.
He needed to get away from El and clear his head, and a ride around the farm’s perimeter would achieve both.
Strapping on a helmet, he fired up the engine and checked the fuel gauge, then took off too fast and skidded.
Resisting the urge to overcorrect, he slowed down, gripping the handlebars so tight his knuckles stood out.
He saw Kyle out of the corner of his eye, waving him over, but ignored him and roared away, kicking up dirt.
How many times had he ridden this path with his father after he finished high school?
Twenty? Fifty? One hundred? One of the few good memories he had of his dad was the many times they’d ride the quad bikes to various parts of the property, when Mac would extol the virtues of farming at length.
Cruz had listened out of politeness rather than interest, already dreaming of working in a Melbourne restaurant, but he’d enjoyed his dad trusting him enough to impart wisdom.
No great surprise that Mac had pretended his son didn’t exist after Cruz told him he’d be leaving the farm for the city.
He remembered the day vividly, like it had happened yesterday.
His mum had encouraged him to break the news gently, so he had stayed up late the night before, prepping his father’s favourite slow-cooked smoky barbecue chicken and apple pie, then worked alongside Mac all day, driving himself to the point of collapse and earning a slap on the back when they’d returned to the homestead.
That evening, after Mac had demolished every morsel and given begrudging praise—‘you can cook and work a farm, lad, well done’—Ferne had made herself scarce and Cruz had sat at the table, given his dad a beer and told him he’d be leaving at the end of the month.
Mac had turned puce and, rigid with anger, had flung the beer bottle over Cruz’s head, where it smashed against the fridge door, leaving a dent still there to this day.
That’s when the yelling had started, with Mac calling him everything from ‘a waste of space’ to a ‘useless bludger’.
Cruz had hidden his hurt well, waiting until Mac exhausted his fury before cutting his dad another wedge of apple pie, placing it in front of him and walking out of the kitchen.
To this day, Cruz didn’t know if that piece of pie had been a peace offering or a way to get his dad to shut up, but from that moment until he left the farm, Mac barely looked at him.
At the time, Cruz had pretended like it didn’t matter.
He’d paid his dues by staying on the farm and learning the ropes for two years after finishing high school, and if his father couldn’t be supportive, screw him.
But every time he baked an apple pie for restaurant patrons or friends, he would be reminded of his father and their fractured relationship.
Thinking about his dad must’ve made him unconsciously steer towards the shed at the eastern corner of the property.
Mac had made it clear in no uncertain terms that the shed, his man cave, was off limits.
It had been his dad’s go-to place and nobody was welcome, which made it all the stranger to see a spire of smoke drifting from the chimney into the crisp, cloudless sky.
Wondering if he’d have to deal with squatters on this all-round crappy day, he parked the quad bike about two hundred metres away and strode towards the shed.
The corner of this land had the Powell property on one side and Crown land on the other, with a back road nearby; easy access for anyone who wanted to take up residence and not be found until someone like him stumbled across them.
Reining in his rising irritation, Cruz knocked on the door. Even though he owned the place and could’ve barged in, he didn’t want to scare whoever was in there in case it was just kids hanging out.
When the door creaked open and Roger, his dad’s mate, peered out tentatively, his eyes bloodshot like he’d been crying, Cruz couldn’t have been more surprised.
‘Everything all right, Roger?’
‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?’ Roger snapped, his belligerence at odds with the sadness in his eyes.
‘Well, you don’t look so good,’ Cruz said, uncomfortable that the old man hadn’t opened the door fully and invited him in, even though he wasn’t a guest.
‘See how good you look when you get to my age,’ Roger muttered, earning a wry grin from Cruz.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Reminiscing,’ Roger murmured, tearing up again, and Cruz realised that although his father had forbidden him and Ferne from entering his man cave, he must’ve had his mates over.
‘You miss Dad.’
‘Something fierce.’ Roger blinked several times and swiped a hand over his eyes. ‘You better come in.’
Cruz bit back his retort—how magnanimous of you—and entered the shed, surprised to see it kitted out with a comfy sofa, a bar fridge, a TV and a bed with rumpled bedclothes, meaning Roger had been taking a nap.
‘Did you used to hang out here with Dad?’
Roger nodded, biting his bottom lip. ‘He was my best mate.’
‘Mum and I were never allowed down here.’ Cruz sat on the sofa, not wanting to get into a deep and meaningful conversation about his father but needing to give Roger some time to compose himself before he booted him out.
There must have been a generator around the back, supplying electricity to the bar fridge and TV.
It could be put to better use as a back-up for the restaurant when it opened.
Besides, this place needed to be emptied so others wouldn’t be encouraged to take up residence.
Not that Cruz was completely heartless about the plight of homeless—he’d invited Bindi into his home, hadn’t he?
—but the remoteness of this location meant if someone squatted here and they got into trouble, they might not be found in time to get help.
‘Want a beer?’ Roger opened the fridge and Cruz saw it was stocked with a half-dozen wine bottles and ten stubbies.
