The Fine Color of Rust Read Online Free Page B

Whenever it starts. I thought it was supposed to be in Phase One already. That’s what they promised me when I bought the place.”
    â€œRight.” I’ve lived in this town for years and I still haven’t got a clue what’s going on. “So that big hole in the bush on the Bolton Road is the development?”
    â€œYep. But for the moment what I’ve got is cars, and there seems to be no shortage.”
    I look at him again. I want to ask if it’s been mainly women customers but I don’t. I will have to tell Helen about Merv Bull. If Merv is single and if he doesn’t hook up with anyone in a hurry, he’ll be a rich man in this town. He’ll be mystified at how many parts appear to have simply fallen off cars. I inch closer to our loan car, still not letting on to Jake what I’m doing.
    I stop as my arm is yanked backward. Jake has caught on and he’s trying to pull his hand out of mine.
    â€œCan I stay here, Mum? Please!”
    â€œNo, Jakie. Mr. Bull has to do his work.”
    â€œI’ll be quiet, I promise. I’ll look at the cars. You go and I’ll wait here.”
    Merv Bull looks at me.
    â€œHe can’t bear to spend a minute without me,” I say.
    â€œI can see that,” Merv answers.
    Finally we maneuver Jake into the car with a promise of a workshop tour when we return.
    â€œHow much will it cost?” I remember to ask as I pump the accelerator and turn the key the way I would in the Holden. The tiny Mazda lets out a roar of protest. “Sorry, sorry!”
    â€œMight drive a bit differently to your car.” Merv calmly waves the exhaust smoke away from his face. “Should cost about a hundred dollars. Maybe a hundred and twenty, but no more.”
    While the magically vanishing husband was not good formuch, he did know how to change the oil in the car and do a few odd jobs. He probably could have managed fitting a secondhand windscreen. Now I have to pay for everything. And with Jake sick I’m taking time off work, and I have even less money than usual.
    â€œFeeling better today? Ready to go back to school?” I ask Jake with a frisson of desperation as we drive along in the Mazda. The ride is so smooth we don’t even have the sensation of movement.
    â€œCan we have a car like this?” Jake asks. “When’s Auntie Patsy coming to visit? How long will we be in town?”
    â€œNo. Soon. Until I’ve finished photocopying the Save Our School flyers and it’s time to pick up Liss.”
    Helen’s waiting to pick up her neighbor’s boy at the school when Jake and I zip down the road to collect Melissa. I execute a neat U-turn, a feat impossible in the Holden, and pull up at the gate. Helen almost falls out of her car.
    â€œOh my God! A new car! Where’d you steal it?”
    â€œIt’s a loaner from the mechanic.”
    â€œOh.” She screws up her face in sympathy. “Hey, a letter arrived for you at the school. Melissa’s probably got it. Another one from the minister about the school.”
    I don’t ask how she knows. I never ask how she knows what we watched on television the night before and what brand of hair dye I use and how Melissa’s grades are going. But now I know something she doesn’t. I decide I’ll wait and see how long it takes her to find out about the new mechanic.
    â€œDo you know what the letter says?”
    â€œLoretta! As if we’d open your mail! But we’ve all guessed. It says, ‘Thank you for your recent letter. I’d like to take this opportunity’ . . . da de da de da.”
    Melissa appears at the car door, holding out the minister’senvelope as if it’s a bad report card. I take it and fling it on the front seat, and Melissa leans through the passenger-side window and peers inside the car. “Is it ours?” she asks.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œActually,” Helen calls out