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“Phil. Phil!” He squinted at me. “Get the suit off. I’m driving in your place.”
“You’re what?”
“Phil, close your eyes!” I toed off my Ariat boots, followed by my jeans, coat and tee. For May, it was unusually cold. The car’s interior was not much warmer than outside. My skin tingled with goosebumps, dressed only in a long-sleeved thermal shirt, bra, panties and socks.
Phil scrunched his eyes shut, his hand on his stomach. I nudged him in the shin.
“Get that suit off before you are sick all over it!”
With eyes shut, he unzipped the suit down the front and peeled it off, leaving him in a tee shirt that said‘It’s not a mullet, it’s a mud flap’and satin boxer shorts. I felt nothing, zip. Zilch. Phil was like a bonus brother to me. He’d met Ryan on the first day of school and they’d been friends ever since, even working together at Turner’s Car Repairs.
My mobile beeped. I retrieved it from my back pocket. Ryan had sent several texts.
Ryan: How’s Phil doing? Got a callout for fire. Truck coming for me and Benji. Ute still not fixed.
Ryan: did a post on the Ballydoon Community Group re fire too
For a population of 958, the majority of Ballydoon residents were on social media, especially active if there was a bushfire threat.
Ryan: Charlotte getting snuggles with Nanny. Her cold is a little better *attached photo*
I opened the image. Mum had taken a selfie of Charlotte asleep on her lap. But I didn’t focus on the cute photo. I was focussed on one word.
Fire.
Fire had been our family’s adversary for more than one hundred and seventy years, since the first James Turner settled in Ballydoon. Since our great-great grandfather founded the brigade with others more than one hundred years ago, our family have always since volunteered as crew.
Me: a fire? but it’s going to frost tonight
I took a deep breath.Don’t let the fire be bad,I thought as I slipped on the racing suit and zipped it up, cringing at the smell of Phil’s cologne.
Ryan: a grass fire. Should be fine
I exhaled with relief and ignored a pang of guilt as I sent another text.
Me: All good here. Semis about to start.
Ryan: heads up, Sunday fam dinner. Amanda is dialling in for a family chat. And Lily too.
Something was up. My older sister, Amanda, only rang us occasionally for Sunday night dinner. And getting my little sister Lily on a family phone call was hard since she lived in Nashville for her country music career.
Me: Stay safe. Hugs to Charlotte. Sure re dinner. Got to go. About to race.
“What am I going to wear?” Phil whined, his eyes still closed. “I don’t have any spare clothes.”
“My jeans should fit. And my tee. But not the coat, I need that.”
His eyes flew open as my jeans hit him in the head. “I can’t wear chick’s clothes.”
I stuffed my mobile into my coat and then stashed my coat and duffel bag behind the passenger seat.
“It’s that or a dress, Phil. Now, give me your driver ID wristband.”
He complied and I slipped it on my wrist as Sam glanced back.
“Can’t believe what you are doing, Stace,” she mumbled.
“Me neither.” I pulled my cowgirl boots back on. Unfortunately I didn’t fit Phil’s racing boots and my Ariats were the only shoes I had.