‘No thanks, I’m good.’
‘You won’t be when I tell you about your dad.’ Roger ripped the top off a stubby and tipped half the bottle down his throat before sitting on the other end of the sofa, his shoulders slumped. ‘He swore me to secrecy, you know.’
‘Actually, I don’t.’ Whatever Roger told him, it couldn’t tarnish his view of his father any more than Mac himself already had.
When Roger remained silent, chugging his beer, Cruz said, ‘Look, I get it, Dad was your best mate and you miss him. But I’m going to clear this place out and—’
‘You can’t!’ Roger yelled so loudly that Cruz jumped.
‘I’m sorry, but—’
‘This was our place,’ Roger whispered, so softly that Cruz thought he misheard. ‘I feel closest to him here.’
The thought of anyone caring this much about his callous father surprised Cruz. Then again, he’d had limited contact with Mac over the last decade; maybe his father had mellowed in his old age and been kinder to his friends than his family.
‘There’s a Men’s Shed in town, Roger. I’m sure you’ve got other mates you can hang out with there.’
Roger barked out a harsh laugh. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what?’
Roger swiped an age-spotted hand over his face and sighed. ‘I’m so bloody tired of living a lie.’
Cruz’s confusion must’ve shown because Roger straightened and eyeballed him.
‘Your dad and I were more than mates.’
Cruz’s reflexive response ‘I don’t understand,’ died on his lips, because in that moment, the truth detonated.
Why his father barely looked at his mother, let alone touched her.
Why his father spent so much time away from home on trips.
Why his father didn’t want his wife or kid coming in here.
Why his father had a bed in a man cave.
‘Sorry to blurt it out like that, but I’m so damn tired …’ Roger trailed off, sadness twisting his mouth. ‘You never had a clue?’
Cruz shook his head, unable to articulate half of what he felt. Anger that Mac had treated his mother so badly. Pity that his dad hadn’t been able to live the life he’d wanted freely and in the open. Disappointment that Mac hadn’t confided in those closest to him.
‘Does Mum know?’
Roger shook his head. ‘Mac never wanted to embarrass her, so we were discreet. Only ever met here. And if anyone noticed, which they didn’t, we could’ve passed it off as two old mates catching up.’
‘How long?’
Roger reddened and glanced away. ‘Before he married Ferne and brought her here.’
‘Fuck,’ Cruz muttered, hating that Mac had dragged his mother into this mess when he could’ve continued living the life he wanted. ‘Poor Mum.’
‘Mac wanted an heir for the farm, so he hid that part of himself.’ Roger patted his chest. ‘As have I. Living in a small country town isn’t conducive to coming out.’
‘People are tolerant these days.’
Roger snorted. ‘In the city, maybe, but Rosevale Grove isn’t ready for two old codgers to be walking down Main Street hand in hand.’
Cruz smiled and some of the tension holding Roger’s back rigid eased.
‘You’re the first person I’ve ever told,’ Roger said.
‘About you and Dad?’
‘About me being gay.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m seventy-four and have known since I was a teen, so that’s a bloody lifetime to keep a secret.’
Unable to fathom a burden like that, Cruz said, ‘I won’t clear out this place. You can come here as often as you like.’
‘It’s okay, do what you want with it.’ Roger pointed towards the hill that led to the road.
‘I’m getting too old to park up there and walk here anyway.
Besides, I’m a sentimental old fool, clinging onto the past. And while I feel closer to Mac here, being in our place only serves to exacerbate my sorrow.
I’ve been staying here on and off since he died.
Sometimes for days, and I always leave feeling worse, so I won’t be back. ’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cruz said, having no idea what he was apologising for, but recognising the old man’s grief as real.
‘I should be offering you condolences,’ Roger muttered, shaking his head. ‘I know Mac hid so much from you, but he was immensely proud of you. He talked about you non-stop, and he loved going to Melbourne so he could eat your food. Said it reminded him of when you cooked for him at home.’
First Kyle, now Roger. Why had his father sung his praises behind his back rather than reaching out when they still had time?
Then again, learning his father’s secret shed new light on Mac’s recalcitrance. Had his dad been so terrified of spilling his secret that he preferred holding those closest to him at bay?
‘If you want to have a beer any time, you’re welcome at the homestead,’ Cruz said, standing.
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’ Roger cleared the gruffness from his throat. ‘Your father might’ve been ashamed of who he was, but he never regretted meeting Ferne and having you.’
Cruz didn’t want to think about breaking the news to his mum, and whether he should or not, but at least learning his father’s secret went some way to explaining their fractured relationship.
Carrying a secret of that magnitude for so long must’ve taken its toll, and Cruz wished he’d known, for the simple fact they might’ve had a chance to reunite before his father died.
A futile wish, and for now, he had more important things to focus on, like making Kinstead Avocados a success so he could eventually sell and leave this place, and its secrets, behind for good.