A goodbye of sorts.
“Look at our grubby nails,” he smiles. “Gardening gives us bloke hands.”
“Nothing a bit of soap can’t fix,” I laugh. “That sexy stubble can stay though.”
He swings the visor down to take a peek in the mirror.
“You like Hairy Marco?”
“I love.”
???
By the time we curve the bend into Longreach, dusk beckons the sun into hiding.
Our screens buzz simultaneously, reconnecting with the network.
A flood of messages from the outside world ping all at once.
He skims his emails.
“Astra Luna is still functioning without me. Why do I have mixed feelings about that?”
“You trained them well, bub. It’s okay to step back.”
“I guess,” he shrugs. “Oh, Beth sent us her address. Quail Street. Near Falcon and Lark."
I pause next to the curb, updating our coordinates.
Scrolling my phone, I see three messages from Vonnie.
A face palm emoji in response to my eggplant text, followed by two that say:
Still alive?
And then…
If I don't hear from you by Friday I'm sending a search party.
I flick her a reply.
Have survived hairy spiders, snakes, a possum and an angry drunk. Tent may need a hose down ;)
“Happy birthday, punk.” Marco reads. “Porter reckons I need a walking frame and glasses now that I'm only a few years away from thirty. Cheeky bugger.”
I raise a brow.
“Porter and I are both a year older than you. Park your walking frame next to ours.”
He laughs, typing his reply out loud.
“Just been… to visit Ma in Jundah. Now we’re… gonna go… see Beth. Send.”
I open a message from my mum.
How was the camping trip?
When can we video chat the birthday boy?
