“I don’t need your help!” Owen snapped.
An ancient-looking Volkswagen camper van pulled up and a thin couple in their late fifties or early sixties exited. They got two cans of Victoria Bitter and sat down at the free table under the shade. The couples couldn’t help but say hello.
“I’m Tom and this is my wife, Heather, and these are my kids, Owen and Olivia,” Tom said.
“I’m Hans and this is Petra,” Hans replied.
“We’re Americans. From Seattle,” Tom said.
“We are from Leiden in Holland,” Hans said. “I’m an engineer. From a very long line of engineers. Auto engineers.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Yes indeed. My great-grandfather invented the steering wheel.”
Owen raised his head from his homework. “Your actual grandfather, like, invented the steering wheel?” he asked incredulously.
“My great-grandfather.”
“He told you that?” Owen asked.
“Yes.”
“I doubt it,” Owen said, shaking his head.
“So what do you do, Petra?” Heather asked the woman.
“I am a sociologist,” she replied.
Owen was still regarding Hans with deep twelve-year-old-boy skepticism. It was starting to get a little uncomfortable. “I think it is too hot here. We will eat in the car,” Hans announced. The couple went back to the Volkswagen van.
“Owen, why did you give that guy a hard time?” Tom asked when they’d gone.
“I didn’t give him a hard time. I totally believed him. After all, my great-great-grandmother invented the spoon. Before that, only forks,” Owen said.
“And our great-great-great-grandfather invented fire,” Olivia said.
Heather, Owen, and Olivia were all laughing now and Tom started laughing too.
A Toyota Hilux pulled in and two men got out. The bigger of the two was wearing a sort of cowboy hat, jeans, a red-checkered shirt, and boots. He was about thirty-five, with a neatly trimmed black beard, dark eyebrows, and blue eyes. Handsome, Tom supposed, if you liked the rugged, outdoorsy type. The second man was slightly shorter, maybe around six feet. He was older, about fifty, balding. He was lean and rangy and looked a bit menacing. His left cheek was scarred and there was an old tattoo on his neck that could possibly have been an anchor. He was wearing overalls with rubber boots and no undershirt.
Tom looked at his watch. It was noon. “Well, folks, time to head back,” he said.
“We haven’t seen a koala!” Olivia protested.
“We haven’t seen anything!” Owen added.
“We gave it our best shot. But I have to get home to work,” Tom said.
Owen went into a complete meltdown: He was the worst dad ever. This trip sucked. Why had they even bothered coming to Australia if they weren’t going to see anything? Olivia crossed her arms, shook her head, and glowered with all her might.
Tom looked at Heather but she was helpless in the face of this.
“Excuse me, mates,” a voice said. It was the taller of the two men. “Couldn’t help overhearing—you kids wanna see a koala?”
“Yes!” Olivia said.
“Follow me,” the man said.
The family followed him to the back of the Toyota, where, in a cage under a blanket, there was a sleeping koala.
“Oooh! Can we hold him?” Olivia asked.
“Nah, sorry, can’t do that,” the man said. “They’re very vulnerable to disease, and you’re Americans, I take it.”
“Yes, from Seattle,” Tom said. “I’m Tom and this is Heather, Olivia, and Owen.”
“I’m Matt, and this experiment gone wrong is me brother Jacko,” Matt said.
“Hey! Watch your mouth!” Jacko snarled.
“Where did this little guy come from?” Heather asked, gesturing to the koala.
“We’re from across the bay there—private island—and there’s koalas bloody everywhere. And wallabies, echidnas, wombats—it’s like Jurassic bloody Park, mate,” Jacko said.
The kids turned to their dad. “We have to go!” Olivia said.
Tom shook his head. “Did you say private island?”
“Yeah, sorry, no visitors,” Matt said.
“Dad!” Owen protested and Olivia chimed in with a theatrical sigh of disbelief.
Tom looked at them. They had had a very tough year. And he’d been so strict on this trip. Maybe a little ugly-American grease would do the trick? “Is there a ferry? We’d be willing to pay,” Tom said.